Chapter 29: Presumption and Certainty

In the weeks since Vilkas had left, I had forgotten how unlike the two brothers were, particularly when it came to conversation.

Farkas talked little, and when he did, it was to issue instructions, or to say something that might make you laugh. He talked when required and didn't seem to need to fill the spaces between with noise. What he had been about to tell me before the Silver Hand had descended had been the closest we had ever come to having a true conversation. His accent, which should have been as strong as his brother's, had been sloughed away over time through a propensity to listen, rather than speak, so that when he did recount words he had heard around Whiterun, he had naturally adopted the more midland way of speaking.

To the unknowing and unobservant, Vilkas spoke even less, and it was widely believed that he chose not to engage out of the possession of a disagreeable disposition, backed by the glares that he offered in place of verbal replies. But Vilkas could talk, and talk well, as I had discovered during the late night exchanges we had shared with Kodlak. His reticence wasn't borne of attitude, but of a fierce reluctance to trust others. Vilkas could speak with the fluency and poeticism of a bard, when he desired it, and it was clear he had built his vocabulary from a vast array of reading materials, not from idle chatter at inns.

As we left Whiterun, both strung out and running from our grief into the arms of revenge, he talked to me as though the past two hours had not occurred. It did not take me long to fall into the charade with him, for I had trained to adopt whatever the moment required. I strived to keep the consuming blackness at bay for as long as possible, so that we might do what we had committed to doing.

While Vilkas clearly talked to distract us, I felt it was also for appearances sake, for the citizens and guards of Whiterun that we passed by. Perhaps he simply did not want anybody to realise that he was setting out with the barely-trained Dragonborn in tow on a quest for vengeance. Whatever his reasons, I gratefully shrugged off my shroud of gloom and turned my attention to formulating responses.

"And the inn there is a piece of work. Falkreath is a miserable place to stop at the best of times, and I had the misfortune of spending many nights there," he conversed lightly. "Have you seen it?"

I nodded, and hastily added, "Yes. Once, by mistake actually."

"How does anyone end up in Falkreath by mistake?" he laughed hollowly.

I flashed him an unimpressed look. "I was in transit. I caught the coach there and found no adjoining one to take me any further, owing to the war," I sighed impatiently. I wanted to speak to him of our task ahead, not of my past. "Who would have believed that all roads lead to Falkreath?" I mused quietly.

Vilkas barked another laugh, but it was humourless. He went on to talk of the woman who managed the inn.

"Valga? I remember her," I gave him a crooked smile. It was unlike Vilkas to speak of women at all; everything was usually all...business, and training.

"Aye, Valga. Beautiful, resourceful, independent woman, but proud to a fault. And then there's that stringy, doe-eyed girl she keeps about the place, for Shor-knows what reason, for she never served me a single mead in all the time I was there," he grimaced.

"I remember her, too," I tried to laugh, though there was no heart in it. I couldn't remember the name of the woman he spoke of, though it hardly mattered. "She seemed to think it a game to tease the men of Falkreath," I shrugged.

Vilkas huffed and shrugged as well. "I must not have been her type."

I couldn't help but arch my eyebrow at him. Had he wanted her attentions? "She probably saw little reason to, for you'd be gone before she reaped the rewards."

He snorted. "I must give her some credit for determining I was a waste of her time. She was too sneering to be pleasant company."

I could think of nothing to reply with that wouldn't lead us into discussing Vilkas' taste in women – not exactly a topic I wished to pursue, for it might expose my own lack of experience. I turned my eyes to the horizon and buried my flush, extending my stride so we might travel a little faster. The docile horse I was leading obediently clopped along behind me.

After a short pause, Vilkas led his horse off to the side of the road and to a halt with a quiet, "Whoa, there."

I followed suit, drawing my bay up next to his piebald.

"Time to mount up and get this done," his tone adopted a hard darkness that sent my heart racing at once.

"Calm down," he urged through his teeth, shooting me a narrowed look as he swung up onto his mount. "What are you going to be like in battle, if your heart goes all aflutter at the thought of mounting a horse?" he righted himself.

I scowled and settled myself in the saddle before I answered him. "I'm sorry if you find what I cannot help distracting. But, it was not the horse that startled me," I admitted. There was no point in trying to hide what I felt, so why hide the truth? "Your voice changed, just now," I gave him a purposeful, sideways glance. "It went from warm and friendly, to ice cold, and I didn't expect it."

"That's what...?" he faltered. He said nothing for a time, and we busied ourselves adjusting weapons and armour to sit comfortably.

Eventually, he replied; quiet and more hesitant. "You are afraid of me?"

"No. Well," I corrected. "It was instinctive. I'm not afraid of you."

"Instinctive," he echoed in a speculative mutter, turning his horse onto the road.

I rolled my eyes and pressed my heels into the flank of my bay. We would have to warm the horses up before we could canter north, so we could speak for a while yet, if he wished.

"You're right to fear me," he grumbled decisively as I drew up beside him. "I'm a beast, barely in control of the monster within," he hissed in frustration.

"Enough, shield-brother," I reprimanded gently. "You are too smart to take what I said out of context, and I will not insult you by repeating myself. Please. I told you because I trust you, and want to tell you the truth. Am I wrong to do so?" I asked kindly.

He was silent for a moment, then murmured sadly, "No. I am pleased that you have the courage to speak truths to me. Many do not."

I narrowed my eyes at his defeated tone, wishing he would look at me, but his eyes were squared on the path ahead.

The pause in conversation lengthened, and the topic closed wordlessly, leaving me feeling uncomfortable at our lack of resolution.

I fidgeted in my saddle, trying to chuck the feeling off and stretching my back as I got used to the sway of riding a horse again. I hadn't ridden for some time, and the bay Vilkas had purchased was so large that my thighs already felt strained. They would ache horribly by the time we stopped. If we stopped. Surely, we would stop to rest the horses before we reached the den of the Silver Hand.

I shook myself and resolved to focus on riding and our duties. If Vilkas had taken umbrage to my admission, that was his business, and if he wished to discuss it further, he was more than capable of bringing it up.

"Do we have a plan?" I broke the silence.

Vilkas tilted his head, his brows furrowed and his voice flat. "Go in. Purge the place. Retrieve Wuuthrad. Return to Whiterun."

"Is that all?" I huffed ironically. If not for the accent, I could have imagined I was speaking to Farkas for the sudden want of words.

"You have a better idea?" he turned his eyes back to the road.

The path before us was suitably dark, given the ominous purpose pushing us on. The skies were gloomy, covered in low clouds. There was no breeze to ruffle the fluffy tundra clumped by the side of the road. The stillness, and the lack of moon and stars to guide us heightened the surreal nature of the situation. I stared at the mountains far ahead, realising that soon we would be traversing them, and beyond. Prepare for five days, Vilkas had said. Would we be riding north for two? I had travelled so infrequently from the comfort of Solitude that I barely understood how long anything took in Skyrim.

Then learn what you can, now, I mused.

"We should move, while we have cover," Vilkas cleared his throat. "Mind that you keep up," he said in a clipped tone, flashing me a sideways glance.

With that, he kicked his heels into his piebald's flank, and his horse launched into a run.

I watched him go, wondering at the edge to his commands. Had I truly injured him? Surely not; not for being honest.

I shook myself out of my stupor. Vilkas had every right to be distressed. He'd just come home from a lonesome two-week journey, crucial to their cure, to find a shield-sister and his Harbinger dead. Had it not been for the distractions around us, and constant internal reminders to shove the grief off, I would be the same, and I didn't have an inner wolf to deal with. Had I not insisted on coming with him so I could help control the beast within? Had I not sworn to follow his lead? I needed to get over myself, and be there for him now.

I encouraged my horse to meet his pace and we rode away the night. Occasionally the clouds parted to let a soft glow from one or both of the moons through the seams, revealing patches of black velvet sky and twinkling, silvery stars before the high winds swept them from view again.

We met no one and nothing on the plains roads. Perhaps we were travelling too fast to notice anything else, until we neared the mountain pass. As we began ascending, there was a distant echo of a beastly screech; a sound that made both of us take pause.

Vilkas pulled his reigns back and held his hand out for me to stop, turning his head in the direction of the sound as his piebald skittered on the gravel in its haste to obey. I brought my horse up next to his as my stomach flipped, looking out in the same direction.

I knew that sound.

"Steady," he leaned down, patting the horse's neck comfortingly, then rose. "It's a long way off," he murmured.

I agreed, searching the vast plains. Where was the dragon hiding? No words of translation had bounced around my skull when it had screamed, so I had to assume that the dragon was either too far away, or that it had not actually spoken any words at all.

"Are you tired?" Vilkas asked dryly.

I shook my head. The screech of the dragon, however distant, had shot me full of adrenaline. "Are you?" I asked, lifting an eyebrow.

Vilkas 'hmphed' knowingly. "The horses will need to be watered soon. There's an inn, the Nightgate, a little way ahead. You can rest for an hour or two there."

"I would rather keep riding," I replied steadily, clenching my jaw stubbornly. "As you have made abundantly clear; I need to keep up."

Vilkas cast me dubious look. "I will not ride off and leave you while you sleep," he assured, clicking his horse back into a walk. We were nearing a section of mountain pass which would make cantering too dangerous.

I frowned, urging my horse after his. "The thought didn't cross my mind," I agreed loftily.

He didn't reply.

The furthermost clouds on the eastern horizon shifted from dark grey to a bruised-looking pink as we continued to climb, and we pushed on to the inn in silence.

Once we had reached the cottage-sized inn, rather than going in to rest I handed my horse to the inn's stable hand, then walked out to look over Lake Yorgrim.

I sat, leant against one of the pylons of a jetty that had been extended over the banks of the lake closest to the Nightgate. I looked out over the watery expanse and snowy vista, holding my arms around myself in a futile attempt to keep from shivering in the morning chill. Riding; the horse and exertion had warmed me, even during our slower ascent from the plains. But there was too much snow to keep the cold at bay now. Snow had settled everywhere; the only break from the whiteness underfoot the occasional slushy, dark brown pathway.

I sighed, shuddering, creating little puffs of white before my eyes with each breath. My teeth chattered and thighs burned in protest and I rubbed them, urging the muscles to unlock. We still had a way to go, and I didn't want to waste potions on matters of endurance.

Vilkas arrived and sat next to me. In the corner of my gaze, he dangled his legs over the side and leaned back on his hands comfortably, seemingly impervious to the cold.

I turned to him in inquiry. He had been short and aloof since my admission of instinctive fear, so it surprised me that he had sought out my company. When we had arrived, he had remained talking amicably with the stable hand as I had wandered off.

The Nord's eyes were fixed on the snowy expanse before us, but of course, he noticed my regard and began talking.

"Strange stories are making their way around Skyrim," he sighed to the winds. "The stable hand mustn't have realised who you are," he added in a mutter.

"Good," I huffed, unimpressed. That's what they'd been talking about. Vilkas had been away when the news had reached Whiterun, but given Ria and Kodlak's deaths, it didn't feel right to be agonising over rumours. My gaze followed the lines of the pine trees on the opposite bank, layered with thick white like icing on a cake.

I felt his eyes settle on me finally. "You won't ask of what's being said?"

Half shrugging, I remained fixed on the trees. "Is it the one about joining the Stormcloaks, or the one about my part in the retrieval of the Jagged Crown?"

"Ah," Vilkas realised, turning away. "You already know."

My vision blurred against my will, and I no longer saw the trees. My thoughts fled to the injustice of the Stormcloaks using me in this way. The talk did not burn as it once had, though I still felt ill at the prospect of what harm it would cause others. "Yes. I was warned of the rumours by my–"

I cut myself off, suddenly uncertain of what to call Hadvar. Friend? Yes, but, no – what else? Was there a name for what we were to one another?

Vilkas filled the space with a sigh. "Much passed while I was away, it seems."

I nodded, but I was focused on the quandary before me, thrown by what was so dear to me being at the same time, quite uncertain. Given that everything else in life was so erratic, I strove to resolve this, at least, for myself.

"I have a friend, in the Legion," I settled, though it still wasn't enough. "He wrote me of the first rumour, before it reached Whiterun. The Jarl and I were able to minimise the impact of it at home. We were unable to do anything further afield," I murmured regretfully, then turned to Vilkas. His gaze was guarded. "Do you think I should confront the stable hand, and set him right?"

Vilkas' brows furrowed. "What purpose would it serve? People will believe what they want to believe. He's just a lad, talking nonsense he's picked up second-hand from other travellers."

"I don't know," I admitted with a small shrug. "Even stable hands deserve to know the truth. If I tell him it, perhaps the next people who come to the Nightgate won't spread the Stormcloak's lies further?"

Vilkas sighed, the white puff created clouding his features. He spoke once it had dissipated. "If we tell him that you are the Dragonborn, and word spreads of our destination, it will make us a target for every zealous Stormcloak in the Hold who wishes to use your name for their purposes."

"And we have more important matters to attend to," I finished his sentence for him.

"Correct."

Vilkas and I fell into silence. My skin burned from the biting chill to the air, and I found it difficult to relax as thoughts and memories of the past two weeks replayed and conflicted against one another in my head. The previous night's events hit me like a wall, and I steadied my hands on my knees, exhaling slowly to regain some measure of composure.

"The inn had a room spare for ten gold," Vilkas spoke as I exercised my breathing techniques. He leaned back on his hands again. "I took the liberty of acquiring it, so you might as well make use of it."

I shook my head resolutely. "I do not wish to sleep," I murmured.

"You'll be no good to me spent before we reach Driftshade," he grumbled persistently.

Again, I shook my head, rubbing my aching thighs idly. "I close my eyes and I see Kodlak and Ria, being run through, again and again," I explained quietly.

Vilkas didn't reply.

I shuddered, wishing he would speak again to divert the encroaching darkness. I lowered my eyes to the water, watching as it rippled gently a few feet below us. How was Lake Yorgrim still flowing and alive? Perhaps the river prevented the water from settling long enough for it to ice over.

"There will be no rest for me, until Kodlak's spirit is free," I added finally, leaning toward him and resting my head on his shoulder.

I sighed when I felt Vilkas tense as my cheek settled against his arm. I hadn't even thought about the gesture, so hadn't hesitated until after the fact. There was something familiar and comforting about Vilkas. It was the same with Kodlak; as though these two men were my family, as precious to me as Lydia and Lucia –

Was, I reminded myself coldly. Kodlak is gone.

Clenching my eyes closed in an effort to push back another surge of tears, I spoke swiftly in a shaky gasp. "Shield-brother, tell me more of Falkreath, while we wait for the horses to be ready," I feigned a yawn to cover my distress. Could Vilkas sense how close I was to weeping? "Your talk of Valga and the stringy one was a good...distraction."

The shoulder muscles under my head relaxed. "I am no bard," he replied with a trace of genuine amusement. "But," he shifted slightly, to loop his arm around my shoulder comfortingly, "will you sing? I haven't heard your voice for some weeks. It never fails to relax me," he added honestly. "Perhaps a song will provide the distraction you desire, too."

I sighed, huddling closer against him, grateful for the warmth he exuded and freely shared. No wonder he was so unaffected by the chill of the day. "All right. What would you hear?"

"Anything," he replied quickly.

I nodded, yawning properly this time, then crooned the first song that popped into my head:

"Have you seen my sword sword? My new diamond sword sword?
I am now the lord lord, Of my diamond sword sword.
"

Vilkas huffed, creating a large white cloud before us, and I felt him shake in repressed amusement. "Not the most evocative of melodies or complex of lyrics, I'll admit, but you sing it well."

I took pause to ask him wearily; "Do you want a song to clutch at your heartstrings and pull, encouraging your sorrow to claw its way to the surface? Because, I could not bare it, Vilkas."

He didn't respond, but his arm tightened around me. He rested his cheek on the top of my head, then exhaled heavily.

We remained there in silent comfort, and during it, this time I thought of nothing. My mind blanketed the anguish and my vision cleared. I gazed out across the lake, and quietly resumed singing my silly song.

A bird called from one of the nearby trees; another, further off, replied to it at once. The wind brushed across the tops of the trees, making the lightest dusting of snow scatter. Somewhere behind us, near the inn, the stable hand whistled a tune that I didn't recognise; perhaps it wasn't really even a song, but something idle he had made up.

An out-of-place crunch of gravel beyond the lake caught my attention, and I stopped singing. Squinting, I tried to identify the movement through the trees. It sounded like footfalls.

Seconds later, I caught a flash of leather, and then through a larger gap in the trees I saw a tall, thin Imperial Legion messenger. Her gait spoke of a weariness; doubtless she was making her way to the inn.

Guilt washed through me, warming me uncomfortably. The Legion. The war. Hadvar was out there, probably trudging through the snow himself, and I was sitting here by the lake in the arms of another man.

Anyone, even Vilkas himself might misconstrue our positions. I sighed shakily at the dilemma, flushing as I berated myself and eased away from him. Vilkas sat back wordlessly as I leaned on the pylon once more, and grabbed at it to drag myself to my feet.

Vilkas was not my brother, regardless of the nature of this bond I felt. I could not be so familiar with him, particularly when the two of us were out in the empty wilds seeking distraction from our internal torment. He had openly told me that he cared for my well-being, and while I believed that it was a protection he would offer freely to any of his colleagues, I had to stop taking my friends for granted.

I would not let Vilkas become my new Ataf. I would not use Vilkas for his camaraderie and warmth, if there was a possibility of using him ill in the process. Torn between a desire to remain, and fearing what I could encourage if I did, I turned away to leave.

"I think I will take that room for a bit, after all," I covered wearily, unwilling to meet his eyes. My heart thudded, thick with newfound discomfort, loud and clear for him to interpret as he would.

"Good," Vilkas murmured. "You should never begrudge the ability to sleep."

His tone seemed wholly unaffected, and I shook my head at myself as I departed. I was worrying over nothing.

Trudging through the snow and retreating to the inn, I determined that I would tell Vilkas more explicitly of Hadvar, somehow, on the next leg of our journey. If I had unwittingly encouraged Vilkas to care for me beyond the capacity of shield-sibling, telling him of Hadvar would resolve the matter.

And what will I tell Vilkas of him, I asked as I entered the small, simple bedroom and collapsed on the bed, fully-clothed; coat, scarf and all. We have not promised anything beyond writing to one another.

I glared at the wall. Hadvar was more than a...a pen-pal. He had saved me, protected me, sheltered me, and trusted me. And I trusted him. He had, somehow, become the man I weighed all others against; the man who stole his way into my thoughts; the man whose smile comforted me. The man whose kiss blazed through me at the merest recollection of our parting moments.

We were not married, or betrothed, or even lovers. Were we? Certainly not in the traditional sense. So, what were we?

Is it really so difficult to admit, I asked myself plainly? I love him.

The clarity of this large, encompassing thought swept over my doubts and encircled them, centring on this simple truth. There is no better way to describe who he is. He is the man I love.

My chest glowed with relief. It did not matter, what the world would make of our relationship or how it would try to label us, but only what we felt. I bundled one of the woollen blankets around me and closed my eyes.

My cheeks warmed as I acknowledged my feelings. It was a welcome distraction from the outrage I felt at the Stormcloak rumours, and the agony of Ria and Kodlak's deaths. Consumed by a love that I was fairly certain was returned, my thoughts of Hadvar lulled me to sleep.

Vilkas woke me. My head thumped in time with his words, so that I didn't hear what he said. The sun streamed through the window, bright but without warmth behind it. I sat up, confused, blinking blearily at the glare.

"I'm sorry," I heard him saying as he walked toward the tap room, but he hesitated before he reached the closed door. "There's some food, if you want it, but then we keep going. I want to reach Driftshade under cover of darkness and we have a way to travel yet."

My head swam as I turned to him and nodded weakly, then regretted the action, cradling my head in my hands. "Where are the potions?" I groaned through a haze of stars.

Again, I didn't hear his reply – or perhaps there wasn't one – but when my vision cleared, Vilkas was by my side, sitting on the edge of the bed with his palm outstretched. A small red bottle lay within it.

"Thank you," I murmured, clasping it and fumbling with the cork hastily. I drank the contents of the thick liquid, grimacing and fighting my gag reflex as I swallowed. It was worth the moment of disgust, for the thump-thump in my head abated immediately.

"Are you all right now?" Vilkas asked quietly, ducking down to my level.

I looked up to him from under my lashes. My cheeks pinked as I searched his face, trying to convince myself that there was nothing but the concern of a shield-sibling there. Don't look at me like that, please.

"Yes," I made to rise. Vilkas stood first to give me room. "You said there was food?" I tried to smooth down my coat and scarf, regretting now that I had slept in them, for they were rumpled.

Vilkas' response was subtly wary. "Aye. Then we ride," he reminded me.

"Good," I resolved swiftly as I made for the central room of the inn. "The sooner we get this over with, the better."

"Agreed," he rumbled.

The common room was like any other provincial inn I had been in, with a large central hearth and rows of tables and bench seats by the walls. It was empty but for the publican behind the bar, and the lone, female Legion scout that I had seen earlier. She was sitting by the wall and reading from a slim book with a concerned look on her face with a plate of untouched food before her.

I watched her, wondering if she was on her way to or from Hadvar's camp in the Pale. It was possible, given where we currently were.

"Is there time for me to write a letter?" I asked Vilkas, making a swift decision.

Vilkas crossed his brows at me. "Can't it wait?"

"I can't miss this chance," I shook my head; my eyes back on the Legion scout. She was so absorbed in whatever she was reading that she hadn't noticed us. "I have an opportunity to get a note to him. I must take it," I resolved, marching toward the woman.

"Who?" Vilkas' call followed me across the room.

I didn't reply, telling myself that I was too far away to do so. Guilt washed over me; I wasn't handling this well at all. If there was anything to my suspicions that he cared for me, I had not asked for his regard.

You are panicking over nothing, a snide, mocking voice rose within me. You are arrogant to believe it possible that every man you spend time with will fall in love with you. All you are doing is destroying the trust you have built.

I was standing beside the Legion scout, which brought an abrupt end to my internal chastisement.

"Hello," I greeted cheerily, holding out my hand toward her.

The woman glanced up but her eyes were distant; it took her a few seconds to focus on me. Then her eyes widened, and she looked me up and down swiftly. "You-?" she glanced around the pub warily.

I lowered my hand, for I had held it out for too long, offering her a smile instead. "My name is Celeste."

Unable to find her answers in the common room, the woman settled her wide, hazel eyes back on me. "Yes, I know who you are," she murmured, closing the book and placing it gently on the table before her. "You're the Dragonborn," she added, meeting my gaze carefully.

I bowed my head. "That's right. And you are?"

"Forgive my impertinence, Lady Dragonborn, but what are you doing in the Nightgate inn?" she asked in a hush.

"Ah," I realised with a pang. "You have heard about how I have joined the Stormcloaks, haven't you? Well," I waved my hand, trying to be dismissive, so I could get on with what I wanted. "They're just rumours. False rumours, of course, concocted by the Stormcloaks to boost their morale, and gain numbers."

The woman straightened in her chair. When I met her eyes again, she looked even more confused. "But, my Lady, surely you jest."

Now it was my turn to cross my brows. "I am not with the Stormcloaks. You may rest easy on that account, soldier. Now," I pipped, reaching my hand out to cover hers in a familiar manner. "You are a Legion courier, correct?" I asked swiftly.

The woman nodded slowly, watching me closely as though she worried I might Shout at her if she flinched.

I smiled, though my heart hammered. I had thought the Empire didn't believe the rumours? Why was she – well, afraid of me?

"On your rounds, do you visit the encampment in the Pale?" I continued.

She nodded again, but this time replied a little more easily. "I am headed there now, in fact."

"Wonderful," I sat straighter, maintaining my friendly smile. "Would you be able to deliver a letter to a soldier garrisoned there for me?"

"Of course, Lady Dragonborn."

I thanked her and rose, promising to hand her my note before I left with my companion. Then I joined Vilkas, trying to shake off the woman's reservation towards me. To see the effects of the Stormcloaks' rumours on those I had been told did not believe them was unnerving.

With his silvery eyes wary, Vilkas slid a blank scrap of paper and a pen toward me. "What is going on?" he asked plainly.

"Oh," I took up the writing materials, flashing him a small smile. "Thank you."

He seemed unimpressed and waited for me to elaborate, arching an eyebrow.

"It's for the man I..." I faltered again, glancing down to the paper as my throat clenched. When I had realised that I was in love with Hadvar, hours earlier, it had seemed such an easy truth to declare to the world. But actually voicing it to Vilkas, when it might hurt him to know...was another matter entirely.

"Celeste," Vilkas sounded guarded, but there was more weight behind him somehow; more suspicion. "You can tell me the truth, remember? Do you have a sweetheart in the Legion?"

My eyes shot back up to him, wide and searching for his reaction to this – wait. He'd said that, not me.

A laugh bubbled out as relief washed through me. Vilkas couldn't be in love with me, to ask that so openly.

"Your friend, who wrote you of the rumours," he leaned forward on his elbows, speaking in a low voice. "He's more than your friend, isn't he?"

Again I laughed at his openness, sitting back and grinning as I stared at my hands. "Yes," I admitted plainly, realising only then that the weight I had detected behind Vilkas' tone was goading. He was teasing me. "Yes," I repeated, more steady. "He risked a lot by writing to warn me."

"Yes, of course," Vilkas mused to the roof sagaciously. "How valiant for a man to write to the woman he loves."

He was clearly enjoying himself.

"Vilkas," I swatted his arm and laughed again as he fended me off. "I have not been able to write him my thanks yet. The Legion courier has agreed to take my letter to him," I explained.

"I understand," Vilkas reached for his drink. "Do what you must, but I want to be on the road in fifteen minutes."

"I'll eat in the saddle," I promised, turning down to the blank paper. "This is more important."

Vilkas hmmed in smug amusement.

Pressed for time and unable to muse over my words, I ignored his tone, and began writing:

My dear Hadvar,

Forgive the delay in this reply of my deepest gratitude for the risk you took in sharing all that you did. The contents of your letter came as a shock, but it was gratefully received for it allowed me, and Jarl Balgruuf, to take measures to minimise the impact of the Stormcloaks' rumours in Whiterun.

The General has not approached me, and I am relieved to not have to refuse him, for I do not mean to consider joining the war until my Dragonborn duties are fulfilled.

The paper was small, so I couldn't make it a very long letter, but I longed to declare to him some measure of my latest realisation, and wrote on before I could prevent myself.

I miss you. Like the frozen lake longs for spring to warm its surface and set its lifeblood free, I miss you. But now I am pledged to my shield-siblings, and soon I shall be swept away to the seclusion of High Hrothgar to answer the Greybeards' call, for Shor knows how long. And you; you are bound to the Empire and this war. I fear that my winter won't see its spring for years to come, as the world endeavours to keep us occupied, and apart.

Write to me whenever you can so that I might feel warm again; a single line is all I need.

With hope,
Celeste

I folded the letter, unwilling to read it over, and scribbled Hadvar's name and garrison on the outside.

"You are done?" Vilkas asked. His chair legs scraped against the flagstones as he pushed back.

I rose as well, nodding as I turned toward the Legion courier. "One more minute."

Passing the note and several pieces of gold for her trouble, I thanked the scout with a bow. "You have no idea of the service you are rendering me," I smiled warmly.

The woman blinked lazily. "Anything for the Dragonborn," she inclined her head; a small, half-smile on her lips.

I had no leisure to dally, so took my leave. "Safe travels, soldier."

"You too, my Lady," she replied cordially.

I left the Nightgate without looking back, comforted in knowing that my letter might reach Hadvar that very night, which meant that upon my return to Whiterun in four days time, his reply might be waiting for me.

It was this hope that would sustain me during the dark day to come.