Template of a Hero

by HelloMyNameIsEd

The Dragonborn is thought to be what every good Nord should be, but what happens when the fabled hero of Nordic legend is actually the farthest possible thing from a Nord? Archer must become the hero he believes Skyrim needs, but along the way he begins to learn about himself, love, and what being a hero is really about. Features an Argonian Dragonborn.

25. Solitude

Welcome back everyone! Now, about Chapter 25… well, no spoilers, but I'll guarantee that if you found the last chapter a bit depressing, you'll definitely like this one more. There's much less murder and slightly less burning, anyways, so I guess that's as good a start as any. This one's a long chapter because I couldn't find a good place to cut it off earlier without ruining the pacing of the story. At least it's still under 20k words, right?

By the way, chapter 6 has gotten its major rewrite. Abridged version: Lydia insults Archer a bit more. Archer flips out and goes ballistic on the bandits in Helgen. He ends up giving one of them an Argonian-style facial deconstruction; fun for whoever likes reading the more violent sides of my writing, I guess. Anyways, onto the chapter.

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The Four Shields Tavern in Dragon Bridge was actually quite comfortable, Lydia had to admit. The food and drink was decent, the blazing fire pit in the common room kept the outside's chill well at bay, and a traveling bard played cheery, lighthearted music on a flute that earned him applause and coins from the nearby patrons. Now that she was in her casual garb instead of her steel armor, she felt much freer as well. The rest of her companions were enjoying their drinks and generally relaxing about the tavern — especially Varan, who perhaps might have underestimated the alcohol content of the mead in this bar, judging by how loudly he was laughing with a couple of other strangers with a bottle in his hand.

Unfortunately, the levity of the atmosphere did little to assuage the profound anxiety she felt, which seemed to steadily grow with each step she took towards Solitude — where she would be sent to infiltrate the very heart of the Aldmeri Dominion's operations in Skyrim, the Thalmor Embassy.

The Nord woman took a draw from her ale, looking around at the lively tavern in hopes of distracting herself from the troubling thoughts, but nothing seemed to change. The thought of what she was going to be doing just the next day honestly terrified her. She, somebody who never really resorted to stealth or subterfuge — and a worshipper of Talos, to top it all off — was being expected to spy on the Thalmor in their own base of operations. She would be walking into the lion's den. Or the eagle's nest, if the comparison must be made.

The more Lydia thought about it, the more crazy it all seemed. Every day spent traveling towards Solitude felt like she was measuring the final days of her life in footsteps. The fear that the thought inspired deprived her of sleep and harried most of her waking moments. She'd never experienced anything like this.

She did not fear death — she'd faced death plenty of times before. What she truly feared was what would happen were she to fail her mission. Not only would her companions would not get a second chance to see what the Thalmor know, or see if they have anything to do with the Dragons returning, but the Thalmor would not grant her a merciful death, were she to be captured. They would brutally torture her and interrogate her without mercy. She'd heard horrible things about what happened in Thalmor interrogation chambers; she would truly know the meaning of agony before she expired… and to top it all off, she would never see any of her friends again. The only comfort she had was the thought that even if she failed, her Thane would be safe.

Her mind drifted towards thoughts of Archer again; unsurprising, seeing how he'd been on her mind quite often as of late. Clearly, she wasn't the only one in their group who'd definitely seen better days. Ever since they'd left Rorikstead, Archer hadn't been the same. She still remembered the look of devastation on his face when he'd faced the aged Nord's vehement diatribe back in Rorikstead. It must've hurt him more than she'd initially thought. He was more quiet and sullen than she'd ever remembered him being, and he barely made eye contact with anybody for long. It was as if he was afraid of interacting with his own friends.

Then again, she thought, everyone else in their company had been quiet and reserved as well, for the first few days after that cataclysmic episode — but by this point, the rest of their team seemed to be back to how they'd been before, all except for Archer. He hadn't even spoken a word to her since that day, and it worried her. The thought made Lydia feel sick. She briefly wondered how he was faring now.

She looked around to see if she could find him, but a cursory glance around the tavern did not reveal the Argonian. He didn't seem to be anywhere in sight. Had he gone outside? Probably not — it was cold and windy this far Northwards.

"Balamus, have you seen Archer?" Lydia asked the Dunmer beside her.

The elf thought for a moment, lowering the mug he'd raised halfway to his lips. "I think he turned in early for the night. He should be in his room now. Why do you ask?"

Lydia gave him a noncommittal shrug. "I was just wondering," she replied, taking another drink of her ale.

Balamus spoke again after a few moments. "I think maybe you should talk to him," he said, drawing Lydia's attention. "He seems upset, and he doesn't seem inclined to speak with anyone else… but I think he'd make an exception for you."

"He hasn't spoken a word for days," Lydia replied hopelessly. "What makes you so certain that he'll suddenly speak with me?"

Balamus simply gave her a shrug. "You're his Housecarl. I think he'll make the exception."

Lydia took a backwards glance at one of the tavern's doors, the one Archer would be in. After vacillating for a moment, she made her decision and rose from her chair. She was not going to let her Thane continue suffering without at least trying to console him.

The Nord woman strode up to Archer's door and gave it a firm rap. There was no response for a while. "Archer? You in there?" Lydia asked, hoping to elicit a reply. "Can I come in?"

She was about to knock again when a voice from within said, "Door's open."

Lydia gently pushed the door open and entered Archer's room. She would have begun speaking, had the sight that greeted her not seized her immediate attention. Archer was completely shirtless. He was sitting on the side of his bed, with a torn shirt in one hand and a sewing needle in the other.

"What is it, Lydia?" His voice was unusually quiet.

She glanced back at the shirt in his hands. "What're you doing?"

"Sewing," he replied with an embarrassed sigh. "I tried to take off my shirt a bit too quickly… and my horns tore it open. Again." He lifted the shirt so that she could see the mended seam on the other side.

"You can sew?"

"Kind of. I've had to practice it quite often thanks to my horns, but I'm still not very good at it," he admitted, sticking the needle through the fabric and continuing to mend the tear on his shirt. "I'm pretty sure you didn't come in here to ask about my sewing prowess, though."

Lydia steeled herself to speak before answering. "I just wanted to see if you were alright. How're you feeling?"

He set down his needle, and his expression became morose. "I've been better, let me tell you," he murmured, his shoulders drooping.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked gently, coming to sit on the bed beside him. She fought the natural urge to glance down at his body, in favor of meeting his gaze with hers.

Archer turned his head away from her, sighing. "I failed those people, Lydia," he said quietly, his eyes downcast sorrowfully. "The people of Rorikstead needed my help, and I was unable to perform. I feel terrible… It's my fault their home is now a pile of ash."

"It is not," Lydia told him. "You did everything in your power to help them. We all did."

"But it wasn't enough," Archer replied. He buried his face into his hands. "None of it was enough. People died because I couldn't kill that Dragon quickly enough. People paid for my inability with their homes and lives… I feel like a failure."

"Do not say that!" Lydia hissed, startling him into looking at her. "You are not a failure. You are more powerful than any other man I know. You're a Companion of Jorrvaskr, and you're the Dragonborn!"

"But I wasn't a hero," Archer countered. "What Rorikstead needed in their hour of need was a hero, someone who would spare them from the Dragon's ire and save the day… and when I tried to be that hero I let them down. They believed in me, I did everything I could to stop it, and yet I still failed them. Maybe that man was right… perhaps I'm not worthy of being Dragonborn after all."

"That is a lie," Lydia growled, remembering the angry Nord that had accused him of allowing the Dragon to destroy Rorikstead. "Archer, I want you to drive all memory of that man from your mind right now — nothing he said about you was right. You are one of the worthiest people I know. You're stronger than you give yourself credit for, Archer, but Rorikstead was a small town — if the Dragon decided that it wanted to attack it, then it was going to suffer greatly anyways, no matter what anybody did."

Her features softened, as did her voice. "For anybody to have expected you to be capable of preventing any harm at all from coming to the town was entirely unrealistic, and that is not due to any fault of yours — it just wasn't possible. Nothing short of direct Divine intervention would have spared the town of the Dragon's wrath."

"But that's what I'm supposed to be," he replied, his eyes downcast. "I'm supposed to be blessed by the Gods themselves, chosen to save everyone from the threat of the Dragons… If I couldn't save Rorikstead, then what chance have I to fulfill the prophecy of the Dragonborn and save the entire world?"

The Argonian turned to look directly into her eyes. The amount of pain and fear in them shocked her. "I don't know if I can do this, Lydia. There's so much at stake for me to perform, the pressure is unbearable. Everybody expects me to be there for them, to help them and be their hero. I've tried to bear the burden as well as I can, but it's never felt so heavy as it does now."

Lydia pinched her brow in concern. He seemed so tense, shoulders hunched tightly and hands nervously wringing the shirt in his lap as he spoke. She'd never seen him suffer so greatly before. "Archer, you're stressing yourself out too much like this. You need to calm down."

"I can't help it," he murmured uneasily, shaking his head. "I can't stop thinking about what happened in Rorikstead, and then remembering what happened to Helgen… that's what the rest of Skyrim will look like should I fail… I don't want that weight to be on my shoulders, but it's not my choice. It was never my choice…"

A sudden thought crossed Lydia's mind, and she decided to act upon it. "Turn around, Archer," she told him, gently touching his shoulder to prompt him to turn away from her. The Argonian gave her a strange look at the sudden request, but he complied nonetheless.

When his back was to her, she placed her hands on him and began to rub her hands across his scales, massaging him, just as she'd done for him in the hot springs. He went rigid under her touch at first, but very steadily he began to relax, falling into a state of semi-comfort as his Housecarl attempted to bring him some sense of ease.

"Don't keep calling yourself a failure, Archer," Lydia told him, running her experienced hands over his skin. "Nobody should expect you to be perfect. You are not infallible, you're just as capable of making mistakes as anyone else, and that's fine — nobody should expect you, or anyone for that matter, to be perfect. Don't let the memory of what happened in Rorikstead push you down; instead, let it empower you. Let it be a driving force to make yourself stronger, instead of a hindering force to bring you to your knees."

The Argonian had visibly relaxed by this point. His shoulders were much less hunched up than before, and he'd stopped wringing the shirt in his hands. "You are capable of so much," Lydia continued, still working her way up his back. "You've grown greatly since the day I first met you, and you will only keep growing stronger if you don't give up. You are more than worthy of the Voice in my eyes, and I feel that you are more than capable of enduring all the responsibilities of Dragonborn."

"But the stakes are so high," he responded quietly as she pressed her thumbs deep into his upper back, relieving the tension in those muscles. "What if I fail? Helgen and Rorikstead were bad enough — what if the same happens to Whiterun? It… it's my home too, you know…"

"You won't fail, Archer," she replied simply, now gently massaging the nape of his neck. "I believe in you. I've seen what you can do when you're determined to do it; there's not a daedra in Oblivion I don't think you can't overcome. I know you won't fail, because you're too blasted stubborn to let that happen."

He suddenly turned to face her more fully, his golden eyes meeting her gaze equally. "Truly? Do you really think those things of me?" he asked, in wonder.

Lydia nodded. "Yes, I honestly do think you're as stubborn as an ox sometimes. You'd grind a mountain to dust with your bare hands if you were convinced that it was the only way to get to the other side."

The laugh that her response elicited from him startled her momentarily, but she quickly found herself smiling back. "Good to know you have such a high opinion of me," he responded once he'd regained his composure.

"It's not without reason," Lydia replied, laying a comforting hand on his shoulder. "There was a reason the Divines chose you out of all the souls on Nirn to receive the Voice: They believed that you could do it. I know the path might seem hard at times, but know this, Archer: you will never have to stand alone, not while I'm still here. I will be with you every step of your journey. We will brave every storm and hardship together, and march to the gates of Oblivion and back side-by-side if need be. I will share this burden with you as well as I can… that is a promise."

He stared at her with wide eyes full of wonder. His mouth was slightly open, but no words came out — he was dumbstruck. The look on his eyes suddenly turned from heartfelt admiration to something much more powerful and profound. It was nearly enough to make Lydia flush. She thought of what else she could have possibly said, but it became clear that in this moment, words had become superfluous. They seemed to reach a tacit understanding. Archer turned to fully face her, wrapping his arms around her waist while she wrapped hers around his back, and the two of them embraced.

Lydia nestled her head in the crook of his neck, sighing contently. She reveled in the feeling of his arms wrapped securely around her, loving the way his body's warmth enveloped her as she lightly ran a hand up his bare back and felt the underlying muscle. It surprised her how little his scales revealed of his muscle tone; she wondered just how much his scales were being strained to contain them.

When his hand suddenly ran up her back, the feeling made her skin prickle under his touch. Instantly, her mind began imagining things again, forming images of her and her Thane. Her body began to react to their proximity in ways that it hadn't for what felt like ages, making an intense blush begin to heat her cheeks.

This was not the first time fantasies of her Thane had entered her mind. They had started off more innocently, though, wondering what it would have been like to kiss him. Once her curiosity had been whetted after she'd read the book she'd gotten from Belethor's shop, however, they'd started becoming more… intimate. The first time Archer had entered her mind such a manner, she'd been utterly shocked at herself. Such thoughts continued to return, however, and before long she'd found herself quietly entertaining such fantasies by herself. Now that she was alone with him, however, touching him, feeling his warmth mingling with hers, her imagination began to work of its own accord.

She found herself wondering what it would feel like to have Archer's hands roaming over her bare skin. The feeling of his rougher hands gently running over her body would shoot electrifying tingles of pleasure up her spine. She wondered if she would elicit a similar response from him if she were to run her hands over his body, lightly dragging her nails over his strong arms and chest. The thought of his intense golden eyes, glazed over and steely with lust, made the heat inside her swell. She imagined what it would have been like to have his warm lips on her body, leaving a searing trial of kisses up her collarbone and neck, his sharp teeth gently nipping and grazing her sensitive skin, feeling his warm, slick tongue slip past her lips to meet hers in a heated kiss…

She was suddenly brought back to reality by her Thane pulling away, lifting his gaze to meet hers again as he gently held her shoulders. The pain from his eyes had all but gone. "Thank you for speaking with me, Lydia. I can't express how much I appreciate it."

"You're welcome," she replied a bit shakily, hoping that he wouldn't ask about her blush. She was surprised at how quickly she had undone herself by her own imagination. Has it really been that long?

He finally pulled his hands away from her shoulders, taking up his shirt and needle anew. "I guess I should finish what I started here," he told her, slowly pushing the tip of the needle back into the fabric.

"I could do that for you, you know," Lydia suddenly remarked, making him look up at her in confusion.

"You know how to sew?" he asked, clearly finding it difficult to believe.

"I was taught by my mother when I was a girl," Lydia replied with a shrug. "She made me learn most things that a proper woman was supposed to know. I forgot some of the more advanced things she taught me, but I remember how to mend a tear well enough. If you ask me to sew you a lacy doily, however, then you're going to be sorely disappointed."

He let out a half-chuckle at the remark, probably imagining her doing just that. "I guess I'll leave it to you, then. Thanks."

"No problem," she replied, accepting his shirt and the needle and taking them into her lap to begin sewing. Her fingers fumbled slightly as she worked, but she still knew how to mend a shirt easily enough. The tear was beginning to shrink before her hands, more quickly than it had been with Archer at the needle.

"You'd think that living as long as I have with these horns would've gotten me used to being careful with my clothes," Archer remarked as he watched her work. "Too bad that isn't exactly the case. I've torn a shirt badly enough before to not consider it worth the effort of repairing. If that happens to me too much here, then I might have to start walking around shirtless for a time. With Winter on our heels, I don't think I'd appreciate the change."

"It might not be such a bad thing, though," Lydia remarked breezily. "Should we find trouble on the road, you'd make for a nice distraction."

"Would I?" he asked, with a smile that showed her his white teeth. "Well, if you want me to be a real distraction, then I could always consider walking around completely naked. That'll catch some eyes."

Lydia abruptly stopped sewing in order to stifle the laugh that threatened to burst out of her at the absurd thought. She looked back at him once she'd regained her composure. She thought she could see the mirth dancing behind his bright eyes. "You're such a fool, Archer."

"Only for you, Lydia," he replied softly.

The flush of her cheeks returned slightly, but she quietly resumed her sewing. Her imagination was starting to act up again, and she quickly found herself willing the images to go away and cease scattering her thoughts.

Not for the first time since she'd realized that she was smitten with her Thane, Lydia found herself wondering if Archer found her as appealing as she found him — and wondering if he felt the same things that she felt for him.

---

That night, Archer had gotten much more sleep than any other since the day they'd left Rorikstead. He got out of bed feeling utterly refreshed and rejuvenated. The Argonian had no idea that a simple talk with his Housecarl could have revived him so. He'd made a point of sparing her a genuine smile of gratitude when he next saw her. For some reason, she'd been blushing when she first stepped out of her private chamber, and it had only increased when he'd bid her a good morning.

Perhaps it's just a woman thing, he thought, and decided to leave it at that. Their team had breakfast at the tavern, taking their time as they ate. Very quickly, Archer noticed that something was missing.

"Guys?" he asked aloud, prompting the rest of his company to turn their heads and look at him. "Where's Varan?"

Everybody stopped what they were doing. They looked around and quickly noticed that Archer's brother was missing. Archer checked in his room, and saw all Varan's spare gear and luggage, but the Argonian was nowhere in sight. When he decided to ask the innkeeper if he'd seen Varan, the woman just replied, "I think I saw 'im leave last night with a couple a' others. 'S far as I know, he hasn't come back since then."

Just as Archer was about to mount an outing to go find his brother, the door to the tavern opened. Varan, his hands bound behind his back, stepped into the common room, escorted by two guardsmen bearing the coat of arms of Haafingar Hold on their shields — a Wolf's head — as well as a Dunmer legionnaire wearing heavily-burnt armor. Bewildered, Archer walked up to his brother.

"Varan? What the crap? What happened to you?" he asked, looking him over. His brother looked like a complete mess; a plethora of stains dirtied the Argonian's black leather armor and lamellar vest, as well as several scratches and scuffs — even including what looked like scorch marks.

"Do you know this Argonian?" one of the guards asked.

Archer nodded. "Yeah… He's my brother."

"Then that means you're the one who's responsible for him."

Archer and the rest of his companions all stared at the guard for a moment, before redirecting their stares at Varan. "What did you do?" Archer asked.

Varan sighed, his head downcast. "I got drunk."

"Aye, that he did," the second guard began. "From what I was able to gather, he wandered around with a couple of others for a while, all of 'em hollering and drinking like it was Sanguine's birthday party, making a whole mess of noise. Eventually, he and his buddies found the sawmill, and they all started wrestling the mill owner's goats. Your Argonian friend here apparently got bored of tossing goats around, and decided that singing 'Ragnar the Red' at the top of his lungs while standing on the roof of the mill at three in the morning was a better way to pass the time."

"Excuse me, what?" asked a very bewildered Archer, quickly losing track of the conversation. He looked to his brother for an explanation, but Varan kept his silence, looking thoroughly ashamed all the while.

"I heard what was happening and decided to come in and restore the peace," the Dunmer legionnaire muttered, eyeing Varan dangerously. "He and his friends wouldn't shut up and go home. I tried to spook 'em with a little bit of a magic display. In response, your friend here went and set me on fire."

Everyone in Archer's party gave Varan a shocked stare. "Why did you set him on fire?" Archer asked, aghast.

"I didn't," the other Argonian replied tiredly. "What I did do was throw my bottle of mead at him… I didn't think it was going to set him ablaze. It must've been really strong stuff."

"I had arcane fire in my hands, and you threw Black-Briar Reserve at me!" the Dunmer hissed. "Of course it was going to catch fire!"

"Then we came by to arrest him," the first guard remarked. "We weren't able to do it, though."

"Why not?" Archer asked.

"Because he was also on fire," the same guard sighed. "Apparently, he tried to help put out the Dunmer, but only succeeded in catching the fire himself. It's damn hard to arrest someone who's on fire, you know." The only response he received from the others was shocked silence.

"He threw himself into a large pond though, so we decided to help the Dunmer instead," the other guard continued. "When we looked back to see how the Argonian was faring, we found him face-down in the water, completely knocked out."

"None of us wanted to wade into that murky pond to fetch him, so we had to borrow the sawmill owner's fishing rod to get him out," the first guard continued. He glanced over at Varan's back. "Hold on a moment," he said, grabbing something from the Argonian's armor's collar and yanking it out after a few short moments.

"Ah. There's the fish hook, see?" The guard lifted it up to show it to him. Archer stared blankly at it for a moment before looking back at Varan, whose head was still bowed in shame. The rest of his company was at a similar loss for words.

"We tried talking to him afterwards," the other guard continued. "He mentioned something about his brother staying at this tavern, so we brought him here."

Archer stared at Varan in abject shock for several long seconds, before he looked back at the guard. "How much did he do in damage?" he finally asked, readying his coin purse with a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Not much, actually," the first guard said, to his surprise. "He was more of a nuisance than a danger."

"Excuse me?" the Dunmer interjected, drawing their attention. "He set me on fire! I don't consider that to be a mere nuisance!"

"Fire shouldn't bother you, you're a Dunmer," one of the guards replied dismissively.

Archer sighed, and glanced back over his shoulder at his team's resident Dunmer. "Balamus, if you got set on fire, how much would it hurt?"

The battlemage shifted uneasily, suddenly finding all the attention resting on him. "Quite an unusual question, isn't it?… Well, it'd definitely sting, that's for sure, but it wouldn't really cause any lasting damage to a Dunmer worth his salt. I would know — I've actually been set on fire before," he admitted with a sheepish chuckle.

Lydia gave the mer a shocked stare. "You've been set on fire before? When?"

"It was a very stupid accident," Balamus confessed, "involving a bet with a drunk Nord, a lit match, and a very aptly named mead called 'Dragon's Breath'." The elf glared at Solona when she snickered at that, but she was quick to right herself.

"Then I guess he should just pay the legionary for his armor's repair," the lead guard said. "If I remember correctly, that'd be about two-hundred coins."

Archer wordlessly reached into his coin purse and handed two small pouches of one hundred coins each to the Dunmer. The legionary shot Varan one final, seething glare, before taking the money and storming off, muttering to himself about "sodding bastard reptiles."

"Try not to get yourself that drunk again in the future, Argonian," said one of the guards as he undid Varan's bonds. The reptile gratefully rubbed his chafed wrists as the two guardsmen finally left the tavern entirely. Varan turned back to face his traveling companions, all of who were staring at him with varying expressions of surprise, amusement, or a mixture of both.

The Argonian's shoulders dropped. "I'm sorry about that, everyone… it will not happen again, I assure you."

"I hope not," Archer remarked, with an incredulous look still on his face. He shook himself and looked back at the rest of their team — as well as the other people in the tavern who had also decided to look over at the scene they'd caused. "Alright everyone, go back to whatever it was you were doing. Nothing more to see here."

While the rest of their company went back to finishing their breakfast, Archer turned back to Varan. "For the love of Akatosh, man, why'd you go and get yourself hammered like that?"

"It was a mistake. I guess I didn't realize how strong the Nords brew their mead this far North until it was too late," Varan replied, wincing suddenly. "Believe me, I don't like the feeling of getting drunk. It feels like there's a meat ax in my brain… and like I was repeatedly butted in the stomach by an angry goat."

Archer gave him a chuckle. "You weren't kidding when you said you were a lightweight drinker…"

Varan chose to not reply, staring at the floorboards with humiliation instead. "Hey, I'm not mad at you, Varan," Archer admitted, making his brother look back up at him. "Just… be a bit more careful next time we happen upon a bar, alright?"

"Sounds good," Varan rasped, clearing his throat. "I'd do well with a cup of water right about now."

Archer patted his shoulder companionably and led him to a table. "Order yourself some breakfast, and I'll get you a cup of water. We've gotta get going soon. We're close to Solitude, though, so take your time. I know well enough how much it sucks to get hung over."

After breakfast, their team quickly packed their things and resumed their path towards Solitude. Lydia was the only one of their group not in armor — Delphine had told her that she would have to give her informant whatever equipment she wanted to have at her disposal once she'd infiltrated the Embassy, so the Nord had chosen to leave her steel armor in a large spare bag they'd brought along for the occasion.

The going was not as fast as it would have been due to the conditions of their horses. It had been extremely fortunate that all their mounts had survived the Dragon's attack on Rorikstead, but the animals had not all gotten away unscathed, either; they each sported some burn mark to recall that day.

It made little difference, however; as the team got closer, the road leading to Solitude became more congested with foot traffic, filling up with travelers going to and coming from the large city, ranging from farmers and merchants to squadrons of Legion troops. They could not move much faster than a brisk walk without risking the possibility of accidentally colliding with the incoming traffic. Despite the fact, before too long they found themselves coming upon the tall iron gates of Solitude.

The sheer immensity of the city was astonishing — Archer supposed that there was a reason why Solitude was the capital of this province. He could see colorful banners strung up along the rooftops and a couple of bards performing in the courtyard before the city gates. Certainly, the yawning entrance of Solitude was quite a welcoming sight for newcomers. Unfortunately, the very first sight that greeted their team upon first stepping foot in the city was decidedly less so.

Off to the immediate right of the city's entrance stood a raised platform with a gallows, where a naked body hung limply at the end of a taut rope. It took only a few moments for Archer to see the tail and realize that the rotting corpse was not human, but Argonian. The crows must've been at him for days now — bits of ragged, tattered flesh hung from the reptile's body and face. They'd already pecked out both his eyes, and the softer flesh around his mouth had already been picked away until he could see the dead man's bloody teeth and maggot-ridden gums.

As if the sight of the rotting body was not disturbing enough, some part of Archer's mind deemed it fit to realize that this Argonian looked startlingly similar to him. Dark green scales, V-shaped horns, horned brows… the only thing missing were the eyes.

"I guess having public executions is part of Solitude's idea of fun," Balamus remarked grimly, eyeing the fly-ridden body hanging in the gallows. "Last time I came here, they beheaded a man on that same platform."

Archer didn't respond. He was too busy reading the wooden sign that had been placed beneath the hung Argonian's body. He could just barely make out the printed words: "THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS TO ENEMIES OF THE THALMOR".

They hung this Argonian, thinking it was me, he suddenly realized with shock.

His companions had begun walking again, and he'd nearly failed to notice. Archer spared a final glance at the hanging body, whispering a quick prayer to the Hist before moving to follow them — though whether the prayer was for the executed Argonian or for his own sake, he could not say. Archer tailed his group through the crows of Solitude, nearly losing sight of them amidst the throngs of other civilians before they finally stopped in front of a large building. The sign on the building read, The Winking Skeever.

"Okay everyone," Delphine said once they were all together again, "me and Lydia are going to speak with my contact. We can't all be in here at the same time, or we'll look suspicious. Go on and wander about the city if you'd like; we'll take care of things from here."

"I'm going with you," Archer declared. "She's my Housecarl. I feel like I have the right to know exactly what she's going to be getting involved with."

To his surprise, Delphine gave no argument. "Very well. The rest of you stay out here. We'll be back shortly." The Blade then pushed into The Winking Skeever, and the rest of their team all went off in another direction. After shooting him a nervous glance, Lydia pushed her way into the inn, and Archer followed behind her.

The Winking Skeever was decidedly larger than The Bannered Mare, and louder besides. A bard played some music on her lute in the center of the room, but most of it was drowned out by the general ambiance of the tavern. Archer quickly spotted Delphine making her way to a table off to the side, where a fair-skinned Bosmer with upstanding auburn hair sat unassumingly nursing a mug of ale. Archer and Lydia followed the Blade and seated themselves at the table with the Bosmer. The elf gave him and Lydia suspicious looks, but otherwise said nothing.

"Hello, Malborn," Delphine began. "I believe we have some business to take care of."

"Indeed," the elf replied, looking back at the two newcomers. His eyes lingered on Archer for a curious moment, before focusing on his Housecarl. "I take it that you're Lydia, correct?" When she nodded, he continued: "Alright, so I can assume that Delphine's already told you how this is going to work, correct? When you enter the Embassy, you won't be able to bring anything with you inside — the Thalmor take security very seriously. But I can smuggle some equipment into the Embassy for you; give me only what you absolutely need, and I'll make sure you get it when you're inside."

She nodded in understanding. "Alright. I'll give you my things." The sound of her shaky voice made Archer furrow his brows in concern, and made the guilt inside of him return in all its fury.

Lydia handed Malborn her sword belt and shield. She then removed the large pack containing her suit of steel armor from her shoulders and handed it to the Bosmer as well, leaving her only with a casual cotton tunic to wear in the meantime. Lydia's steel armor had also been modified slightly; since this was supposed to be a stealthy mission, Archer had enlisted the aid of Eorlund back in Whiterun to help make her steel armor more silent by adding some padding. The sound her armor would make when she moved would be greatly reduced, at the cost of less mobility.

"I'll take these things with me into the Embassy," the Bosmer told them as he accepted the pack containing her armor. "It'll all be there when you arrive at the party, but once you get in and get armored again, it'll be all up to you to. I'll see you then."

"Wait," Archer said, effectively bringing Malborn to a halt. The Argonian reached around and removed his hunting bow and quiver of arrows. "Take this as well," he said, handing them out to the Bosmer.

"Your bow and arrows?" Lydia asked, looking at him incredulously. "Archer, you need those. Why are you giving them up?"

"Because I think they'd serve you better than I," he told her. His expression became somber. "I want you to have every advantage you can get when you go in there. Being able to kill someone quietly, and from a distance, will probably serve you well."

Lydia made no further action of dissent. At length, she simply nodded, allowing Archer to contribute his hunting bow and arrows. "Very well. If that is all, then I shall take my leave," the elf said after he'd shouldered the bow and quiver.

"Sounds good," Delphine said. "Best get a move on before you're missed, Malborn. You'll see Lydia again before long. Good luck."

The Bosmer left the inn with the equipment in his hands. Delphine turned to Lydia. "So here's how things are going to go down: the carriage should arrive late at night. I'll give you your invitation, then you get on the carriage. It'll take you right to the Thalmor's Embassy in the mountains. Understood?"

Lydia swallowed thickly and nodded. "Yes. I understand."

"Good. Order your rooms at the inn; I'll come here to pick you up when it's time to leave," Delphine said. Finally, the Blade left them and exited the inn entirely. Lydia watched the Breton woman go, before sighing and lowering her head, suddenly becoming interested in the wooden tabletop.

Archer put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey. Are you alright?" he asked concernedly, seeing her brooding look.

"Yeah," she replied, but the tone of her voice told him the opposite. "I'm fine. Just… a little nervous is all."

"Right," Archer told her, despite her body language telling him that perhaps she was more than just slightly nervous. Seeing her this way made him feel sick from guilt. He wanted nothing more than to comfort her, but what could he say that would assuage her fears? He thought about what he could do to quell her anxiety, or at least keep her mind off the Embassy.

At length, he suddenly asked: "Why don't you join me for a walk around the city? I heard that they have a college here for bards; we might be able to catch a performance or two if we dropped by."

She looked back up at him, and despite the obvious anxiety she felt, a small smile managed to creep onto her face. "Without my armor, I'm not going to look like much of a Housecarl, though," she replied, gesturing to the cotton tunic she wore. "It'll be strange to see the Thane of Whiterun walking around in his armor, with his bodyguard so inappropriately outfitted in comparison. It wouldn't be very proper, would it?"

He smiled back at her, rising from the table. "We don't need to be Housecarl and Thane, then. We can just be Archer and Lydia. How's that sound?" he asked, extending an inviting hand to her.

The small smile on her face grew slightly. "I think I'd like that," she replied, taking his hand and rising from the table. As they exited the inn and began making their way deeper into the city, Archer suddenly felt Lydia slip her arm around his armored one. The gesture made him glance down at their joined arms, then give her a questioning look.

"The man is supposed to lead the woman by her arm, right?" she asked. "If we're not going to be Housecarl and Thane, I may as well see what it's like to be a lady."

"So the Housecarl is curious to see what being treated like a lady is like?" Archer asked with an amused smirk. He stopped them by a flowering thistle bush, and gently plucked one of the purple blooms. "If I'm going to have to treat you like a lady, then you have to wear this," he told her jokingly, handing it to her.

She stared at the flower for a moment, cocking a brow at him. To his surprise, she actually tucked it in her hair, right behind her ear; she'd never struck him as the type of woman to walk around with a flower in her hair, but here she was, doing exactly that — she might've been a Housecarl, but she was clearly more than capable of showing femininity when she wanted.

"What do you think?" she asked tentatively, turning her head to let him see how the thistle flower looked in her hair.

Archer gave her a warm smile, briefly adjusting the bloom so it would remain securely in place. "I think it makes you look endearing… my Lady."

The compliment must've caught her off-guard, for a blush suddenly tinted her cheeks pink. The shy smile that she gave him at the comment nearly made his heart melt. He was all too aware that she was still anxious about the impending infiltration, but just knowing that he could alleviate her tension and bring her comfort when she truly needed it — even if it was just for the moment — filled him with immense joy. "Thank you, Archer," she said quietly.

"Shall we be off?" he asked, offering her his arm again. She took it, and the two of them resumed their walk in the city, arm in arm.

---

Solona had visited large cities before, but none of them — save for the Imperial City — had evoked a sense of grandeur or sheer size quite like Solitude did. Towering, black keeps stood sentinel over the entire city at regular intervals, the largest of which made up the main outpost of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim, Castle Dour. Red banners with the Wolf of Haafingar hung all around, flapping cheerily in the breeze. The whole place was abuzz with activity — it made her think that Solitude was quite inappropriately named.

The sheer size of the marketplace was a testament to just how wealthy the city was as well. After perusing the goods for a few minutes, the Imperial had been pleasantly surprised at the extent of the wares they had for sale; she'd even managed to find and purchase for herself a portable chess set. She doubted that Archer or Lydia knew how to play chess, but perhaps Balamus would give her a decent challenge. Maybe even Varan — he seemed like he could be the type, anyways.

In spite of the din in the marketplace, she just managed to catch the sound of someone speaking behind her. "You there, in the surcoat. Are you a mercenary?"

"I might be," Solona replied, tucking her latest purchase from the marketplace into her bag as she turned to face the speaker. She was greeted with the sight of a nervous-looking baldheaded man. "What's the matter? You look like you've seen better days."

"I'm from Dragon Bridge," the man explained quickly, "there's been some… disturbances coming from a big cave nearby. Evil things are happening in that place. I'm looking for someone to take care of it."

Solona cocked a brow at the man. "Disturbances? What kind of disturbances?"

"Eerie noises, strange lights, black magics!" the man told her. "I've already tried to petition Jarl Elisif to send someone to take care of it. She's put a bounty up for whoever wants to try and eliminate whatever is in the cave, but she doesn't seem too inclined to actually send someone. I'm afraid that if I don't find someone quickly, it'll be too late…"

Solona studied the man for a moment. He looked thoroughly unsettled. Either he was extremely paranoid and was simply imagining things, or whatever was happening in that cave gave him enough reason to be legitimately distressed. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. "Very well. I'll see if my companions are willing to go check it out."

Finding Balamus and Varan did not prove much of a challenge. The Dunmer was in the goods store, bartering with the shopkeep over the price of a rather thick book of some sort, and Varan was at the apothecary's shop, purchasing what appeared to be a vial of poison. Archer and Lydia were a more difficult prospect, however. They weren't back at the inn, and a circuit about the marketplace did not flush them out either. In the end, they'd managed to find them at the Bard's College.

When they found them, both Archer and Lydia were listening as an Imperial bard sawed away a spirited tune on a fiddle. The scene in itself would have not been surprising, were it not for several things: Archer's ferocious Housecarl had a thistle flower in her hair. Her arm and his were interlinked, a gesture more fit for a man and his lady rather than a Thane and his Housecarl. People were giving the two of them glares as they passed by, but the smiles on both of their faces was all she needed to know that either they didn't notice them or they didn't care in the slightest, which in itself was also surprising — the Imperial couldn't remember having seen Lydia smile at all the last few days.

After a few moments, the song ended, and the bard's two audience members clapped for him. As they tossed the man a couple of coins, the two of them suddenly noticed the sight of their approaching group and turned to face them. "What's up?" Archer asked as they approached. Solona noticed as Lydia discreetly pulled her arm away from Archer's and pretended as if nothing had happened.

The Imperial woman stepped forward. "We think we've gotten wind of a bit of work we could do. Something's happening at Wolfskull Cave, and we're going to check it out."

To her surprise, Archer didn't smile. Instead, he actually frowned. She knew well enough by now that Archer was never one to not leap at an opportunity to do something as adventurous as exploring a cave. He looked over at his Housecarl, who wouldn't be able to come along without her own armor.

"You go on ahead, Archer," she told him gently, answering his unasked question. "Your friends need you now."

He stared at her for a moment, before nodding. "Alright," he said tepidly. Archer laid a hand on Lydia's shoulder, almost as if to reassure her. "Take it easy. I'll see you later."

Seeing him finally leaving his Housecarl's side, the team began making their way out of the city. As they walked, however, Solona was aware of the way Archer looked back over his shoulder at Lydia, who stood looking back at him in return. He seemed so anxious, she thought. It was quite a drastic change from how happy he'd looked just a moment ago.

Sensing his unease, the Imperial slowed her pace to match his and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "She'll be fine, Archer," she told him. "Lydia's a strong woman. I'm confident that she'll do what she has to do, like she always has."

Archer stared at her silently, before nodding. "You're right," he sighed shakily, but she could tell that her words hadn't brought as much comfort as she'd hoped. He still looked terribly concerned over his Housecarl's wellbeing. It seemed as if the thought of her in stress made him feel stress, too. Being in Lydia's company must've brought him ease, if the way he kept looking back at where he'd left her, with an almost longing expression, was any indication. Then again, that had been true long before they'd came to Solitude. It sometimes seemed as if they were always happy when in each other's company…

Solona's thoughts suddenly clicked into place, and her eyes widened in realization. "You love her, don't you?" she asked quietly, just barely loud enough for Archer to pick out.

His eyes flew wide open, and he whipped his head around to stare at her in shock. The Imperial did not back down, meeting his gaze evenly, waiting for his answer. At last, Archer's expression scrunched slightly, almost as if in pain. Swallowing thickly, he nodded. "I think so. Yes."

Now it all made sense. Those smiles and jests, the look in their eyes when they were together, the ferocity with which they fought when the other was in danger. Recalling the looks on their faces from just a few moments earlier, she quickly found herself wondering how on earth she hadn't recognized it sooner.

"That certainly explains a bit," she remarked evenly, making sure not to speak so loudly so the others ahead wouldn't notice; Archer clearly didn't want to be heard. Fortunately, the two of them had slowed their pace enough so that the others were walking several feet ahead of them.

"So… what are you going to do? Have you talked to her about it?" she asked, looking at him.

Clearly, Archer seemed a bit uncomfortable speaking about the subject. He was hesitant to reply, but eventually he shook his head. "No, I… I haven't told her anything. I think she knows that I like her… but if she does, then she hasn't acted on that knowledge."

"Are you going to tell her, then? From what I can tell, she feels exactly what you're feeling; I don't think she'd refuse you."

Archer shut his eyes again, with that same pained expression from before. "…I don't know," he admitted quietly. "It just… it's supposed to be wrong. Taboo. All my life I grew up being told that in the eyes of Men, union with my kind is the greatest shame that can befall one. I don't want to bring that shame upon Lydia, but at the same time I can't deny that I…"

He swallowed thickly, evidently finding difficulty in speaking. "I want to be hers. I would gladly be hers, if she would have me."

The two were left in a pensive silence. At length, Solona spoke again: "Whatever it is you decide to do, Archer just know that I will give you my full support if you and Lydia decide to… court. I have no qualm with the thought of you two being together. I believe you should do what makes you happy, and be with whom you love. Even if that someone is Lydia."

The Argonian stared at her in astonishment, at a complete loss for words. He had probably never expected anybody to approve of such a thing. Archer eventually turned away from her with an abashed look. Solona sighed, but she decided not to prod him about the matter any further; he could make his own decision. She kept her focus up ahead, where she could see the tall, looming gates of Solitude in the distance.

"…Thank you, Solona," she suddenly heard Archer say in a quiet, grateful voice.

She shot him an encouraging smile. "Not a problem."

---

Wolfskull Cave had been marked on Solona's map by the nervous man from Dragon Bridge. Following the map, they eventually found themselves trekking up to the snowy foothills of the mountains due West of Solitude. In some places, the snow banks that had spilled out onto the cobblestone road were so deep that their horses nearly sunk into it up to their bellies. It was slow going.

"Do we even know where this place really is?" Archer asked aloud, scanning the face of the nearby mountain with evidently little success.

"It's supposed to be at the foothills here," Solona replied, glancing back down at her map.

"We might have very well passed it," Varan remarked, also keeping his eyes trained on the snowy underbrush. "Should be double back just to make—"

An arrow whistled out from the wooded area to their side, very nearly punching through Varan's skull. Solona heard Balamus let out a cry of "AMBUSH!" just as the snowy underbrush exploded from the force of the four skeletons charging through it, brandishing rusted iron swords, while their lone archer stayed back.

Solona cast an ice spear at the undead archer and eliminated the ranged threat. Balamus did the same to another with a firebolt, and Archer with lightning. Varan turned his mount and dug his heels into the flanks of his mustang, spurring the horse into a charge. A swing of his katana from horseback decapitated the first skeleton at nearly the same time that the horse smashed into the second one in a full-body tackle, instantly destroying the skeleton.

"Well, that was fun," Archer remarked dryly as they regrouped, bones strewn all around their horses' hooves.

"Getting ambushed isn't exactly my idea of fun," Balamus replied, shooting the piles of bones a baleful look.

Varan dismounted. "I have a feeling that these skeletons were guarding something — maybe the entrance to the cave we seek. Let's have a look."

The group dismounted and led their horses into the wooded area at the side of the road. After a short while of trudging through knee-high snow banks and brushing past snow-capped bushes, they caught sight of an opening on the side of the mountain.

"So this is the place?" Balamus asked as their group dismounted and neared the entrance of the cave.

Solona glanced back at her map. "Yup. Looks like it. Right where it says so on the map."

"You know, for a place called Wolfskull Cave I'd imagined that it'd be a little more… ominous. Not just a hole in the wall."

"It would've been a more ominous sight if it still had the skeletons that we just slew," Varan remarked.

"Hopefully those skeletons were the worst of what we'll find in this cave," Solona remarked grimly. "Come on, let's go."

Their company advanced into the cave, weapons drawn. Normally, Archer would've been at the head, but given his lack of a bow this time, he kept himself close to the rest of his companions. Solona walked nearly abreast of him, pole arm ready to thrust. To either side of her were Balamus and Varan, their footfalls almost completely silent. She felt out of place in her chain mail and steel plate armor, making more noise than anyone else in her group. She found herself drifting to the back, bringing up the rear as they made their way down the narrow passage.

It quickly became clear that this place was inhabited by living people. Torches lit up the first cavern they entered. A small cart filled with bones appeared in the first cavern, and bones were strung up by the entrance to the next passage, clearly serving as some sort of tripwire alarm system. They quietly made their way past, managing not to make the strung-up bones rattle and give them away.

"What do you think is in here?" Balamus asked sarcastically as he stepped around the strung-up bones. "Certainly not undead. Never mind the bones littering this place."

"Probably the most foul, cruel, and bad-tempered killer rabbit to ever live," Archer replied quietly.

"This is not the time for jokes, you two," Varan admonished quietly as he followed them.

The next tunnel was not as well lit as the last. Only a couple of torches lined the walls, leaving the cave in a dim light. Deciding that she'd rather not deal with the dark, Solona prepared to cast a Night Eye spell on herself. She would have done so had she not suddenly noticed the brilliant blue eyes shining furiously at them from out of the darkness.

Before she could shout out an alarm, the draugr stepped into their sight. The ancient Nordic claymore clutched in its right hand's grip glimmered dully in the torchlight as it charged at them. The wight raised its sword and uttered a guttural battle cry, only to be abruptly silenced by Varan's katana sweeping off its head. The lone body thudded heavily to the ground, and the head landed a moment after.

"Well, it's certainly no killer rabbit," the Dunmer remarked, staring at the decapitated body.

"I don't think he was the last of his type, either," Solona remarked grimly, gently resting her hand on Dawnbreaker's hilt, drawing reassurance from the feeling of Meridia's blessed weapon on her sword belt. She was Meridia's champion — she would be more than happy to rid the world of a few more undead.

Her thoughts were cut short when a lightning bolt slammed into her shoulder. The Imperial woman gave a cry of surprise as she nearly lost her balance, but the lightning bolt had only left a black scorch mark on the steel plate pauldron. She looked to see a pair of black-robed Necromancers standing at the end of the hallway, Destruction spells ready to be cast at them. Several draugr were also barreling towards them, brandishing ancient, rusted weapons.

Solona cast an ice spear at the mage that had shot her, but the necromancer's friend raised a ward and blocked it. The draugr quickly filled the span of the hallway, keeping her from taking aim at the necromancers again, so she gripped her halberd in two hands and charged headlong towards the approaching wights, alongside her companions.

Just as the first of the undead came into range, Solona lunged forward with her pole arm. She aimed high and skewered one of their heads on her weapon's spike, instantly killing it. The undead dropped, and immediately another lightning bolt shot down range and struck her in the chest this time, scorching her surcoat black but failing to penetrate the chain mail underneath. The angry Imperial sent her own arcane projectile at the necromancers, but the ward they erected once again shattered the ice spear she'd cast.

Fortunately for her, the rest of her company quickly finished off their respective foes. Once the final draugr lay dead they all charged at the necromancers, casting their arcane projectiles as they advanced. The mages' ward absorbed all their shots without trouble, and the necromancers shot a couple of ice spikes back at them in reply, most of which missed.

"WULD!"

Archer was suddenly right in front of one of the necromancers. The surprised woman had no time to react before the Argonian's Glass sword had cleaved into her shoulder, sinking past her collarbone. Her companion turned to launch a bolt of lightning at him, but a firebolt to the shoulder sent the man reeling, and the Dunmer who'd cast it finished the necromancer off with a longsword through the chest.

"Nice welcoming committee," Varan muttered as he stared at the dead bodies.

"Something bad is definitely happening here," Solona remarked as she caught up with them. "This many undead and necromancers in any one place is never a good sign. Let's keep going, see what these two were guarding — and if we meet any more draugr, remember to aim for the head; otherwise we'll be putting holes in the things all day and not fell a single one."

The team advanced deeper into Wolfskull Cave. They entered the cavern where they'd probably disturbed the two necromancers; a blazing fireplace sat to one side, and a door had been built into the cavern wall at the end of the chamber. The team went through the door an entered an open area full of snow from the hole in the cavern above, with a large sinkhole at the center.

Seeing how there was no other way through, they descended the natural cavern staircase, looping around several times before it ended in a sheer drop of about ten feet. Balamus cast featherweight spells on all of them, allowing them to take the drop without injury. Solona was the last one to touch down at the bottom of the sinkhole.

An ice spike shattered against the far wall to her right. A group of skeletons and draugr seemed to burst out of the gloom of the next tunnel, charging straight at them with a couple of necromancers at their heels. Solona powered up and then cast several ice spears at the approaching undead, felling two skeletons but feeling her magicka swiftly draining with each spell. Choosing to save her magicka for later, she took up her halberd and charged into the fray.

The first skeleton that approached her was easily taken out by a hewing chop into its ribcage. The draugr that followed it blocked her weapon with its shield and darted forward with its axe. Solona blocked the axe, then brought her halberd around to strike the side of its head with the other end of her weapon, stunning it long enough for her to stab it through its midsection and pin it to the floor. A quick ice spear through its exposed face ended the writhing creature. Pulling her weapon out, she looked up to survey the zone, just in time to catch the necromancers training their spells on her, orange flames burning in their hands.

Varan seemed to simply materialize out of nothingness, about the same time as one of the necromancers had his head swept off his shoulders by a katana. While the other two mages turned to face him in unison, Varan stabbed the closest one, grabbed the spitted man and then twisted both of them around just in time to have him catch the second necromancer's ice spike instead. Varan pushed the body aside and sent a lightning bolt into the other necromancer's face, blowing a chunk off the man's head.

Another skeleton was attacking her, and the Imperial had to bring her weapon up in time to stop its sword. Being too close to effectively use her pole arm, the Imperial instead lashed out with a gauntleted fist. The skeleton staggered backwards, and a quick cut with her halberd split its cranium open. Another draugr charged at her with a sword in its fist, but a thrust to its gaunt stomach stopped the thing in its tracks, allowing Varan to come up from behind and take its head off with his weapon. Solona looked around just in time to see Balamus splitting a draugr's skull in half with his longsword and Archer flipping a draugr over his shoulder, before ending the thing's afterlife with a stab through the head.

"What a fight," Solona panted, feeling her heart starting to thrum from her exertions. She looked around at all the dead draugr, piles of bones, and black-robed bodies that lay all around. "Why are there so many of them in this cave?"

"I guess we're going to find out soon enough," Archer replied, also panting slightly as he nudged his head towards the tunnel that led deeper into the cave. The group took a brief moment to catch their breath — which Solona used to drink a potion to refill her magicka pools — before moving forwards again, weapons drawn and magic at the ready.

As they advanced deeper, Solona could steadily feel a growing presence of an absolutely titanic source of magicka, larger than any she'd ever felt before. By the way Balamus suddenly began gripping his longsword more tightly, she knew she wasn't the only one who felt it. They descended further into the tunnel, and with each step she took Solona felt the magicka in the air grow until it became nearly a tangible presence — even Malkoran's horde of Corrupted Shades paled in comparison. At last, the team broke out of the tunnel and into the open air of the next cavern. The sight that greeted them made everyone gasp in abject shock.

The ruins of a massive underground fortress dominated the space in the gigantic cavern. Streams of bright blue and purple lights writhed and twisted like torrential rivers through the air, the sheer amount of magicka they emanated causing the very space around them to ripple and distort as they came together at one brilliant focal point: an intensely-bright orb of dark magicka suspended in the air, several feet above the crenellations of the subterranean fortress' keep. Despite the bright flare of magic, Solona could make out the tiny figures of several necromancers on the overlook, all gathered around the glowing orb.

"Holy crap," she heard Archer croak.

"Couldn't have said it better myself," Varan agreed, similarly in awe.

A voice suddenly seemed to resonate throughout the cavern; one of the necromancers was chanting. Something about a Wolf…

No, not a Wolf, Solona thought as she focused her hearing, they're saying… Wolf Queen…

Solona gasped in realization. "They're trying to summon Potema!"

"Who?" Archer asked, clearly unaware of the gravity of the situation.

"Potema Septim," Solona explained, attempting to call to memory what she'd read of her. "She was known as the Wolf Queen in life, queen of Solitude. She started a rebellion in the Third Era to try and seize the Septim Throne. She slew her own kin and fielded hordes of undead and summoned Daedra for her army."

Archer gave her a shocked stare. "And they're trying to bring her back to life? We need to stop them!"

"We can't just go in there! Who knows how many necromancers and undead there are?" Solona responded, shaking her head. "Something tells me that we're not going to be fighting their skeletal chambermaids."

Varan stepped forward, staring intently at the underground stronghold. Despite the gloom of the cavern beyond, he seemed to have little trouble picking out the tiny figures shuffling about in the darkness. After a moment of appraisal, he turned to them. "I count at least a score of necromancers, not counting all the draugr with them. It seems to me that the odds are definitely against us."

"But we can't turn back now; they might actually finish their summoning before we can send for help," Archer pointed out grimly. "We're going to have to finish this here and now."

Solona let out a tense sigh. "Okay, then… how do we go about doing that without us all dying?"

"We need to get to the top of that tower," Balamus said, pointing at the brilliant blue orb hanging above the fort's keep. "I think I see a staircase at the very bottom of the nearest tower that we can take to get into the actual ruins… But from what I can see, we'll get spotted before we come anywhere near it."

"I could take out the sentries on overwatch," Varan offered. "That'll let us get to the ruins without being detected."

"Sounds good," Archer responded, nodding. He turned to Balamus. "Care to help out with some fortification spells?" The Dunmer nodded in response, casting his cocktail of fortifying spells on everyone to enhance their abilities. The last one he fortified was Varan, with a slightly grudging look on his face that Solona found odd.

"Alright, Varan," Archer began as the elf finished fortifying him, "take out the first sentries, and give us the all-clear when it's safe to move up."

The Argonian nodded, then dropped to a crouch and advanced towards the massive stone ruins, his black leather armor and dark-green scales blending in nearly perfectly with the gloom of the cavern. Before long, he'd been completely enveloped by the darkness. Solona tried to catch sight of the Argonian's figure again, but after quickly determining that to be a useless endeavor she settled for scanning the figures of the numerous draugr or necromancers acting as sentries.

She saw as one by one, the nearest overwatch sentries began to fall. One necromancer who had been patrolling along the base of the stronghold keeled over with a throwing knife embedded in his neck, only for a clawed hand to grab the writhing man and drag him into the shadows. A few moments later, Solona barely managed to catch sight of Varan climbing up the side of the fort using the footholds in the stone, creeping up from below on an unwary draugr standing on the parapets. She saw Varan shoot up, grab the wight by the belt, and pull him over the side. The draugr didn't make a sound as it tumbled into the depths of the chasm below, never to be seen again.

She saw Varan give them the signal to approach. Very carefully, the three of them snuck towards the ruins, taking the path that went down from their ledge to the ground level of the fort, keeping their eyes out for any trouble all the while. Varan dropped down to join them, taking a scouting position ahead of the main group. It seemed that Varan had done his job well; no cry of alarm went up as they began closing the distance the base of the nearest tower.

It was simply unfortunate, then, that two necromancers had to walk out of the doorway at bottom of the tower in that very moment.

"Intruders!" shouted one of the necromancers, raising her hand to cast an armor spell on herself. Balamus' fireball incinerated both her and her comrade before either of them could defend themselves.

"Move!" Solona shouted, charging towards the stairs with her halberd in hand, leaving the others to follow behind. The four of them began taking the steps two at a time, their fortified strength propelling them forward with little difficulty. The sound of the guttural howls coming from both behind and up ahead only pushed them to move faster. They finally came upon an open vestibule at the top of the steps. After they went through the nearby entryway, Solona caught sight of more staircases leading upwards. A team of necromancers were hurriedly running down the steps, aiming Destruction spells at their group. They fired.

The Imperial woman swore loudly as she just barely avoided getting hit by a fireball, the searing heat nearly causing her skin to blister. The team retreated back into the tower they'd just come out from to take cover, but they were immediately greeted with the sight of a column of draugr charging up the steps to fight them. Solona quickly glanced around, breaking out into a cold sweat at what she saw. Out from the gloom of the cavern shone thirty pairs of glowing blue eyes, the glint of just as many ancient nordic weapons accompanying them. The draugr were swarming, converging on their position from both above and below in a truly nightmarish display of sheer numbers. They were everywhere.

Refusing to be cowed, Solona unleashed a freezing whirlwind of ice at the approaching horde coming from in front of them. The ice storm plowed into the crowd and stopped the main draugr charge. Balamus and Varan contributed their own Destruction spells to the mix, sending charred limbs flying with each chain lightning or fireball cast. Archer chose to take care of the ones approaching from the stairs behind them with a Shout. The might of his Voice shook the tower to its very foundations, and alongside the sound of draugr being forcibly thrown into the walls and sent tumbling to the base of the small tower by his attack, Solona swore she could hear the stone crack under the force.

A volley of arcane projectiles from the necromancers shot past them and shattered against the wall of the tower behind them. Solona cringed at the sound of ice shattering mere feet behind her, but she didn't have a clear enough line of sight on the casters to slay them. More arcane projectiles slammed all around the fighters, disorienting her as she tried to deliver return fire, and making the job of keeping the approaching draugr at bay that much more difficult.

Priming a fireball in his hand, Balamus shouted out, "Varan! Let's take out the mages on the stairs! Midair burst!"

Solona had no idea what the Dunmer meant by that. Varan, however, seemed to know exactly what the elf was talking about. The Argonian swiftly decapitated a draugr that had gotten too close, before priming a lightning bolt in his hand and facing Balamus. "Do it!" he shouted.

Balamus extended his arm and shot a fireball into the air, in the direction of the necromancers. Varan tracked the fireball for a split-second to take its lead, before launching his own projectile. The bolt of lightning streaked directly into the path of the fireball. Solona watched in awe as Varan's lightning bolt intercepted it in midair, causing the two arcane projectiles to explode right above the mages' heads. Most of the necromancers were instantly incinerated by the unexpected attack, and the rest of them were thrown off their feet. How were they able to coordinate that so well? she wondered, in awe, as Varan moved to finish off the remainder of the necromancers.

Thankful for the respite from the arcane assault, Solona continued to cast spell after spell into the approaching horde of wights, felling draugr by twos and threes with powerful but magically-costly frost spells, Balamus contributed his own fireballs and tore them apart with explosions, and both Argonians lent a hand with lightning spells. Being the weakest spell-caster of the group, however, Archer became more focused on dealing with the draugr attempting to flank them, hewing off limbs and heads with his Glass sword or blowing them away with his Voice. He managed to catch sight of a draugr actually climbing up the sheer side of the chasm to reach them. A Shout promptly sent the undead over the side again.

The Destruction magic and Archer's Shouts managed to keep the enemies at bay for a while, but the defenders began to waver. The swarm of undead drew closer with each passing moment, their numbers falling quickly, but not quickly enough to keep them away forever. At last, Solona attempted to cast a spell, only to find that no magicka would come to her — she'd drained her reserves. Soon enough, Varan and even Balamus seemed to run low on magicka. Before long, the warriors were forced into close quarters as the still numerically superior draugr closed the distance.

Two draugr approached Solona at the same time, brandishing rusted, ancient nordic weapons. One of them recklessly charged at her, allowing her to step to the side and cleave its leg off at the knee when it drew close. As the wight landed heavily, she moved her halberd in time to stop the second one's claymore as it came in from the other side. She twisted her halberd around and slammed the blade into its skull before it could pull away.

The one-legged draugr returned, clutching her boot with one hand while the other held its sword. She kicked off the creature and drove her steel-shod heel into its skull with magically-fortified strength, brutally crushing it underfoot. A guttural cry alerted her to a draugr that had gotten close while she'd been distracted. Suddenly there was a bright flash as a lightning bolt blew its head apart, and the thing fell lifelessly to the ground. Shooting Archer a nod in thanks, the Imperial woman moved to deal with a mace-wielding draugr approaching her.

Solona fought on, stabbing and slashing with her halberd at any undead that came in range, always aiming for the head to ensure an instant kill. Despite the magic fortifying her body, she quickly began tiring from moving around so much in her armor, and every so often she found herself being forced to let her chain mail take a hit. The others quickly began to show signs of fatigue as well, their movements slowing and becoming less precise. She even heard Archer begin to Shout, only for the Argonian to cough hoarsely as his throat seized unexpectedly. He needed a moment to recompose himself and initiate the Shout again. This time he was successful, but it was clear that the power of his Shouts had decreased since the start of their fight.

Solona redirected her attention to the draugr that was currently approaching her, not even a second after she'd just slain one of its kin. Solona adjusted the grip on her halberd and swung at it. The undead parried her weapon with its greatsword, as well as the follow up slash she sent afterwards. She pulled her weapon back and thrust at its head, but with almost contemptuous ease the wight swung its great blade in an arc to meet it, pinning the head to the ground, before it smashed its heel against the shaft. She felt her weapon jerk in her hands, and a moment later she was armed with naught but a glorified stick, the steel head of her pole arm lying on the ground.

The draugr advanced again, but instead of retreating, the Imperial woman slugged the undead in the chest with her improvised quarterstaff. The thing stumbled backwards a step, but before it could attack her again she dropped the hardwood shaft, unsheathed Dawnbreaker, and stabbed it with the sword. The undead released a guttural cry of pain as its papery skin caught flame, before the light of its glowing blue eyes was extinguished and the body went limp.

Invigorated by the feel of the blessed weapon in her hands, the Imperial woman charged into the nearest draugr and cut it down as well, and the one after that. The blade flashed a brilliant gold with each swing of the weapon. Each time her radiant sword struck undead flesh, flames leapt out from the blade and drained the undead of whatever magicka kept them animated — she was by far the most effective killer of the undead in their group. Dawnbreaker's circular cross guard shone brightly amidst the gloom of the cavern as she continued fighting, adding its own ethereal light alongside that coming from the multiple burning draugr that her blade touched.

And then it was all over, so suddenly that she nearly attacked Archer when he stepped close to check on her. When she looked around after realizing that the battle had been won, Solona found herself standing in the midst of all the carnage; about forty dead bodies lay on the ground all around. Most of them draugr, but several necromancers lay dead as well, pools of red spreading out from their bodies. Archer's voice was raspy as he asked them if they had any injuries that needed healing. After taking care of several nasty bruises and a few cuts, they took a short break to catch their breath before moving on.

The company went up a flight of stairs and resumed making their way towards the tower. More draugr and necromancers drove forward to engage them, but it was clear that they'd already slain the bulk of the enemy's forces in the fierce melee just earlier. They encountered minimal resistance as they approached the tower. As they advanced, they quickly found out that the Necromancers were not simply trying to summon Potema, but bind her to them. Solona wasn't sure if that was better or worse, but she quickly decided that it didn't matter; they were going to be stopped anyways.

At last, they reached the tower where the necromancers were performing their ritual. The team began to scale the tower. Solona quietly sheathed Dawnbreaker and loaded a quarrel into her crossbow, intent on nailing at least one of the mages before any of them had a chance to react.

Just before their group reached the top, they heard one of the necromancers ask, "Wait a minute, is someone there? Did you kill the intruders yet?"

In reply, Solona pushed past Archer and Balamus, stepped into the sight of the four Necromancers standing around a strange altar of some sort — all of them staring at her with looks of utter surprise — and calmly sent a quarrel into the chest of the nearest one, standing a few yards away.

As the black-robed man fell with a strangled cry, the other necromancers turned to shoot her. A ward suddenly sprang to life right in front of Solona just in time to protect her from the arcane barrage. She had no time to thank Archer before he was rushing headlong at the nearest necromancer, rending his chest open with a swipe of his malachite blade. Varan and Balamus charged past her to kill the final two mages.

An ice spike hissed past Varan, barely missing the reptile's head as he vaulted onto the altar. Varan replied in kind by leaping off the altar and sinking his katana into the offending man's chest as he landed. As the Argonian quickly wrenched his blade out of the body, the final necromancer attempted to shoot lightning at him. Hellsting suddenly cleaved through his outstretched hand and chopped it off at the wrist. The now-burning ritual master screamed as Balamus grabbed him by the front of his robes in one hand, lifted him, and threw him off the ramparts to plummet to the ground thirty feet below.

Just as they heard the body make impact, the orb of magic hanging overhead shone brilliantly for a split second, before dissipating entirely. The twisting arcane rivers disappeared, and the whole place was suddenly enveloped by the natural gloom of the cavern, the feeling of magicka in the air swiftly decreasing until there was nothing left. The four of them remained staring up at where the orb of energy had been just moments ago, before they all let out a relieved sigh. It was finally over.

"I'd say that's a job well done," Archer commented hoarsely, clearing his throat.

"That was the hardest fight I've ever been in," Varan remarked tiredly. "I'm not used to this sort of thing… If this is what you people consider fun, then I'm not sure if I like it." The remark didn't sound entirely like a jest.

"Come on guys, let's get out of here. I want to get back to the city before nightfall," Solona suggested tiredly. Everyone nodded their agreement, but it was clear that Archer was the most eager to return to Solitude out of everyone. The Argonian walked ahead of everyone else as they began making for the exit.

Eager to return to Lydia, aren't you? Solona thought with amusement. She couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face; perhaps she'd read too many novels, but she'd always had a predilection for forbidden romances... Or maybe she was just weird.

---

It seemed that they couldn't have gotten to Solitude too soon. All throughout their return trip, Archer's thoughts had been of Lydia, hoping that she was doing alright. How had she fared by herself, without him there to help distract her from the thoughts of the Embassy infiltration? When they'd entered the city again, the sky overhead had begun to turn dark. After they'd gone to the Blue Palace to report everything they'd seen to Jarl Elisif the Fair — who very graciously paid and thanked them for their work — he'd all but run for the doors of the Winking Skeever.

The Argonian pushed the doors to the inn open, but a quick glance around the common room did not reveal his Housecarl. Archer made his way over to the bartender and asked if he'd seen a woman matching her description around.

The barkeeper's expression softened morosely. "You know her?" he asked. "The poor girl walked into the bar around midday, I remember. Ordered a mead, but she seemed too deep in her own misery to even drink. She wouldn't talk to me when I decided to ask. She went up to her room a few hours ago, looking like she had one foot in the grave. If she's your friend, then I suggest taking her to a healer — might be she's sick."

The news had come like a blow to the stomach for Archer. Something was terribly wrong with her. After asking which room she'd taken, the Argonian went up the steps and searched for her room. Before long, he found himself standing outside the door to Lydia's chamber.

He rapped firmly on the door. "Lydia? Are you in here?" Archer asked. When he didn't receive a reply after a few moments, he knocked again. More silence. After a few seconds of waiting, he heard the lock being undone, and the door creaked open. The person that greeted him was not like the woman he remembered, however.

Lydia stood at the threshold of her room with a drained, haggard look on her face. Her green eyes looked hollow, devoid of life, like a candle that had been snuffed out. The braid in her hair had been completely undone by fretful fingers. He could catch a tiny whiff of mead lingering in her scent from her time in the bar. Archer could only stare at her in astonishment for a moment. His words had left him.

The Nord's eyes widened slightly when she realized it was him. When she spoke, however, her voice was much more quiet than he would have expected. "Archer, you're back. How did everything go?"

After another moment of astonished silence, he rallied and gave his reply. "We took care of the problem at the cave… may I come in?"

Lydia pushed open the door to allow him entrance. The Argonian entered her room and sat on the bed, and after closing the door behind her Lydia came to sit beside him. The two remained sitting side by side, studying each other. He finally noticed that she was holding the thistle flower he'd given her, gently twirling it by the stem between her fingers. After a while, Archer spoke again. "Lydia… what happened to you?"

The Nord woman seemed to deflate. "I'm not feeling well…"

She didn't elaborate. Archer opened his mouth to speak, but she spoke first. "I can't keep pretending that I can do this, Archer. I keep thinking about the infiltration, and I can't help but think that this is just too much for me. I can't do it, Archer, I just can't…"

"Yes you can," he told her firmly. "Don't doubt your own abilities, Lydia. This will be easy for you. Remember that we've done our fair share of sneaking around together. It'll be just like those times, except you'll have quieter armor, and a bow. You'll make it out of there."

"How are you so sure?" Lydia demanded with surprising vehemence, startling him. "I'm not a spy, I was never meant to be a spy! I'm a Housecarl, for Talos' sake! A warrior! Give me a sword and an enemy to fight and I'll kill them, but put me in a room full of Thalmor and ask me to pretend I'm someone I'm not and snoop around discreetly…"

The amount of fear in his Housecarl's eyes shocked Archer. He'd never seen her in such torment. He'd never thought her capable of being brought so low by her own fear. The hunted, almost frenzied look in her eyes made the guilt pangs return painfully.

"They'll figure me for a spy the moment I step into that Embassy," she continued, nearly babbling now. "I can't play out the role of a noble! I'm not a Jarl or a Thane, they'll know that something is wrong the moment they realize they've never heard of me. They'll know, and they'll capture me… I'm never going to leave that place alive…"

Archer took one of her hands in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "Come on, Lydia, pull yourself together," he murmured, distraught by just how anxious she seemed. "You're stronger than this. You're a smart woman, and easily one of the most capable people I know. I know that this seems like a big deal, but—"

She suddenly threw her arms around him in a tight hug. "Archer… I'm scared…" she blurted out, pressing her cheek against his. "I'm going to fail, and they're going to kill me… I don't want to die in that place… I don't want to go…"

Archer was poleaxed by the confession. She continued to choked out a litany of incoherent admissions of worry and dismay as she held him tightly, as if fearing that he would dissipate like smoke in the open wind. Dumbstruck, the Argonian simply wrapped his arms securely around her body to return her embrace, doing his best to offer her comfort.

She isn't just scared, he thought numbly. She's absolutely terrified. He could not remember the last time he'd seen Lydia cry so openly. She seemed so weak and vulnerable, nothing like the fierce and proud Housecarl he'd always known her to be. Her anxiety was more grievous than he'd ever suspected.

In that moment, as he held his Housecarl close to his chest while she blurted out her every fear into his listening ear, giving her all the comfort he was capable of giving, he knew. The power of it was astonishing, enough to make the Voice seem weak in comparison. And the pain it caused… it was enough to make his heart feel close to bursting. There was no more doubting it. He loved her.

The stories spoke about love as being something heady and wonderful… but there was nothing pleasant about the pain he was feeling now.

"They're going to kill me," she whimpered into his ear, her vice-like grip on him never loosening. "I'm going to fail my duty to you and pay for it with my life."

"No." Archer pushed her away only enough for her to look into his eyes and see just how certain he was of his own words. Confidence strengthened his voice and projected a sense of ease into his tone as he spoke again. "You will not die. You will survive, and you will succeed. You've never been one to fail your duty. Whatever needs to be done, I know that I can count on you to do it, because you are the most able woman I know."

She was staring at him with surprise in her eyes. His tone softened as he tried sounding as reassuring as possible. "You shouldn't doubt yourself like this, Lydia; you've never been one to just lay down and give up. Even if you don't believe in your own abilities, know that I do. I know you will not fail. There is nobody I would think more capable of going into that place and coming out alive than you. The Thalmor won't take a second glance at you. You're just another Nord they have to entertain for the sake of politics — they'll be totally oblivious to your true intentions. Those arrogant sons-of-horkers won't suspect a thing. You'll go in there and find those dossiers, just like Delphine told us, and you'll be back before the sun even rises on the morrow. I have utmost confidence in you, Lydia. I believe in you."

The Nord woman seemed unable to reply for a moment, staring back at him in awe. "You truly have such great confidence in me, Archer?" she breathed after a moment.

Archer nodded, bringing a hand to gently cup her chin. "Yes. I do."

Without further preamble or forethought, he leaned forwards and kissed her.

He heard Lydia gasp as his lips met hers. Her lips were the softest things he'd ever felt, and he loved the contrasting feel between them. When his gaze met hers, he could see the surprise in her eyes. When he finally realized what he was doing, his eyes flew wide open in shock, and he pulled away from his stunned Housecarl.

"Shouldn't have done that," he murmured shakily, standing up from the bed. "I-I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I'll just go now—"

Lydia shot up from the bed, grabbed his wrist, and yanked him back with surprising strength. Archer stumbled and caught himself on her shoulders. When he regained his composure, he found himself face-to-face with his Housecarl, her green eyes meeting his golden ones, fixing him with a look that rendered him speechless.

"Shut up and kiss me again," she muttered under her breath, grabbing his face and roughly pulling him down for another kiss.

Their lips crashed together. Archer's eyes flew open again, but this time he didn't pull away. He found himself kissing her back, tilting his head and pressing his mouth back against hers as best as he could. He didn't think about how awkwardly their mouths fit together — all his focus was on how their mouths felt together. He acted without conscious thought, one hand snaking around her waist to pull her close and the other rising to grip the back of her head. No sense of better judgment stopped him; his rational self had been completely silenced, succumbing to instinct and raw desire.

When he felt her hands undoing the latches on his armor, his own moved to automatically assist her; that much, at least, his mind could still understand. Together they managed to pry the upper half of his armor off his body and even his shirt, but they didn't get much further than that before she'd pulled him backwards onto the bed, leaving him lying on top of her. Her hands returned to his face and pulled him down for another kiss. While his arms were preoccupied with supporting his weight on top of her, she began to explore him. Her hands gently ran down to the small of his back and caressed his sides. He groaned lowly into her mouth when she lightly dragged her nails down his chest and towards his navel, making the fire in his gut billow like a forge.

They broke apart for air. Archer pulled back from their kiss breathless and speechless. Lydia looked back up at him, just as breathless as him, a pink blush tinting her cheeks. He could still tasteher on his tongue. There was a jagged gash on the side of her mouth, where his tooth had accidentally cut her, but somehow the Nord didn't seem to notice it. The sight of Lydia beneath him, ready to pull him down again, only served to increase the nearly overwhelming lust he was feeling.

"Please, Archer," she breathed, running a tender hand down his cheek. "I want you."

Her words seemed to finally break him out of his stupor. Slowly, rational thought began to trickle back. The gravity of what they had just done settled gradually. After another moment of inaction, the Argonian spared some of his magicka to heal the bleeding cut he'd inflicted on her, then rose and awkwardly clambered off of Lydia.

"A-Archer?" he heard her ask as he set about picking up his discarded shirt. "What's wrong?"

He stopped, and released a distraught sigh. "We… shouldn't have done that," he murmured in reply.

"What do you mean?" Lydia asked, still breathless, as she got to her feet.

Archer stared back at her incredulously. "You're kidding… Lydia, look at us! Don't tell me you can't see how… how wrong this is! We can't… I mean… it should be obvious!" he exclaimed, gesturing between the two of them wildly. "I'm an Argonian, and you're not. We should not be doing what we just did. It's… wrong."

Lydia gave him a sad look. "You think that what we feel is wrong, Archer?" she asked softly.

He released a melancholic sigh. "That's what I've grown up all my life being told," he muttered quietly. "Anything I feel for a non-Argonian is sinful, blasphemous, wrong."

"It isn't." The firmness of her voice startled him. "These feelings are not wrong, Archer."

"That depends on who you feel it for, doesn't it?" he countered. He shut his eyes with a pained look; if she couldn't see exactly why they couldn't do this, then he was going to have to spell it out for her right here, right now.

"Lydia, listen to me," he began gravely, "If anything were to happen between us… anything like this… I mean, just think about what would happen to you! Your name would be vilified, people would scorn and shun you! Your honor would suffer as well."

He swallowed, then lowered his head morosely. "I don't want to bring that upon you, Lydia," he croaked, finding it difficult to speak without his voice cracking. "I know how much your honor means to you — I don't want to be the cause of its ruin."

"Archer, do you think I honestly care for my honor more than for you?" she asked. "Because I don't."

"Well, maybe you should."

"I don't want to!" she snapped, clenching her hands into fists. "Others may say what they will, but I will tell them this: there is no dishonor in loving someone. If loving you means dishonor upon me, then I will gladly give up my seat in the Feast Halls of Sovngarde — else, I'd find myself surrounded by infuriatingly narrow-minded and bigoted people for all eternity."

The gravity of her words hit Archer hard. He knew how much Lydia had worked to build up her honor, and yet she was willing to go so far as to forfeit it for his sake. By the way she stood tall and unflinchingly, he knew that she did not regret a word of what she'd said. The realization made his mouth go dry.

"We can't do this," Archer croaked, feeling tears threatening to well up; he desperately wanted to believe that they had a chance, but… "It'll never work."

"Why not?" she asked softly.

"Lydia, open your eyes!" he growled as he rounded on her, fixing the Nord with a miserable glare. His eyes were misty, but he didn't have enough presence of mind to wipe the tears away. "Look at who you're talking to! I am not someone you can have such feelings for! I'm not a Nord, I'm not an Imperial, I'm…"

He shut his eyes in pain and buried his face into his hands so she wouldn't see him cry. "I'm an animal," he finally uttered, running a hand over his teary eyes. "I'm a blasted animal, don't you see?! You cannot love an animal!"

When he looked up at her again, he could only see profound sorrow in her eyes. "Is that what you truly think you are, Archer? An animal?" she asked quietly.

He sighed tremulously, casting his gaze down as he began to recall the many aspects of racial prejudice that he'd suffered throughout his life, simply by virtue of being born an Argonian. People spat in his wake, called him harsh names, and made cruel mockeries and japes behind his back. He considered himself fortunate if they merely thought him a brute or a dimwit. He had long since endured such things, so they no longer bothered him — but the thought of Lydia being subjected to the same treatment, possibly by her own friends turned against her, was unbearable. He'd caused her enough grief up to this point; he did not want her to suffer any more because of him.

His voice came out in a harsh, pained whisper as he answered. "What does it matter what I think? Why does my opinion matter in the face of so many others, all of which oppose mine? People see me, and their first inclination is not to think of me as a fellow person; they immediately think lizard, or reptile, or beast…"

Anger flashed across the Nord woman's face. "You are no beast," Lydia said sharply, scowling angrily. "Archer, when I look at you, I do not see an animal. I do not see a cold and unfeeling creature."

He found her hand suddenly cupping his chin, gently lifting his head so that she could look into his eyes. Her voice was soft when she spoke again. "When I look at you, I see a man. I see someone of intelligence, capable of thought and reason, compassion, kindness… I do not see an animal, Archer. I see you." Almost shyly, her hand reached out and clasped his. He didn't pull away.

"But Lydia… what if it doesn't work?" Archer asked uncertainly.

"But what if it does?" Lydia asked. Her other hand suddenly came up to gently caress his cheek, running her fingertips along the smooth, cool scales. At length, she sighed. "I know it won't be easy making this work, Archer. I know not what obstacles we'll encounter, and the road ahead of us may very well be fraught with them… but I'm willing to try. For you, I'm willing."

He said nothing as he locked gazes with her. His hand did not pull away from hers; instead, he began to intertwine their fingers, feeling the contrast of her smaller, smoother hand against his larger, rougher one. His heart was hammering in his chest, and his throat felt completely dry.

"Archer," Lydia said, "I love you."

Such simple words, but they made his heart soar. He swallowed roughly, and after mustering all his courage, he replied, "And I love you, Lydia."

Lydia held Archer's gaze for another long moment. Then she stepped forward, took his face into her hands again, and pulled him into a tender kiss. In that instant, as her mouth met his again, the final vestiges of his resistance crumbled into dust. He sighed with relief, feeling the rush of catharsis throughout his body as he finally gave in to his heart's desires. This time their kiss wasn't rushed and frantic, but slow and sweet, in spite of the undeniably awkward fit of their mouths. He took his time, savoring their moment together, kissing her gently, lovingly. His hands slipped around her back and waist and pulled her close, while hers left his face to rest on his chest.

Lydia became adventurous as they continued, running her hands over his chest and back, exploring the feel of him. His own did not remain idle; he caressed her side and smoothed out the contours of her body with care. His breath hitched when he felt one of her hands running down his abdomen and stopping just shy of his still-armored lower body.

He pulled away before she could go further. "Are you sure you want to do this? I… don't have much experience with women…"

She gave him a reassuring smile. "And I haven't had any experiences with Argonians. I guess that means that we'll stumble along blindly together, then."

Very slowly, despite the slight insecurity he felt — he'd always been convinced that humans never found his kind attractive — a smirk crept onto his face. "I'm all for learning on the go, if you are."

"I am," she breathed, her sultry voice sending shivers down his spine. The teasing hand on his belly dipped low to tug at his belt. "Now, let's get the rest of this armor off, shall we?"

---

Well, there it is, guys. It took 25 Chapters and three years, but now the fic has finally earned its right to bear its "Romance" genre tag. You guys seriously have no idea how strong the urge was to name this chapter "IT'S ABOUT F*&%ING TIME"… but if I'd done that, then I might've given it away. Now to see if I can keep up the romance without being sickeningly sweet or otherwise unrealistic.

Anyways, that's it for Chapter 25, folks. As always, leave a review if you enjoyed reading this!