Turdas, 25 Evening Star 208 4E 2:00 PM

Lydia took a deep breath as she shifted in her meditative pose. She could hear the murmur of other prisoners of Castle Dour through the walls. Even after a few months, her presence still made them nervous. There were no other Stormcloaks here-only thieves, bandits, and murderers. The Imperial Legion had not been kind in taking prisoners when retaking their territory.

A notable side effect of hiring the Brotherhood to do their dirty work.

Personally, the Nord found it an insult to be left in the same place as these no good ruffians. She wasn't some common criminal. She wasn't even a criminal. Not really. She was just someone who was trying to save the people of Skyrim.

At least they had given her a private cell. Lydia didn't think she could have tolerated the first few weeks with a cellmate. There would have been either endless questions or some attempt to show who was the bigger bitch, and Lydia hadn't had the energy or patience for either.

Much of her time had been spent lying on her bed in an almost catatonic state. She had felt lost like she was floating on an endless sea with no hope of land in sight. She had lost her jarl, her thane, her honor, her lover, her son. And whenever the Imperials finally decided to have their grand show, she would lose her life too.

That wouldn't be so bad within itself. Lydia knew she had tried her best, and she had always done what she thought was necessary. She had fought for what she believed in. And she had lost, but that was no sin in itself. Many heroes in the songs had failed in their goals, but they had been accepted by their warrior brethren in Sovngarde nonetheless.

But she had lied and stolen in order to try to achieve greatness, and that would be unforgiven in the halls of Sovngarde. Her ancestors would judge her unworthy of that sacred place. No doubt she would be sent to one of the planes of Oblivion. She had no idea which one; she had never been one for religious study.

It didn't matter. She would find out soon enough. And she would go to the chopping block with as much dignity as she could muster. She might not have lived honorably, but she could at least die that way.

Instead, Lydia turned her attention to the Word Paarthurnax had left her.

Vo.

If only if she could discover what it meant! It felt like the final piece of a puzzle that if she could figure out where it went, maybe her life would make sense again. At least some small part of it.

Slen. Flesh.

Tiid. Time.

Vo. What did it mean?

If she knew the last word, she would have a better chance of understanding the intent of the Shout. Was it a healing Shout? Maybe a time traveling Shout?

Much like a child with a puzzle box, Lydia mentally turned it over and over, trying to find the answer despite lacking the crucial piece. It was frustrating, but at least it was better than brooding about her fate or mourning her lost loved ones.

Part of her hated that her captors had held her for so long. No doubt they wanted her to get better before they took her to the headsman. It would be so much more satisfying for the crowd to see a healthy prisoner taken to her death instead of the weak, emaciated, broken person she had become.

But, for whatever reason, they hadn't tortured her. Not that there was anything she could have told them of value at this point. They had fed her, and they had even removed her gag once she was safely behind prison walls. She had time to think and to find peace with herself.

It was more than Yrsarald had gotten.

Or Ulfric.

Or… Elric.

Thinking about Elric still made her tear up. Her poor little boy. He never had a chance. If she had known she was going to lose him so early, she never would have sent him away. She would have kept him with her and read the songs and stories of heroes to him every night. She would have loved him and cherished him like he had deserved.

But mortals don't get to know what the gods intend for them, and she had made her choices for better or for worse.

There were loud footsteps out in the hall. By the sound of them, there were multiple people coming. Lydia sat up, suddenly at alert. Life in prison was one constant schedule, and there was never a reason for people to be coming through the halls this time of day. Unless they were bringing a prisoner, and Lydia's cell was at the end of the hall, so there was no reason for them to be stopping outside her cell door.

"Lydia Stormblade!" A woman's voice, muffled from the thick door, called. Lydia narrowed her eyes in concentration. The voice was familiar, but she couldn't place it. "I wish to speak with you. Do you swear on your honor that you'll not use your thu'um on me while we speak?"

"There's some who say I have no honor," Lydia replied, unable to stop herself from making a snarky comment.

The woman laughed sharply before responding, "There are those who insist you do, and I tend to trust them."

As much as she hated to admit it, Lydia was intrigued. She had almost no companionship outside of the occasional guard pushing food or a book through the small portal at the bottom of the door or listening to the catcalls of the other prisoners. Who knew she was here and would want to talk to her? And who had referenced a good name for her?

"I swear if you do no harm to me, then I'll do no harm to you through action or Voice today," Lydia responded.

"I told you she would swear an oath," the woman told one of her companions.

"She's broken others," a man's voice grumbled.

"From a certain point of view," the woman replied mildly. "And isn't that what this war is about? Open the door."

The lock tumbled and the heavy door swung open to reveal Jarl Elisif the Fair, General Tullius, and several guards. Lydia immediately felt shabby in her prisoner's garbs, but forced herself to stand tall as the jarl entered her cell.

When Tullius moved to follow, the Nord halted him. "No, I wish to speak with her alone."

"She's a dangerous war criminal," he protested. "I can't leave you alone with her!"

"Lydia has given me her word on her honor," Elisif said calmly. "I trust her. And if I'm wrong, it'll make trying her that much easier, won't it?"

"I'm the general of the army and I control this barrack," Tullius retorted.

"And I'm jarl of this hold and will be High Queen some day soon, especially with the war almost over," Elisif countered. "And as your queen, my decisions are final!"

"I liked you better when you had less backbone," Tullius grumbled as he stepped back into the hall.

"I'm sure you're not the only one," Elisif smiled. As the door swung to a close, she turned to Lydia. "You look much better than when I last saw you. If I had known you were so ragged, I would have had them keep you in Riften until you were more fully healed."

"I wished you had," Lydia responded. "Sibbi Black-Briar felt obligated to describe to me every luxury he had at his fingertips in the Riften jail during his nine month stay."

Elisif shook her head as she took the cell's sole chair. "Riften's corruption is one of the first things I wish to tackle once the civil war is over."

"A bit hard to do considering you made one of the primary corrupting forces your representative there," Lydia said coldly.

"Maven Black-Briar is a fine upstanding business woman who has no criminal background," Elisif snorted, "and is well liked by the Thalmor. Besides, it was she who orchestrated your capture and made a deal with Laila Law-Giver for jarldom."

"A dangerous position for you since it means she's eligible for High Queen," Lydia reminded her. Solitude might traditionally provide the High King or Queen, but the Moot could choose any jarl to rule.

"Maven doesn't strike me as the type who either moves too quickly or is too greedy," Elisif shrugged. "Unless it takes a lot longer than I think it will, she won't have tired of her reign in Riften before I am High Queen."

"You're awfully confident of yourself." Lydia found herself both hating and admiring this woman. Elisif would never know battle like Lydia had and would always be loved for her beauty. Scars might be considered honorable and glorious in Nordic culture, but Cicero's cut had left Lydia with a permanent half-frown from how it had twisted while it had healed.

"I have every reason to be. I'm jarl of Solitude, I have the support of the Dragonborn, and I have the leader of the Stormcloaks in my prison." Elisif placed her hands on her knee as she leaned back. "What more could I need?"

"You tell me."

"I need this war to officially be over," Elisif told her. "I need you to turn over control of Eastmarch to Brunwulf Free-Winter. Once that happens, the holds following the Stormcloaks will fall. Empire-loyal jarls will replace the current ones and we'll finally have peace."

Lydia scoffed. "Why even ask me to do this? Why not just take me to the chopping block? The Nine know that the Imperials love a good beheading!"

"Because I made a promise," Elisif said, "and as a true Nord I keep my promises."

"And what promise was that?

"That you wouldn't die dishonorably if Diana Dragonborn helped the Legion retake Whiterun." Elisif nodded when she saw Lydia's look of disbelief. "The conversation was to something more specific than this, but I think the intent applies. Diana has done everything she could to keep you alive despite your betrayal. I don't think most people would have let you live after what you did, stealing her name, but she seems to have largely forgiven you."

"She forgave me?" Lydia snarled. "That's rich, considering what she had done."

"Oh?" Elisif asked simply, arching an eyebrow.

Lydia paused, not sure what to do. Tell Elisif or not? Then she decided that she didn't care any more. There was literally nothing left to lose. "She's the head of the Dark Brotherhood. She's the one who's been going around killing all of those people, including Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Is that so?" Elisif asked, leaning forward on her knees. "You really think that?"

Lydia blinked, surprised at Elisif's reaction. She had expected rage at Lydia's claim, disgust at the truth, or shocked silence. She had not been prepared for this calm acceptance.

"Because I'd think very carefully on this if I were you," Elisif continued. "Diana's already proven that she's stronger than you in the thu'um and that she can beat you in a fair fight."

"But you believe me?" Lydia asked, hopeful for the first time in months. Maybe if she could make Diana lose Solitude's sponsorship, there could be a chance for revenge. Maybe Elisif would allow her to keep Windhelm in the pursuit of destroying the Brotherhood.

The jarl laughed as she sat back. "Honestly, I don't know. It's too crazy to believe, but it's also too crazy to just make up. But I do know this. Diana could kill you with a simple word, whether it be a Shout or request of someone who likes her. And she has a lot of people who like her that would love the honor of killing you. So, unless you're suicidal, I recommend not repeating that to anyone ever again. Because the next person might not be as receptive as I."

Lydia's hopes came crashing down as she watched Elisif stand and put the chair away. "Take the deal, Lydia. You won't get a better one. And few people get a second chance. Give Windhelm to Brunwulf on Old Life Day and come to your cousin's wedding on New Life Day. Start over."

"With what? I have nothing left," Lydia said bitterly.

"That's usually the best time to start over," Elisif said.

Turdas, 1 Morning Star 209 4E 12:00 PM

In the end Lydia took the deal. She spent most of the week meditating, her thoughts on a phrase Ulfric had taught her: Su'um ahrk morah-breath and focus. The Way of the Voice depended on those two concepts fundamentally. Breath was needed for Words and focus was needed for control.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Lydia felt like she had a chance to be in control of her life. She was no longer a housecarl stuck with the whims of a flighty thane, she was not sworn to any living jarl, she was not the leader of a rebellion. She was just Lydia. For the first time, she was only responsible for herself.

Honor wasn't about succeeding. Many heroes of the ages died in their struggles. Honor was about never giving up. Dying now wouldn't be honorable because too much of her cause had been wrapped up in a lie. And dying would be easy.

But living, having a second chance to earn her name truthfully, that was hard. She could find a way to redeem herself so one day her ancestors could smile down on her.

It was still with a bitter heart that she signed over jarldom to Brunwulf Free-Winter. Part of her felt she had failed Ulfric, but mostly she felt she had failed Elric. It was supposed to be his throne, but he was gone to wherever children go when they die. At least the old soldier was an honorable one and well loved in Windhelm.

He had shaken her hand, looking her in the eye when he did it. "I will do the throne of Ysgramor honor," he promised.

"You better," she had replied before stepping down to let the Imperial representatives swarm Eastmarch's newest jarl with contracts and petitions to sign.

Falk Firebeard, Elisif's steward, had shown her a room. He had been professional enough to not give his personal opinions on the matter, but Lydia got the distinct impression he didn't approve and would be checking the silverware after she left to make sure it was still all there.

Now she was standing before a mirror getting dressed for the wedding. She was wearing Ulfric's wolfskin cloak, probably not the best fashion or political statement right now, but it was the only clothing she owned. If someone had a problem with it, they could deal with it.

She jumped at the sound of a knock at the door. Who would be here?

The door swung open to reveal her father Hrongar and uncle Balgruuf. Lydia swallowed hard, not sure what to expect from the two older men. Hrongar had been particularly vocal about being more active against the Stormcloaks while Balgruuf had been more silently disdainful of Ulfric's motives for the war.

"Lydia," Hrongar growled gruffly. Suddenly Lydia wished she had asked Elisif for new clothes after all. Her father had been fond of claiming to be a living weapon that only needed to be pointed at a target. "Lydia," he repeated, swallowing hard, "my little girl." Then he was across the room, crushing her in his arms. "Gods, I can't believe I've gotten to see you again alive."

Balgruuf smiled sadly as he followed his younger brother into the room, closing the door behind him. He waited until Hrongar was done thumping her on the back, before giving her a brief hug.

"You look better than you did when you arrived," he rumbled.

"You saw me?"

"Aye, looking little more than skin and bones," Balgruuf said.

"Did those Black-Briar bastards starve you, girl?" Hrongar interrupted.

"No, I was still healing from my fight with Diana," Lydia said, looking down. "You're not mad at me?"

"Oh, we're furious," Balgruuf admitted. Hrongar nodded a little too enthusiastically. "But if Jarl Elisif has seen fit to forgive you, how could we do any less as your family? We still love you even if you picked the wrong side. By the Eight, isn't that one of the biggest messages we'll need to be spreading in the months to follow? That those who chose the Stormcloaks aren't going to be put to the block."

"Damn, lass, I have to admit as mad as I was, I was impressed by how well you did for yourself!" Hrongar laughed. "My girl, the leader of an entire army! Balgruuf, I've always said I was a living weapon. Looks like my daughter is an even more literal version of that."

"Aye, she is," Balgruuf said mildly.

In that moment Lydia realized that neither of them knew she had had a son. That Hrongar had been a grandfather. She felt tears threatening to well up in her eyes, but she managed to swallow them down before they could fall. She took her father and uncle's hands into hers. "Thank you."

"We're family, girl," Hrongar insisted. "Family don't turn their back on their blood. No matter what happens."

Turdas, 1 Morning Star 209 4E 2:00 PM

"Definitely the strangest bride I ever laid eyes on," Hrongar commented.

"Are you referring to my son or his housecarl?" Balgruuf responded. The two men and Lydia were standing on the left side of the room in the place of honor for family members.

"I'm not sure," his brother admitted.

The courtroom of the Blue Palace was packed full of people who had gathered for the wedding. Jordis was already waiting at the front of the room with Elisif standing by her side. The young strawberry blonde warrior looked resplendent in her shining new steel armor. She grinned happily as Elisif presented her with a new axe with the Solitude crest branded on it. She also almost managed to not drop it before placing it on her belt. The dings would probably be buffed out the next time she honed it. Probably.

Frothar, on the other hand, was wearing some of the most colorful, frilly clothes Lydia had ever seen. "It's the newest fashion," he had bragged earlier when he had greeted his cousin with something like disinterest. "I bought it at the Radiant Raiment. It was specially made for my coloring in mind."

He was looking at his bride with mild amusement as she fumbled with her axe. He leaned forward and placed it in its sheath for her.

The priest stepped forward and held his arms up to gain the crowd's attention. "Let's begin the ceremony," he suggested. The bride and groom turned to face each other and held hands as the priest continued. "It was Mara that first gave birth to all of creation and pledged to watch over us as her children. It is from her love of us that we first learned to love one another. It is from this love that we learn that a life lived alone is no life at all. We gather here today, under Mara's loving gaze, to bear witness to the union of two souls in eternal companionship. May they journey forth together in this life and the next, in prosperity and poverty, and in joy and hardship. Do you agree to be bound together, in love, now and forever?"

It was no secret that this was a political marriage, but Lydia had to admit the two seemed to like each other well enough as they grinned while holding hands. Jordis wasn't as beautiful as her cousin, but she was pretty enough, especially when she blushed. It was the sort of beauty a warrior could maintain without worrying about scars or drawing the attention of other men to make her husband jealous.

"I do," Frothar said clearly. "Now and forever."

"I do!" Jordis practically yelled. She looked a bit confused at the polite laughter in the crowd. She blinked. "Well, I do." She bit her lip as she turned back to Frothar, squeezing his hand. "I promise as well to be your sword and your shield. Everything that is yours I will protect with my life. So I swear."

A cheer came from the crowd at her proclamation.

"Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed," the priest declared. He pulled out a small box. "I present to the two of you with these matching rings, blessed by Mara's divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together."

Jordis squealed as Frothar placed her ring on her hand. Her own hands were shaking so much Frothar had to help her place his on. Her new husband kissed her ring before kissing her properly on the lips to the thrill of the crowd.

"Oh! I just realized I forgot to douse the fire at Proudspire!" Jordis exclaimed. She ran down the aisle and out of the Blue Palace.

"Jordis, come back," Frothar yelled, following her. "We can have someone else do that now!"

More laughter filled the crowd as the wayward couple exited. "Please enjoy the food and drink while we get our guests of honor back," Elisif called.

Lydia stayed close to her father who stayed close to Balgruuf as people mingled in the crowd. Irileth had materialized, glaring at her. The Dunmer glared at everyone who wasn't Balgruuf, so Lydia didn't take it too personally.

Some people looked at her curiously, but the general attitude of the crowd was accepting of Lydia's presence. Nords didn't forgive easily, but when they did, they forgave completely. It probably didn't hurt that no one wanted to risk the wrath of the Dragonborn by taking justice into their own hands.

As for the Dragonborn herself, she was in the back, wearing red and gold. It looked like Diana was laughing at something Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone had said.

For a moment, Lydia thought about going up to her and hugging her. Just let everything go and truly start all over. Maybe Diana hadn't known Elric was there when the fire started and she had buried the boy when she discovered him. Maybe they could talk like Diana had wanted instead of fighting. Maybe they could still be friends. Diana had always liked traveling. Maybe she was tired of the assassin's life and the two of them could take to the road again like they used to.

Just as she was about to step forward and try to get Diana's attention, Cicero showed up with two drinks for them. His loud, shrill laughter carried over the murmur of the crowd.

Lydia scowled, tracing the ugly scar that marred her face thanks to him. That damnable jester!

As she watched the small Imperial take Diana's hand and dance with her, Lydia remembered that first night in Breezehome. Even back then it had been obvious Diana was infatuated with the crazy little man.

Diana had chosen him. That's why she had disappeared in Windhelm, to find the madman again. In the end, she would always choose Cicero over Lydia. And it hurt. Lydia had to admit that it hurt more than almost anything. She would never be first.

Turdas, 1 Morning Star 209 4E 2:15 PM

"Are you going to try to talk to her again?" Cicero asked Diana as they danced.

"Who?"

"You know who, silly girl."

"I don't know if there's anything to say," Diana admitted. "I'm pretty mad about the whole Paarthurnax thing still."

"You'll always be mad if you don't give her a chance to talk to you," Cicero admonished. "You'll pout, she'll simmer, and then we'll have to go through this whole thing all over again for another decade. Who's got the energy for that?"

"We don't even know if she's going to be here," she stalled.

"Elisif said she would, and we saw her next to Balgruuf during the ceremony," Cicero pushed.

"And you really think I could find her in this crowd?"

"It should be pretty easy since I saw her at the top of the stairs watching us," Cicero laughed.

Looking up, she saw her former housecarl on the balcony watching her. Lydia's face was stern amongst the sea of otherwise happy people. But the Nord had always been a solemn woman, even in the happiest of times.

"If I do, will you stop hassling me?" Diana sighed.

"Never."

"Your diplomacy skills never cease to amaze," Diana grumbled as she broke away from the dance to head up the stairs.

The Dragonborn would never admit it, but she was nervous as she made her way to the upper level. Every time Lydia and she had crossed paths since she had joined the Brotherhood had ended in disaster, one way or another.

Unfortunately, Cicero had a point, as he frequently did. They could never forgive each other if they never had a chance to reconcile. Too much of this feud had resulted because Diana hadn't been able to confide in Lydia as she learned to do with Cicero.

Maybe if she had told her she was going away, none of this would have happened. Maybe Lydia wouldn't have fallen to Ulfric's charms and become his weapon. Maybe she would have found a life of her own and been happy instead of chasing shadows all these years.

And maybe, just maybe, Diana could actually tell her all this and give Lydia the satisfaction of hearing her admit she was wrong and she had screwed up.

But when she reached the top, Lydia was gone.