jfrost22792, Faolan Benzita, and HermitWitch: Thank you for reviews. I'll answer your questions at the end of this chapter this time.


We all get used, dear. It's living with it that makes you a woman. – Bothela


7 Second Seed, 4E 202 , Along the White River, Eastmarch

The Thalmor soldier who'd been shot in the throat wasn't quite dead. But Emilin was not going to waste her time trying to save one of those bastards. Instead, she began inspecting the scene, looking for signs of other Thalmor. They traveled in groups of three or more, if they could help it. Never pairs. But she found no mark in the woods of another pursuer.

While she was searching, Olfina had ran ahead to fetch the Stormcloak caravan's commander. The man was now staring at the Thalmor bodies lying in the wood.

"They're dead?" he asked.

Emilin knelt down to check the soldier's body. "Yes. Both of them."

The Stormcloak whistled.

"They were careless," Emilin continued. "And there were only two of them. There should be a third somewhere."

"But you didn't find a third?" Olfina asked.

"No. It's odd."

"Well, thank Talos for their carelessness," said the Stormcloak commander.

"And Halli for his quick reactions," Olfina gestured towards the young Stormcloak who'd shot the second Thalmor. He was down by the fire sitting with Braith, keeping her away from the bodies. Emilin didn't think the bodies worried Braith at all. But if she held true to form, the little terror would be poking them with a stick or rummaging through their pockets, so Halli was doing everyone a great service.

"Now, sir," Emilin addressed the commander. "Let me tell you what I believe you should do next. And then you can decide whether to do it."

"Say it then."

"You need to send a message to Galmar Stone-Fist, quick as you can, but I'd also like to send along a message for my old friend, Junius Varo. It'll be up to Galmar whether to pass it on."

"I could do that, but I don't think Galmar will want to tell the Legion anything."

"It'll make trouble for the Thalmor, so he might."

"Ah, not a problem then."

"Second. The Thalmor have decided to kill me. These two may not be the last assassins they send."

"Why would they want to kill you?" Olfina asked. "I thought they were working with the Legion."

Such an innocent statement, Emilin wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. "It's more complicated than that. I've spent most of my life fighting the Dominion, one way or another. They may pretend they're collaborating with the Empire now but . . . " She shrugged. "They haven't forgiven me, anyway, and I certainly haven't forgiven them."

The Stormcloak commander was looking at her with new respect. She should push on and capitalize on that.

"I'll tell you why I'm going to Windhelm. Ulfric Stormcloak and I were comrades in arms once. We were taken prisoner in the same battle, then both thrown into the same Thalmor prison. As far as I knew, I was the only survivor from that day. I only found out here in Skyrim that one of the Nord legionnaires, Ulfric, had escaped as well. I've put aside this civil war to meet with him. It seems the Thalmor don't like me doing that that. All the more reason for me to go."

"So you might join the Stormcloaks?" the commander asked her.

Emilin shook her head. "I'm playing the diplomat, for the moment. With your general's approval."

"We'll get you to Windhelm safe and sound."

"Will you? This caravan is crawling along the road. And the children would make perfect shields for attackers to grab. Please, send me ahead to Windhelm. I need to get there as quickly as possible if the Thalmor are on my trail."

The Stormcloak looked troubled, but Olfina immediately agreed with her. "Send her with the next army couriers that pass!"

"They don't have spare horses," the commander objected.

"I can ride behind a courier," Emilin replied. "I'm not much extra weight."

"And she's just as important as the messages they're carrying," Olfina backed her up. "You know Galmar wanted us to get her to Windhelm safely."

There was some more debate on the topic, but Olfina carried the day. As she always did, Emilin suspected.

Having settled that, there was finally time to finish changing out of her wet clothes. This time, she didn't bother finding a private place in the woods. The Stormcloaks could just avert their eyes.


7 Second Seed, 4E 202, Karthspire Camp, the Reach

Tanulvie had merely disliked the Nords. That was nothing to the loathing she had amassed towards the Forsworn in the last hour. They used blood and dirt like other men used cosmetics, and no outfit was complete without a few rattling bones and some mangy feathers.

There were rumours the mongrel Reachmen had orc blood mixed in with the blood of men and mer. Tanulvie could believe it.

But the King in Rags, as they called their leader, was different from the camp inhabitants she'd passed. Dirty he might be and there was blood on his clothing, but he was far more civilized in his manner than she'd expected. There were folk with him too whom she'd have taken for ordinary Breton townsfolk: no dirt or blood on them.

"Here's your elf, my liege," said one of the latter, an elderly man in fur-trimmed Nord finery.

"So they're keeping their end of the deal after all," replied Manadach. He turned to Tanulvie. "Your name, Mistress?"

"Tanulvie."

"And you're truly a Thalmor Justiciar?"

"Would you believe me if I denied it?"

Madanach laughed. "They've not entirely broken you. Do you know anything about Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"He's the rebel leader in Skyrim, that's all I know," said Tanulvie.

"She's right from Summerset, no way she would know anything," the elderly man by Madanach's side advised him.

"Couldn't hurt asking. Do you need her conscious?" he asked his adviser.

"We don't even need her alive for this," the man said softly.

"We've promised to return her to the Blades alive," Madanach replied. "Try to keep that promise. I leave the rest to you, Nepos."

Nepos smiled at Tanulvie. "Step right this way."


7 Second Seed, 4E 202, Whiterun

Within an hour of his surgery, Junius Varo was up and ready to go. And then, having got out the door, he was down again.

"Stop being ridiculous," Rikke upbraided him as two Legionnaires helped him back to his bed. "Or I'll get the healer to knock you out completely."

"We need to plan how to break this siege," Varo objected.

She put his hand to his brow. It was scorching. "I'll schedule a council tonight. Rest till then."

"You're not going to do it," he said accusingly. She ignored him.

She was glad to find Danica Pure-Spring outside, arriving with a basket of tinctures, dressings and talismans.

"If you've got anything to put him to sleep and give him good dreams, give it to him," she instructed Danica. "He'll be climbing the walls soon."

Up in Dragonsreach, there was a council being held by the Whiterun defenders. When Rikke arrived, the Jarl asked after Varo.

"Surgery went as well as possible," she replied. "There's every chance he can use his right hand still, with just the thumb and forefinger. If not, well, he's left-handed and a mage, he'll be all right."

"We miss his advice as well," said Balgruuf.

"He misses giving it to you. But his advice is not likely to be coherent at the moment. So, what's new outside the walls?"

After destroying the first set of barricades, the Stormcloak army had stalled. Rebuilding their catapults, Cipius explained.

"They have the run of our forests," Irileth said. "And sawmills aplenty."

"If Varo was here, he'd suggest we burn all the forests down, wouldn't he?" said Commander Caius. He clarified that he was joking a second later, seeing the Jarl's stricken expression.

"Nothing we can really do but wait," Cipius concluded. "Unless we get in contact with Legion scouts out there. But we haven't heard a peep from them."

Rikke and Cipius left Dragonsreach together. He was very quiet as they left the Hall, and then he paused at the top of the stairs.

"I received a strange missive this morning, Rikke."

"What?"

"An anonymous letter showed up in the mess hall, addressed to me. Just a simple folded piece of paper without a seal."

"What did it say?"

"It said you and Varo are in secret communication with Ulfric Stormcloak."

Rikke raised her eyebrows. "I suppose your anonymous correspondent is talking about Emilin going to Windhelm."

"Did you send her there?"

"No. But I didn't stop her. Varo wasn't involved, though. She left just when he couldn't hold her back."

"Why did you let her go?"

"I'll answer to the General about that." She pursed her lips. "I think I know who sent you that letter. I just don't know how she got it to you."

"Who?"

"The Dominion's First Emissary to Skyrim. She's already tried to talk to Varo via projection, and I'm sure she's alerted the General as well."

"She's hanging around Whiterun still?" asked Cipius.

"Probably. She came here to keep an eye on Varo. Cipius, I know this puts you in a bad position. If you want to relieve me for insubordination, I'll understand."

"You and Varo answer to the General," Cipius replied. "As far as I know officially, the General could have sent Emilin to Windhelm himself. If I hear differently from him in the future, I might have to relieve you, but I'm not jumping at the whims of the Thalmor."

"Thank you."

"We really should find out how that letter ended up in the mess room," he continued.

"You can try. But it's not locked down, is it? A city this large, there's someone who'll carry messages for the Thalmor. Even if they're not in the Legion, they could get it in there."

"You think they could be in the Legion?"

The Thalmor did have agents in the Legion here in Skyrim. General Tullius had pretty well confirmed it at Helgen. All those months, Ulfric had known exactly how to evade the Legion, and then the first time Tullius kept his plans close to his chest, Ulfric fell into his trap. The Thalmor had come rushing to Helgen in a panic after that. In the aftermath, it was easy to conclude that Thalmor agents in the Legion were feeding the Stormcloaks intelligence: anything to keep Skyrim in turmoil. The General was still busy looking for the leaks.

But she shrugged at Cipius' question. "Possibly. I wouldn't worry about it."

If Elenwen was determined to make trouble, she'd make it. Rikke could only brace for the oncoming storm.


7 Second Seed, 4E 202, Windhelm

Cecilia had walked out of the Palace of Kings full of rage and resentment. Pacing the streets of Windhelm, those feelings faded into a dull, aching sadness.

She came to Windhelm committed to a marriage of convenience, undertaken for purely political reasons. Nothing had changed. So why did it hurt so much that Ulfric hadn't insisted he wanted to marry her? She felt as though something had been taken from her, but she'd never had it in the first place.

"Lady Cecilia!" There was Viola Giordano, Windhelm's greatest gossip. "I must speak with you!"

Cecilia murmured a greeting. Viola took this as invitation to launch into her complaint. Revyn Sadri had stolen her ring. True, the Jarl had found out and made him give it back to her, but he hadn't been punished at all for his crime. Was Jarl Ulfric aware of how perilous Windhelm had become? "Bandits and murderers in our midst," Viola intoned. "And how many of them are elves? Almost every single one."

"Calixto Corrium was not an elf," Cecilia objected.

"He was doing elf magic," Viola replied. "Ayleid flesh magic, you said."

She had told Viola that. She wished she hadn't.

"Jarl Ulfric's dealt with the bandits, though," Cecilia pointed out.

"He's made a start. My blood runs cold knowing how many times I passed by Niranye's stand without ever imagining the depths of that woman's depravity."

"Niranye? You mean the Altmer woman who runs a stall in the market?"

"Yes! That Niranye! She was part of those Summerset Shadows."

"Really?" Cecilia hardly knew the woman, but a bandit? "Was she executed?"

"She's in prison, hasn't been sentenced yet. Might be the Jarl is reluctant to behead a woman. You should talk to him about it."

"You think she should be executed?"

Viola's eyes widened. "Of course I do! Do you think a woman's any less capable of villainy than a man?"

"I suppose not. I'm capable of burning down a whole city."

"So you'll deal with her?"

"I'll look into it." Ulfric had mentioned having something to tell her about the bandits. A pity she hadn't allowed him to tell it. Or anything else. She'd just charged ahead and started a war with him.

"Good. You can make some big changes in this city. She and Sadri are just the tip of the ice-berg. When it comes to crime, these elves-"

"I'll look into it immediately."

It was something to do, and as a strategy for escaping Viola's company, it was flawless. Cecilia faltered, however, as she returned to the Palace. She only knew how to get to the prison through the Great Hall of the Palace. If she met Ulfric now, what would she say?

Fortunately, a guard noticed her hesitation and asked where she wanted to go. When she said the jail, he took her down a side passage that lead into the barracks and then introduced her to the head jailer. He nodded when Cecilia asked to see Niranye.

"She's been expecting you," he remarked.

"She has?" Cecilia asked in surprise.

"Asking for you ever since she got here. I'll bring her up so the other inmates can't spy on you."

Cecilia took a seat while she waited. It was gratifying how easily the Windhelm guards trusted her, but it wasn't likely to last much longer. After her quarrel with Ulfric, he'd have to restrain her wanderings in the Palace. Too risky to let a pawn of the Empire go wherever she liked.

"My Lady Dragonborn!" Niranye's lilting voice broke into her self-pitying thoughts.

Cecilia looked up. Niranye was wearing a rough-spun shift, her hands were in shackles, and she still carried herself like a queen.

"You wanted to see me?" Cecilia asked.

"Yes. Is it a bad time? You don't look so well, my Lady."

Cecilia rubbed her eyes. "I don't look so well? You're the one in prison, Niranye."

"In temporary detainment till the Dragonborn arrives to give her judgment."

"Me?"

"Did the Jarl not tell you?"

"I didn't give him the chance."

Niranye's eyes traveled to the jailer. "Would you mind giving us some privacy, sir?"

"My Lady?" asked the jailer.

Cecilia nodded.

"Where should I begin?" said Niranye, once he'd left. "Should I tell you about myself or would you prefer to talk about the Jarl?"

"Why would I talk to you about him?"

"Because I may have some good advice. You're young; you've a lot to learn about managing men."

"I don't want to manage him."

"There's a pity. You could have him wrapped around your little finger if you put the least effort into it."

"I doubt it. Niranye, I'm only here to find out if you really were involved with those bandits."

"The Summerset Shadows? Yes, I fenced some goods for them. I feared for my life if I didn't."

"How come the Jarl didn't sentence you for it?"

"I appealed to the mercy of the Dragonborn."

"Oh – " That hit her hard. Ulfric had stayed his judgment in deference to hers. "Why should I be any more merciful than him?"

"I have a small claim to your consideration, my Lady." Niranye bowed her head to her. "Nearly half a century ago, I was your father's nanny and tutor."

Cecilia stared. She knew her father had been raised by an Altmer nanny, whom he hadn't heard from for many years. But her name wasn't Niranye, it was –

"What was your name then?" Cecilia asked.

"I was Eliande for a good fifteen years."

Yes, that was the name. Niranye could have found out about her father's old nanny somewhere and then assumed that elf's identity, but it made a lot more sense to take her at her word. Her father had boasted that his old nanny was a expert confidence artist. According to him, she'd made a living in Alinor swindling wealthy socialites. It was that criminal background that made her such an effective teacher of high Altmer society's customs and culture. She'd moved on to Hammerfell when Summerset got to hot for her, then ended up in Curinwe Varo's employ.

"Do you believe me?" Niranye pressed.

"I – I think I do. I've heard tales of you."

"All good, I hope?"

"My father says you were a criminal. Also, he adored you."

"Precocious little tyke."

Cecilia laughed. "He's not so little anymore. Why did you disappear on my family?"

"Your father went off to boarding school in Cyrodiil. I decided it was time to strike out on a new adventure. Went north to Skyrim and haven't looked back."

"You could have written."

"My Lady, your grandmother was a fine woman, but she attracted the most unwelcome attention. I'm sure there are enough documents filed away in Dominion archives to keep me from ever returning home – alias or no alias. I've done my best to keep my head down since then. Though not so successfully these days." She held up her manacled hands to underscore the point.

"I'll ask the Jarl to show you mercy," said Cecilia. "But I don't know if he'll listen to me. We're . . . we're not on the best of terms right now."

"You quarreled, did you?"

Cecilia nodded.

"I thought so. You do need some advice. Pardon my asking, but this match is not an affair of the heart, is it?"

"No. It was a deal we made between us. No romance, just politics."

"And what do you want from this marriage?"

"I don't even know if it's going to happen now. I promised him, but he doesn't care –"

"Have you tried kissing him?" Niranye interrupted.

Cecilia coloured. "He tried to kiss me once. I didn't let him," she confessed.

"Well, there's your problem."

"He wasn't very enthusiastic about it. I think he was relieved I didn't respond."

"So neither of you are giving this a proper try."

"I . . . guess so."

"Go find him, kiss him and then see what happens."

"That won't solve his problems with the Empire!"

"It might make him forget his problems with the Empire. My dear Lady, you need to decide what you want from him, then tell him what that is. You can't wait around for Nords to figure these things out on their own."

"I don't know what I want," she admitted.

Niranye sighed. "A title? Power? Children?"

"I wanted his friendship," said Cecilia at last. "I can marry someone who doesn't love me. But not someone who doesn't like me. Who doesn't respect me."

"He doesn't like you? Are you sure?"

"No. I'm not sure."

"Then go find out. Your father didn't raise a coward, did he?"

Cecilia lifted her chin. "You're right. I'll go back and finish this. One way or another."


After the rage came the self-loathing. Ulfric had exhausted all his anger. He'd slammed the door, sworn at Yrsarald for an incomplete war report, then reduced one of the guards to tears with an only slightly deserved scolding. He'd made an ass of himself. Again.

'Ulfric." The small voice at his shoulder surprised him. Cecilia had slipped into the war room.

He turned to greet her, then noticed her face was pale, and she was shaking.

"I owe you an apology," he began stiffly. "I should at least have heard you out."

"Yes. I should have listened to you as well. But it's not – it's not what you think. When I say I want peace for Skyrim, I don't mean I want you and your people defeated. If I can negotiate a peace that doesn't give you up . . . ."

"I think you know you can't."

"If I knew, I wouldn't have promised the Legate." She sighed. "Someone told me I should just march in here and tell you what I wanted. It sounded easier than it is."

"Well, then, what is it you want?"

"You."

He stared at her.

"You made your mind up to marry me, you must have imagined our future together. Was there – is there more to it than neutralizing the Dragonborn's power?"

"Cecilia," he tried to speak but could say no more.

"You've never told me what you think our future should be." She took another step towards him.

"Are you the same woman who complained I was backing her into a corner?"

"Maybe it's a comfortable corner. Please describe it for me."

He put his hand to his brow. "I could paint you a charming picture, no doubt. A queen by her king's side, with devoted subjects, a babe in the cradle and shield-siblings always welcome at your hearth."

"What about fewer draughts and more carpets?"

"All the finery Skyrim can offer."

"Like that's a lot." She was smiling, though, so he took it as gentle teasing.

"I could tell you all that. It wouldn't be true, though. I'm not made for an entertaining a noble lady, and you are made for the gods' own ends. I'm merely borrowing you for a while."

She blinked. "So, what do you really think we're made for?"

"Rebuilding Skyrim together. Taking the fight to the Thalmor. Raising children to carry on our legacy."

"Being happy?"

He paused. "You deserve every happiness in life."

"I can't force you to be happy. But pretend with me sometimes. Pretend you don't think you're going to die horribly rather than live to a ripe old age."

She'd hit the mark there. Even if he became High King, he foresaw death in battle or at an assassin's blade.

"Well then if I'm going to pretend -" He took her in his arms and kissed her. It was every bit as much a calculated experiment as before, but this time she responded wholeheartedly to him. Her body relaxed against his.

Then she wriggled a bit in his arms, "Um . . . oof . . . your beard tickles." He was blindsided by the sudden jolt of desire that triggered in him.

"I want to marry you," he gasped.

"I assumed that from your proposal."

"As soon as I can arrange the ceremony."

"So you can stake your claim to me more firmly."

"Do you have any objections?"

She laughed. "Not at all." Then she pulled back from him, a knowing smile playing around her lips. "I want Lydia here first, though. But then gladly, my Jarl."

This didn't solve their problems. This didn't keep her from the Emperor's manipulations. But damn if he hadn't found a bit of happiness with her after all. And Oblivion take whomever tried to take her from him.


End notes:

So there we go. Twenty-nine Chapters in and we get some kissing. I thought Niranye with her philosophy of "People just need to schmooze better" would be the one to give Cecilia the push. Their issues aren't solved, they aren't wildly in love with each other, but . . .

Reviews, comments, and questions are appreciated and answered. I'm particularly nervous now that I finally got to some romance in this story.

So I put the answers to the end this time, because some of them were better answered by the chapter itself. But with more detail,

jfrost22792: This story involves some very damaged people, but I hope you can trust me not to write pure angst.

Faolan Benzita: Miraak and the Volikhar won't be involved in this story, maybe a sequel? Some of the events of the DB quest, though, are in motion. Titus Mede II is coming to Skyrim after all.

HermitWitch: I think this chapter will have answered your request for clarification. It's an uphill battle for romance. have a rule for myself that all conflict in a story must be about something real. A "misunderstanding" which will be cleared up in a chapter isn't worth writing. So, everything that they fought over was completely important. Religious freedom, the future of Skyrim, Torygg's death, opposing the Thalmor: there wasn't a topic brought up that wasn't worth an argument. But the way in which they went about it escalated into tempers lost completely. They know now they'll have to get back to those disagreements, but with a commitment that wasn't there before, despite the betrothal.