So hey. I'm on time. Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?

Qassanda didn't pay attention to the biting snow settling on the back of her neck, melting from the heat of her body and dripping cool water down her back within the Saviour's Hide to mingle with her sweat. She brandished the wooden sword and Yolah growled as she tapped him on the head with it.

"Pay attention, Mal gein. I won't be going easy on you."

Yolah nodded once and Qassanda stepped back, the fur drooping from her armour to cover her privates tickling her thighs.

Yolah snarled and reared his head, immediately releasing his shout.

"Fus, RO!" Qassanda leaped to the side and rolled out of the way as the shout blew past her harmlessly, not even shifting her body.

"Aim at me, Yolah! Picture me as an Imperial solider!" With these words she darted forwards and rolled out of sight.

Yolah tossed his head around, growling when he couldn't find her and twisted his head around to look behind him. A sudden slap of wood against his belly scales made him yelp and take to the skies, watching as his mother stood from where she had lain beneath him.

Swooping down, Yolah parted his maw, his mind's eye seeing an Imperial with a smirk, and his Monah at his feet.

"Fo!" he roared, and Qassanda met the blizzard of snow with her own shout.

"Yol!"

The fire and the frost collided in a ferocious burst, water droplets falling from the sky and freezing in the snow as wisps of smoke wafted to the skies. Yolah dipped and flew high, rolling and swerving in a dance to avoid the imaginary arrows attacking him.

Qassanda glanced around, Yolah had disappeared into the clouds and it worried her. Brandishing her wooden sword, she peered up, yet she was taken completely by surprise as a beast knocked her flat on her back. Hooked wings pressed her arms into the snow and clawed feet pinned her legs. Fangs glinted in front of her face and golden eyes stared straight into hers.

"You get back from one battle and leap into another before you even heal," sighed an exasperated voice. Qassanda didn't look away until Yolah did and flashed a grin.

"Fus, Ro…DAH!" The force of her shout pushed Yolah's scaly body into the air enough for her to roll out from underneath him and leap onto his back to touch her sword's wooden edge to his neck.

"You made this mistake when we took Whiterun, mal gein. Let nothing distract you when you fight."

Yolah relaxed and Qassanda dropped from his back to look at Ralof.

"I plan on fighting this war to the end. To do so, I need to train and so does Yolah."

Yolah rumbled and shook his body to loosen the snow dusting his scales.

"Monah, you should rest. You still haven't recovered from the iidah on Falkreath."

Ralof interrupted before Qassanda could reply.

"Why hasn't she recovered yet?"

Qassanda sighed as if she were tired of explaining.

"I refused to be healed with magic after Falkreath. I want to heal in my own time."

Ralof stepped forwards.

"Even if that means fighting with injuries?" He sounded gobsmacked. "That's suicide!"

Qassanda narrowed her sharp eyes.

"Don't underestimate my fighting ability. I will not be healed by magic or by potion until this war is over."

Ralof opened his mouth to argue more, but a deeper voice ringing with authority spoke before him.

"Why?"

Qassanda didn't need to look up. Ulfric's voice alone was as recognisable to her as her own accent.

"Why is not important. My body will heal itself as it should, and no potions shall touch my lips until Solitude falls."

Ulfric frowned but submitted to the stubborn woman, who tossed her thick hair over her shoulder and looked him directly in the eye.

"So, love. What's our next move against the Empire?"

Ulfric hesitated.

"We need soldiers in our camp in the Reach, taking the hold right on Solitude's doorstep will undoubtedly put pressure on the Imperials," he finally said, folding his arms. Qassanda grinned widely, flashing her straight teeth, and bowed at the waist.

"Of course, my Jarl," she purred, pecking him on the cheek and immediately slipping away to find Frostbite. Yolah shifted and a sad grumble rolled in his chest.

"Monah will krii herself if she continues like this," he muttered. Ulfric looked at the dragon and petted his scaled nose, giving a grunt of agreement.

"Do you know why she's doing this? Most of her injuries from the Thalmor still remain, and she does nothing to change that."

Yolah snorted a sneeze out, a puff of flame melting the snow between his wings.

"While the Mer and the Imperial hurt Monah, they would use magic and potion to heal her. Then they would start again." He stated sadly, Ulfric raised a blonde eyebrow.

"So the forced healing makes her think of the torture?"

Yolah nodded his head. His muzzle was beginning to thin, the spikes on his chin becoming more defined and deadly, and his horns were becoming sharper with each passing day, while his tail had grown a sharp tip resembling a thin arrowhead for fighting.

The dragon was maturing very quickly, not surprising, if one considered the hardships dragon younglings would encounter. His eyes shone as he looked to where his mother had been.

"I don't know how well joorre can remember, but the dovah have memories encompassing thousands of years."

This was the first time Ulfric had heard Yolah talking about other dragons, and he listened carefully.

"How would that affect Qassanda?"

Yolah looked at him.

"Monah is dovahkiin. The very word speaks of a dovah born as a human. She is perhaps more like us than she is like the joorre."

"Yes. I can see. She is a dragon who wears human skin. Is that not why she commands such respect?"

Yolah made a shrugging gesture.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not," he said simply, taking off with a few great strokes of his wings and following Qassanda from the sky.

Yolah landed beside Qassanda with the most confused expression achievable on his scaled face.

"Why do we stop here, Monah?" he asked, looking up at Whiterun's gates and glaring at any Stormcloak guards who stared for too long. Qassanda played with her hair.

"There's somebody I want to see. Will you come?"

Yolah nodded and flew over Whiterun's gates as Qassanda walked through. The Sneak sword watched as her child found a place to land without crushing anyone and patiently allowed children to pet him and adults to ask him questions.

Qassanda shot a grin at her son and knocked on the heavy wooden door to Breezehome. Vilkas answered the door and grinned down at her.

"It's been some time, hasn't it Qass?"

Qassanda laughed.

"Too long, grohiik jul," she said as the werewolf stepped aside to allow her entrance.

"Looking for Arya?" he asked, and Qassanda laughed.

"Obviously."

As Vilkas trekked up the stairs to find Arya, Qassanda noticed the Alchemy room's door was slightly ajar, and instead of a shelf full of spell books and recipes topped with a chest, she spotted a small bed.

Ignoring it, Qassanda watched as Arya leaped down the stairs and into her arms.

"It's been so long!" she squealed, squeezing her friend, who laughed.

"I'm only passing through right now, but I couldn't go by Whiterun without visiting you."

Arya grinned widely.

"You're the Dragonborn! Why didn't you tell me?" she demanded. Qassanda raised her hands in surrender.

"I didn't find out long before you did."

Arya leaned in secretively.

"Is it true that you finally found a man you're sticking with!?

Qassanda hesitated before nodding and Arya beamed brighter than Yolah's flame.

"May the nine help him!" she laughed. "You have to tell me who it is! How long have you been courting? Are you going to be married?" She gasped and lowered her voice to a whisper.

"Have you lain together yet?"

Qassanda blushed and sighed.

"We've been courting since it was announced that I'm the Dragonborn, I don't know if we'll be married…we have lain together…" she trailed off, becoming as red as her hair. Arya grabbed her hand.

"What's his name!?" she begged, Qassanda sighed.

"It's Ulfric Stormcloak," she muttered, peeking at her friend when she said nothing. Her beautiful angular face was pulled into shock.

"Ulfric Stormcloak? The man you've been sweet on since we were teens?" she gasped loudly, and Qassanda nodded once.

"You make it sound like a great feat."

Arya snorted.

"Qass, I know you're beautiful and you can bring men-and women-to your feet with a flutter of those eyes, but you are standing in front of me telling me that you fucked a Jarl. Even more than that, you fucked the leader of the rebellion." She grinned.

"Good job!"

Qassanda laughed and rolled her eyes.

"And how's your child?" she asked, Arya leaped into the air with joy, clapping.

"Oh, Qass! She's so beautiful! You have to meet her!"

Qassanda held up a hand.

"Bring her outside, behind your house and beside Olava's. I'll be there with Yolah."

Arya nodded ferociously and Qassanda stepped out of the house to where Yolah was.

"Hello mal gein."

Yolah rumbled with amusement.

"Why do you call me mal gein still? I am bigger than you, Monah."

Qassanda grinned and pressed a kiss onto his forehead.

"But you still remain my little one. Even when you grow to the full size of a dovah, I will call you little."

Yolah made his amused rumble again.

"Zu'u mal!" he crowed, and the small crowd of spectators began to disperse, leaving Arya holding a little bundle of blankets with Vilkas at her side, the usually excited elf moved with the smoothness of one who refused to jolt their cargo, and the gentleness of one holding the most delicate creature on Nirn.

"Yolah! Look at you!" she gasped. "When I first met you, you were hardly the size of my head!"

Yolah snorted in amusement and dipped his head.

"I remember you," he said simply, and at the elf's shocked expression, he gave what resembled a smile.

"I forget nothing." Qassanda scooted closer to Arya

"Show me the child who shall steal away my friend" Arya gently pulled on one of the blankets to show a beautiful face. Not as thin or angular as Arya's quite yet, her face was still not as chubby as human children.

Pointed ears poked out of the sides of her head, which was dusted with a tiny amount of black hair. Big slanted eyes of silver with a sprinkle of brown around the edges of the iris blinked up at her and plump little lips opened to release a giggle, which Qassanda smiled at.

"She truly is a beauty to behold," she murmured, stroking the babe's cheek as her little hand wrapped around the Sneak-sword's finger. Qassanda looked up at Vilkas, whose loving gaze was switching between his wife and daughter.

"Vilkas, she's only allowed to marry a man who can beat you in a fistfight," she declared, at which Vilkas chuckled softly.

"She's only allowed to marry a man who can fight Yolah barehanded and live."

Qassanda laughed then, and the babe laughed as well at the sound. Arya pressed her painted lips to the child's forehead.

"Little Lucia," she murmured fondly, and Qassanda stepped back.

"Where's Lupa? I want to see her."

It was Vilkas who answered.

"She's out hunting with my brother. Although I doubt that they'd be doing much actual hunting," he chuckled. Qassanda grinned.

"I'm sure they follow your example," she said with a wink, turning to Yolah. "Wait here and find me if they return."

The dragon nodded and dipped his head so his eyes met with Arya's.

"Can you make sweetrolls?" he asked, which caused Qassanda to laugh.

"Don't treat him like an adult, no matter how big he is, his mind is one of a child."

Arya laughed as well and Yolah's thin tongue snaked out to lick her face affectionately, causing Vilkas to give a playful snarl, and the dragon rumbled in amusement, watching his mother leave Whiterun.

The forests near Whiterun were rich and full of life. Deer and elk grazed in herds, bounding in a graceful run as Sabrecats neared in search of a meal. Wolves also hunted through the forests, bursting through bushes and bounding over grassy slopes to snatch up fleeing rabbits.

The two large shapes were completely out of place in the warm forest, spotted sunlight illuminating flashes of fur and fangs as the pair of werewolves played. One wolf was coated in fur of a deep brown, nearing black. Slitted silver eyes were set in its face and its pink tongue lolled out of its mouth as it panted.

The second wolf was smaller than the first and bore fur of the darkest black, marred by a long scar. The claws tipping its meaty fingers were longer than the first's and it bore sharp teeth in what resembled a grin.

Slitted eyes of molten gold focussed solely on the first wolf, and in spite of its size, it showed more power as it tackled the first wolf to the ground, snapping at its neck.

Qassanda watched the wolves wrestling for a few minutes, smirking as the black wolf bested the brown wolf time and time again. Once the black wolf was pinned beneath the paws of the brown one, both wolf staring deeply into one another's eyes, Qassanda interrupted.

"If you two would stop looking at each other like love-struck pups, I'd like to talk to you."

The black wolf looked up at Qassanda and pulled its lips back from its teeth in a grin, speaking in a growling wolf voice.

"It's been a while, Qass."

The larger wolf shook leaves from its fur and gave an identical grin as Qass gave her friend a swift hug.

"If I was trying, I'd beat you, Lupa."

Lupa barked a laugh out and swung her head to face Farkas.

"Says the one who was beaten by a she-wolf."

Farkas growled at that and sniffed, looking away in hope of keeping his pride intact. Lupa released her barking laugh again and looked back to Qassanda.

"How long are you staying?"

The Sneak-sword ran a hand through her long hair.

"Only for the day. I'm passing through on my way to the Reach."

Lupa raised a bushy eyebrow.

"What business do you have in the Reach?"

Farkas looked over his shoulder at them, wrinkling his muzzle in distaste.

"Running an errand for your master?" he growled, hatred lacing his voice. Qassanda's eyes darkened and she clenched a fist, stepping over to punch the werewolf in the side of the jaw. Farkas barked in surprise and Lupa sat back on her haunches to watch as he snarled at the Nord, who gazed fearlessly into his silver eyes as she shook her fist gently.

"I don't have a master," she said, sneering the word master. "I'm going to the Reach to introduce Yolah to Markarth."

The wolf snorted in disbelief and Lupa released a low whine of discontent as Qassanda wrapped a hand around the hilt of her sword.

"Have something against Ulfric?" she hissed, beginning to circle with the wolf, who curled a lip.

"I'm sure you would hate him as much if he brought his forces to Riften," he spat. Qassanda released an insulting laugh.

"Are you mad because you were left out of the battle for Whiterun?" she sneered, laughing as the werewolf bristled.

"I had to stand idle like a trained dog while men fought and died for Whiterun," he snarled.

"You're saying that you would prefer facing the force of an army because of some stupid pride?"

A growl rumbled in Farkas' chest, progressively growing louder.

"I'd like to see your army against a pack of well-trained werewolves!"

"Our army includes a dragon, the Dovahkiin and the knowledge of werewolves' weaknesses!"

"You swore to never tell of our weaknesses!"

"I didn't swear not to point people in the direction of the answers." Qassanda's voice was low and threatening, and Farkas snarled, his fur bristling.

"I don't doubt that you would betray us the moment Stormcloak tells you to, with the way you pant at his heels like a lost pup!"

Qassanda's eyes went wide.

"Ulfric is in love with me! And I am in love with him!" she shouted. Farkas also raised his growling voice.

"Why does he send you out to battle if he loves you? Why does he not keep you close, and safe?"

"Because I have proven that he has no need to! I've shown him that I am a woman capable of saving myself!"

"And yet I'd wager you still sit in his lap like a child, pretending to be a weak woman to feed his ego," the wolf said, looking to the side as if he were better than this. Qassanda showed an inch of her sword, itching to draw it and attack.

"I'm sure his ego doesn't need to be fed nearly as much as yours, mutt!"

Farkas' head snapped back to Qassanda and he roared in anger, raising a paw to strike her. Lupa snarled and leaped into the fray, only to be tossed back by Qassanda's shout.

"Fus! Stay out of this, Lupa!" the redhead cried, drawing her sword as Farkas dropped to all fours and growled, his hackles rose as he growled out of a salivating mouth.

"You drop to your knees at his call to lick his boots! You call yourself a soldier when you're nothing more than a pet!"

Qassanda lifted her sword above her head and Farkas yelped as she carved a solid red cut along his shoulder. The wolf leaped back with a snarl and swung his huge paw to paint four long gashes across the side of her head, tearing a scream of pain from her lips.

The pair traded blows and insults, slashing and roaring, screaming and stabbing filled the silent forest.

"Don't pretend that you're not jealous of smelling another man on me! Don't pretend that's not why you're angry!" Qassanda howled as her sword glanced Farkas' hip. The beast roared and leaped on her, raising his claws to tear into her enraged face.

A sudden roar rocked the earth and sent a shudder through the pair in unison.

Farkas lifted his muzzle to the sky and squinted at the glint of silver as a huge shape descended towards them. Yolah landed beside Qassanda's head, his huge fangs bared and his neck coiled as if to strike.

"Get off of Monah," he growled simply. Farkas stepped backwards, growling deep in his chest as he struggled with his pride to stand down and move back, glaring at Qassanda, who used Yolah's spikes to pull herself to her feet.

Yolah nuzzled Qassanda onto his back and she gripped his spikes so hard her knuckles turned white. Yolah glared at the werewolf as his knees began to shake.

"The she-wolf is coming to take you back," he sniffed, taking off with an unconscious Qassanda on his back just as the fur began to retreat from Farkas' form, leaving a naked, injured man to kneel on the ground weakly.

Qassanda still refused to be healed by Arya back in Breezehome, and in spite of her arguments, the elf insisted on cleaning her injuries for her. The gashes on the side of her head were the worst, mostly hidden behind her hairline, but marking her face to a point stretching beside her eye. They barely missed her ear, and so her hearing remained intact, but the gashes were still deep and bled profusely.

It was seated by the fire, with cleaned wounds and watching the flames lick a cooking pot, that Qassanda looked over to Vilkas for help. The werewolf had removed his armour in favour of soft sleeping trousers and seemed comfortable under the scrutinising eye of two women as the light from the fire flickered across the planes of his powerful chest, glinting off the dark curly hair as he read a book.

Arya was in the kitchen, with Lucia. She was preparing dinner for the small family and Lucia watched from her spot on the kitchen table, trying to bite the carrot she gripped in her tiny fists in spite of her teeth not having grown yet. Qassanda finally broke the comfortable silence.

"Vilkas…is there something wrong with Farkas?" she said, trying to keep insult out of her voice. Vilkas didn't even raise his eyes from the page he was reading.

"I am not taking a side in this argument," he mumbled, turning a page. He only looked up when Arya's footsteps neared with Lucia in her arms.

"Could you hold her for a while, love? She keeps trying to eat this."

Lucia raised the carrot with what sounded like a triumphant squeal and Vilkas smiled fondly, taking the babe into his own arms to sit her on his lap while he continued to read. Qassanda tried again.

"Please, Vilkas. I need to know why he's being so bitter."

Vilkas sighed and Lucia mimicked the sound, to an amused glance from Arya and a playfully irritated glance from Vilkas.

"Don't speak like my brother is the only one at fault, Qass," he said, punishing Lucia by tickling her, which made her squeal and giggle.

"When a wolf is taken with the beastblood, our thoughts are put to action with little pause or plan, our feelings bloom and burst more strongly than normal, and we act more violently on both thought and feeling."

Qassanda looked at the ground.

"I know that I provoked him to attack, but he was already bitter and angry at something, I want to know what and why."

Vilkas kissed Lucia on the forehead and she giggled, grabbing a fistful of his hair.

"Farkas doesn't like being left out of a fight. When you took Whiterun, you had him cooped up inside, listening to people fight and die. He knows that he could be a valuable asset to the battle, he could have defended the city, but he wasn't given the chance."

Arya spoke over her shoulder as she gathered some garlic.

"That's not all. Farkas and Lupa have been fighting recently," she said sadly. Qassanda raised an eyebrow.

"What are they fighting about?"

Arya came over to place some of the crushed garlic into the pot, releasing an array of brilliant smells

"Lupa wants to keep travelling, she says she hasn't been to the Summerset isles in a time, and wanted to return for a while, but Farkas wants to stay here because it's all he's ever known. They don't want to separate, but you can see the dilemma."

Qassanda nodded and watched as Vilkas bit Lucia's tiny fingers as gently as he could, making her giggle. The elven babe started trying to pick up his book and Vilkas read it aloud for her, finally settling her down.

The house fell silent so to not interrupt Vilkas' reading and a rumbling growl sounded outside. Qassanda looked up and smiled.

"That'll be Yolah back from his hunt," she said, standing. Arya frowned.

"Why are you leaving in the night?"

Qassanda pressed her lips together in a grim smile.

"Because as fun as today has been…I have a job to do. I need to get to Markarth as soon as I can." She slipped her boots on and smiled with a hand on the door.

"It was nice seeing you all," she said, waving farewell and stepping outside into the cool night. Yolah nuzzled the burned carcass of a deer towards his mother and she chuckled.

"I'm not very hungry, mal gein."

Yolah tilted his head at her and dipped his maw to the ground, snapping the deer up and swallowing it whole.

"Monah, you are still injured," he noted, lifting himself. Qassanda bit her lip.

"I said I'm fine, and I mean it."

Yolah grumbled in discontent but said nothing, taking off to wait for her at the stables. Qassanda turned and allowed her sweeping gaze to wash over Whiterun before facing the gate once again and stopping short at the woman covered in steel armour, her scar thrown into focus by the fire flickering beside her.

"Leaving without spending time with your best friend? Shameful," the werewolf muttered, shaking her head. Qassanda smiled and hugged her, burying her nose in Lupa's midnight coloured hair.

"I'm sorry for fighting with Farkas before and throwing you out of the way."

Lupa laughed.

"It's fine, he's actually sitting in the corner of his room sulking at the moment," she giggled, grinning as Qassanda laughed along. "I know why you got so mad about it, anyway. If somebody insulted Farkas or my relationship with him I'd probably just murder them on the spot."

At Qassanda's look she grinned.

"You are, of course an exception."

Qassanda gestured for Lupa to walk with her and the pair of warriors made their calm way to Whiterun stables.

"I honestly miss you as a thief Qass," Lupa sighed. Qassanda raised an eyebrow and ran her hands along the blue sash donning her cuirass.

"I would think you enjoyed having another warrior at your side."

Lupa pursed her lips.

"I do, but before, we all fit together nicely. Like the original three."

Qassanda sighed, Lupa often picked up lore and tales from the many lands she travelled to and spoke of them as familiarly as her own Talos worship.

"Who are the original three?"

Lupa shrugged.

"I won't tell you the whole story, but three close friends are the centrepiece. One of them was a warrior of unmatchable power, another was a thief who was never seen unless he wanted to be, and the final one was a mage whose magic was more powerful than any could imagine. The story tells of them being so different, yet so similar, complementing one another in battle, where one's weakness was another's strength, they could fell armies at a time" Qassanda smirked

"But you know it's a story, don't you? A thief, a warrior and a mage are powerful together, but can't defeat an army."

Lupa laughed as they came to the stables.

"I know, but it's a good story, and it makes me think of us. You know, you were the thief, I'm the warrior, and Arya's the mage."

Qassanda smiled and hugged the adventurer.

"I hope you never change, you crazy wolf," she said, moving to mount Frostbite and riding to where Yolah perched. After speaking to Yolah for a moment she took off, riding into the night with the shadow of a dragon flying above her.

Yes, I wanted an excuse to add the three classes in as a story. Also, crazy wolf *ding*