Author's Note: I used the website: . , for dragon language translations. It will pop in and out of the forthcoming chapters.

Enjoy! :)

[-][-][-][-][-]

She ran her hands along the old oak finish of the piano. It had been her grandmother's. The warm memories of her summer vacations with them swelled to the surface. She smiled fondly.

Lifting the casement, she popped her knuckles and started with something slow and haunting; Moonlight Sonata. She had taken piano lessons for years, and continued after her grandmother had died. She closed her eyes…the movements and hand positions came naturally.

She loved music, but was, at best, adequate. One of her childhood friends, Mark, had went on to eventually earn a spot with the New York Philharmonic. Whenever she was in the area, she would always try her best to see him, usually getting a free pass to sit in on a practice session.

"You underestimate your talent."

Keys slammed, and a series of wrong notes resonated briefly. She looked around. Her apartment was empty, nothing out of place or different: the window with the crack in its left pane; the hole where Angela had accidently punched her phone through the wall…drunk.

She felt a body rub her pajama pants.

"Well good morning to you too, Lord of the Mice. Does his majesty require sustenance?"

Lucky meowed in response, and slowly padded towards the kitchen. She had brought him home from the pound over two years ago. He was already an old cat, but his owner had died…their kids wanting nothing to do with the lovable fur ball.

She had to up her inhaler usage, but it was well worth it.

The lights flickered on in her tiny kitchen. This was the first place of her own. Andy had tired of roommates and the drama that came with them. It was a cozy one bedroom on the western outskirts of the city. A bit of a hike, but having her own space was well worth the commute.

It was all she needed, she didn't own a lot of things, and preferred it that way.

She popped another cup in the Kureg, setting her mug underneath before hitting Start. Opening up the bottom cupboard, she hauled Lucky's giant bag of food out, giving the already fat cat a heaping amount.

Swiping her mug, she breathed in the smell of not so great mocha. It'll do.

Walking back to the living room, she glanced over by the window again.

"Ahh!", she dropped her mug.

There was a man, sitting on her couch, legs crossed on the coffee table. He was wearing the same tunic and pants from the last time she saw him.

"You…"

She went back in the kitchen to grab a towel, and threw it down on top of her shattered cup.

"You. OUT. I don't care how you got here, out of my house!"

Why was he there? He wasn't real. It was all a bad dream.

"Your house?"

The scenery changed, and she found herself standing in an expansive great room made of stone. Statues of dragon heads poked out from the side columns, lifting the weight of the large, arched dome above her head. Torches aligned the walls, and great stone basins of fires were strung from the ceiling by chains.

In front if her, the man was seated on an ornate stone throne. He was nonchalantly stretched out, propped up on the left arm of the chair.

She looked down at her bare feet. She was still in her SpongeBob pajamas.

"Welcome…to my house."

Disgust painted her face. She turned around to walk off.

Except…there were no doors. Or windows. There was nothing. Even further pissed, she went back to the man, now standing.

He was wearing a long robe, with fine embroidery and adornments of silver. A mask covered his face, but it was different than the one he wore when she first met him. It had sharp angles, filling a more hardened, elliptical shape, with hollowed eyes. It radiated a bluish aura.

"Have you realized what this is, dii lovaas lokraan."

She had no idea what that meant, and didn't care. He was looming over her…almost mockingly.

"Yeah, I figured it out." She grabbed his arms and rammed her knee in his crotch.

Miraak woke up in pain, coughing. Across the camp fire, Valdras raised an eyebrow, then shook his head and turned over on his bedroll.

[-]

Andy had her fill of Markarth, and everything that went along with it. Argis had finally returned, and to her surprised, with a violin in his hands. The Bard's college was thrilled when they saw her pathetic attempt at a blueprint, and went about crafting it immediately.

She pulled it out of the special box they had made. They even threw in some rosin, and she quickly went about spreading it on her bow.

The piece glided across the strings.

Perfect. The sound was deep and rich. The notes flew off her hands as she did a small portion of Bach's Chaconne. They echoed in the massive fortress, granting an even more eerie and bombast presence to the few new trainees, practicing in the depths below.

Satisfied, she put it back in the case.

She had agreed to travel with Serena to Dawnguard's strong hold, south east of Riften. Serena was itching to get back to them and report on a new vampire den she had stumbled across in the Reach. Andy had been eager to get away from the bad memories that seemed to litter that cursed town.

She touched the pendant hanging off her neck.

Serena had talked her into wearing the goddamn thing, because of some "magic properties" it apparently resonated.

She didn't feel any different wearing it. Maybe more stupid.

She had sold the box it came in to that old scrooge in Markarth. Usually he was tight fisted and greedy, the type to squeeze a turd out of a buffalo nickel, but when she walked in tossing the box on the counter, he basically started pouring gold coins over her head out of buckets.

Guess it was some sort priceless piece of shit, after all.

It felt like dirty money. She told Serena to take whatever she wanted, and instructed Thonar to send the rest to Calcelmo, to help fund his research efforts. Andy had always made her own way in life, and worked just like everyone else. She didn't need to leech off of some arrogant pirate that felt guilty over a bad decision to roll in the hay with her.

Even though it had been the best roll she'd ever taken in hay. She grabbed at the scar on her shoulder.

A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. In walked Serena and Vilkas. He had met up with them outside Falkreath during their carriage ride from Markarth to Dawnguard, and insisted on "escorting two beautiful ladies to their destination".

She had physically gagged after the words left his mouth.

"We're heading into Riften, interested?"

She really wasn't. Riften smelled like the inside of a port-a-john on the Fourth of July. Not to mention it was crawling with gangs and shoplifters. However, the lingering thoughts in her mind begged for a distraction, even if that distraction came in the form of a sewer city.

In the absence of her gun, she had been introduced to the "Dwemer Crossbow". She even modified the bolt heads for a larger impact, which would cause additional tearing (the original ones were designed more for target practice, and not for killing). It was about as close as she'd get to her old weapon.

According to Serena, Valdras had discovered the ancient blueprints and handed them over to the illuminati group to replicate. This was a few years back when her and Valdras would travel together constantly, to the bane of Michelle. Serena would laugh, saying "Michelle thought we were having an affair, and I woke up one morning surrounded in garlic cloves."

The crossbow was strapped across her back as they entered the inn. She felt very Robin Hood'ish.

The Men in Tights version, but Robin Hood, none the less.

They sat down at the table. Vilkas had wanted to come and talk to the blacksmith about repairing his weapon. He had banged it up good while trying to assist training the Dawnguard initiates the other day. Apparently he had a love affair with his two-handed great sword, and the Dawnguard blacksmith wasn't worthy enough to touch such a priceless relic. The one in Riften was not near as good as what Whiterun employed, but he was much better than what Dawnguard offered, at least, according to Tweedle-dick.

She caught a pair of green eyes staring at her.

Oh no. Not him.

"Oh shit…Serena, we're married."

Serena's eyes almost popped out of her head. "What?!"

A shadow filled up the right side of her vision.

"Aye lass, fancy meeting you here."

Andy looked up slowly, with her best attempt to fake a smile. "Why, yes, fancy meeting you here too."

It was Brynjolf: this planet's equivalent to a human dog. She imagined that he had no less than five STDs at any given moment. He was also shady and a thief. She put her hand over her front pocket, for good measure. This was not her first run in with the red-head, and she knew she wasn't lucky enough for it to be the last.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms. Mason? And, lass, who is this lovely lady next to you?"

He delicately lifted Serena's hand, kissing the top of it. "Charmed." Serena had quite the "unenthused" look.

"This is my wife. We decided to come here to get married."

He dropped Serena's hand, doing a double take between the two.

"Oh wow, lass, uh, well, congrats is in order?" His eyebrows were partially raised. It seemed like he wanted to make an immediate exit, since what he came over for had instantly disappeared. Andy smiled on the inside, satisfied that her ruse worked.

The luck she thought she possessed took a quick flush down the toilet once Tweedle-dick decided to barge back in the bar, pulling up a chair to Serena, and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"Balimund said he'd be done with it before the end of the day."

Andy face palmed. She didn't even bother to look up.

"Married, huh lass?"

She let her head thump on the table. "It's complicated."