Chapter 53 – Old Haunts

"And here she is…," Marcurio said as he handed me the hungry one-month-old Flavia.

"Slept through the night again. How very kind of you, little one." I booped Flavia's tiny nose before loosening my robe and settling the baby in my arms for her morning meal.

Marcurio and Bird were staying in my old room at the palace. Yrsarald had insisted on it, and Ulfric didn't care either way so long as the guests didn't cause any trouble and eventually left. Not just anyone was allowed to be a guest of the palace and eat its food, use its baths and latrines, but this was now my family, Yrsarald was now my family, and Ulfric understood.

When Flavia finished her meal, Yrsarald picked her up and began the post-feeding ritual of trying to get the baby to burp. Watching Yrsarald with Flavia admittedly made me want to set out to create a mini-Yrsarald right then and there, but I figured I should put off procreating again until I graduated from the college, and until Meridia was finished with me. Yrsarald knew exactly what I was thinking in that moment; he gave me a stern look and slowly shook his head. He soon smiled, though, and I thought I saw a hint of pink on his tawny, faintly-freckled cheeks. He wanted one, too, but not yet. Not yet.

Burp accomplished, Yrsarald handed the gurgling cherub off to Marcurio, gave me a kiss, and headed downstairs to get to work. Bird, I assumed, was still sleeping next door. When the bedroom door closed, Marcurio asked the inevitable question.

"So, dear Deborah," he said, sitting down in the other large, cushioned chair with his daughter in his arms, "when are you going to tie yourself to that beautiful man and pop out a few little ones of your own?"

"Hmph," I sighed, and grinned. "I need to graduate from the college, Marc. And I need to know what Meridia has planned for me. I do not want to be eight months pregnant when some sign from the heavens comes from her. That would be not good. Not good at all."

"No, but you can't put your life on hold." His lips pressed to Flavia's forehead as the baby settled in for a nap.

I watched him watching Flavia for a moment. "Marc," I asked him, quietly, not wanting to disturb the drowsy baby, "do you enjoy working at the alchemist's shop?"

"It's fine. Why? Please don't tell me you want the job. You are more important than that."

"And so are you, Marc. You should find a job that lets you use your skills. One that, maybe, requires you to learn alchemy, but not as a shop assistant."

"You sound like you have one in mind," Marcurio said, an eyebrow arching.

I gazed at my friend, a dead-serious look in my eyes. "Court Mage," I whispered.

Marcurio's arms, which had been rocking the baby, stilled. "What?"

"Apprentice Court Mage. Here, with Wuunferth. I was going to be his apprentice; I was already his assistant, before…. But, I think I will not do this. I want to recommend you to him, Marc. What do you think?"

His arms recommenced their gentle rocking. "I don't know."

"Think about it. You and Bird could stay in Windhelm. In the palace. Windhelm is close to Winterhold, and I will want to travel between the college and here anyway, once I go back. I don't want to be away from Yrsarald too much, and he has to stay here. He won't leave his job, and I don't want him to. I won't go back to the college until Flavia is finished breast-feeding, so, you have some time to think about it. But do not take too long to think, because Wuunferth may already be looking for my replacement."

"Deborah, I don't think Ulfric will want me as his Court Mage."

"Why not? You are better than I am with most magic, and I doubt Wuunferth will die soon. You will get good with alchemy, studying with him."

"That's not why."

"Why, then?" I frowned. "Because you are married to a man?"

"No, Deb, that's not why." I waited for an explanation. Marcurio sighed, and then answered me. "Because I am an Imperial."

My brow creased. "And? You are not in the Imperial army."

"Deb, Skyrim is in the middle of a war, fighting for its freedom away from the Empire."

"I know."

"The Empire is run by Imperials. Or, was. The Empire is sort of… well, not dead, but… weak. Anyway… I'm fairly certain Ulfric will want a Nord as his Court Mage, like Wuunferth."

"There are no Nord mages, Marc. There was Onmund, but…. I doubt Ulfric will care what is in your blood. You are a man of Skyrim. You were born here, yes?"

"Yes, in Riften."

"Then I do not see the problem." I crossed my arms over my swollen chest. "But, if you think it may be a problem, I will talk to Wuunferth and then to Ulfric. Ulfric will listen to me. If not me, he will listen to Yrsarald, and Yrsarald likes you and Bird and Flavia; he will want you around as much as I do."

Marcurio sat back in his chair and contemplated the possibilities.

. . . . . .

"A letter from Ralof," the Stormcloak courier announced, turning to me. "He says hello, Deborah." He handed me a letter with my name on it. "And the report from the southeast. A trefna occurred near Shor's Stone, at the fort, just before a dragon attacked. I await your orders, Jarl Ulfric." The courier stepped out of the map room and into the main hall for a well-deserved meal.

"Another dragon attack?" I asked.

"Seventeen dead," Yrsarald read the report, "eight Stormcloaks and nine Imperials. The fort was partially destroyed, and the Imperials retreated. Twenty-one Stormcloaks were seriously injured; Imperials injuries unknown."

"Sounds like they could use a healer out there," Ulfric said, looking to me.

I turned to the Jarl, aghast. "I cannot go out into the field, Ulfric, I am still breast-feeding. If I do not lose milk regularly, my breasts will turn into stone and fall off." The exaggeration may have been overkill, but I at least got the point across.

"Fine, then," Ulfric said with a sneer, perhaps greatly disturbed by the visual of my laden breasts falling off. "Send your Imperial mage friend, the dark-haired one. He can heal, yes?"

"Marcurio just had a child, Ulfric. You cannot send him out to battle. He isn't a battlemage!"

"I am not sending anyone into battle, Deborah," Ulfric corrected. "And you, you just had a child, not Marcurio nor the other one…. The man could heal a few soldiers and be back before the child realizes he's gone."

"I'll go," sounded a voice from the stairwell entrance. Marcurio had come down. He turned to me. "I'm sorry, Deb. I think Flavia's hungry."

I stood and walked up to my friend. "You don't have to, Marc."

"I know, but Ulfric's right. I can help, so, I will."

I frowned, and trotted up the steps to feed Flavia, fully intent on telling Bird – who had quit his job as a courier to be a full-time dad and be with Marcurio – what his husband had just offered to do.

. . . . . .

Deborah,

Before I write about other things, you should know that Gerdur, Hod and Haming are safe in Whiterun. Much of Riverwood was destroyed, but Eyleif was there when the dragon attacked, and she was able to save many people, despite being heavy with child. For now, those who survived the attack are either in Whiterun or Ivarstead, or had gone their own way, like Faendal and Camilla. I don't know where they are, but I'm sure they're fine.

So, yes, I am a father. Eyleif had a son, and we named him Sighulf, after Ulfric, and for her own victory in saving many of Riverwood's citizens. I was able to be there shortly after the birth, thank Talos. As I write to you I write to Whiterun as well. If you are ever near there, please stop by. I know Gerdur would be happy to see you, and Eyleif wants to meet the woman from the future. If you are ever south of Windhelm, come to a place called Shor's Stone. This is where I will be for some time, I think, even though a dragon knocked down part of the fort near here.

Please, write to me and tell me of the College, and what you have been doing lately. I hope you're well.

Ralof

Eyleif. Eyleif, Eyleif, Eyleif. I had no idea why I was so jealous of learning that she had bared Ralof's child. Perhaps, I admitted to myself, I was still regretting never bedding the man. Briefly, I wondered how different my life would have been had I stayed in Riverwood, waiting for Ralof to return from war, oblivious to his once-secret relationship with Eyleif. I, along with many others in the town, would have likely been killed during the dragon attack. Eyleif was a hero. Good for her.

"Ralof, hmm?" Yrsarald asked, a twinge of jealousy in his voice belying his smile.

"Yes Ralof, without… whom… I'd probably be dead."

"Truly?"

"Ralof saved my life. Helgen, remember? I do not think I would be alive if he hadn't been sitting across from me in the cart when we were all arrested, and then hadn't decided to save me later."

"Someone else would have saved you if Ralof had not."

"I don't know…," I said, settling into the large, comfy chair with Flavia at my breast. "In my world, people talk about fate, but we do not really know if fate exists. People make their own decisions. But, here, we have gods and Daedra Lords. Meridia told me that they are not all-powerful, that they and the gods still need people to do things for them. That is why they claim people as their champions…. I think the gods sent Ralof to help me. I know they did. Meridia told me that people were patient with me, to help me learn Norren. Ralof was one of the first. He saved my life and helped me to be like a Nord."

"I'm only saying, Deborah, that you are important enough for the gods to want anyone to save you."

I gazed across the room to Yrsarald who had settled in bed for the evening. "You would say that," I said, blushing and smiling, looking away from him and down at the suckling Flavia.

"Perhaps they want me to save you, too," he said.

"Save me? What are you saving me from, someone else's bed?" I teased.

Yrsarald frowned.

Crap. "I'm sorry, that was not meant as it sounded." I am a jackass. I didn't have to be psychic to know that Yrsarald's mind immediately went to Stenvar. Or Ralof.

"No, it's fine. I didn't mean I thought you needed saving. You don't. Despite being scared sometimes, you have always been brave." His frown twitched up to hint at a smile. "But, perhaps one day you will need saving. I want to be there if that happens."

I smiled at my partner, lover, friend. "My furious protector."

Yrsarald stood from the bed and walked up to me. "My honeybee," he whispered before bending down to kiss my forehead and then my lips. His thick fingers then delicately caressed Flavia's tiny cheek.

"This bee has a stick," I said, grinning defiantly.

"Nin," Yrsarald said.

"Hmm?"

"Bees nin, not stick."

Sting. I giggled. "Nin. Yes. I do."

Yrsarald chuckled.

"And, be careful, I think you are getting too attached to this one," I indicated Flavia. "She is not mine, remember."

"She came from you; I cannot help but feel attached. It is in my blood to feel so." Flavia was finally finished and Yrsarald happily took her for her burping.

I watched as he performed the ritualistic burping dance. Pat, pat. Swivel, swivel, swivel. "Be kind and perhaps I will give you your own little cub someday."

Yrsarald stilled and stared at me. "I do not want a cub."

I was confused. "I didn't mean a real cub, Yrsa. I meant a baby."

"I know…," he continued his dance, "but, I don't want a child like me."

"Any child of yours will thankfully be like you. But I am not a werebear. I do not think we can make werebear children. Just big… big Nord god-like children." I laughed at the mental image of a son of Yrsarald's growing to be even larger than he was. Yrsarald was not smiling. "Yrsa, if you are worried about what a child of ours will be, find someone to ask. Go to Solstheim."

"I cannot leave here."

"Alright, so, write. You must know someone there, still."

"No, I do not. I only found out my parents had died because they were oddly in contact, occasionally, with nearby human villagers, and someone was passing through their village. They sent a note with the traveler with the mere hope that it would get to me. I'm not sure I would even remember where that village is, and I certainly don't know where I would find other werebears. I don't even know when the next gathering will be."

"Alright, well, you said werewolves exist. Do you know any?"

"No. Nor have I met one. I just know they exist."

I sighed. Flavia spit up. Yrsarald growled and cleaned up the mess from his bare shoulder.

"Yrsa…," I called, softly.

"Hmm?" he asked while rocking Flavia in wide arches, slowly.

"It doesn't matter."

"What doesn't matter?"

"What you are. It doesn't matter, not to me. I want to give you children, someday, if you want them. I don't care if they are human, bear, bird, horse… it doesn't matter."

Yrsarald gave a weak smile before leaving the room to go next door to return Flavia to her parents. When he returned, he took me by the hand, stood me up, and pressed his lips to mine. His hands drifted to my waist and pulled my body flush against his. His trimmed facial hair tickled my face less, except for the two little braids in his beard.

"So…," he said, pressing his forehead to mine, "you want to give me 'cubs', hmm?"

I grinned. "Someday, it might be nice…."

"How many?"

I laughed. "Ehh, five."

"Five!?"

"Five. One human, one bear, one bird, one horse, and one bee. Crazy, crazy family."

Yrsarald chuckled. "You are so very strange."

"You know you like me that way," I whispered into his ear.

Yrsarald gave a low, pleasant growl.

"Down, bear," I said, grinning.

In his deep, hushed, thickly-accented brogue, Yrsarald said, "You know a bear cannot resist honey."

At his sexy-sounding but ultimately lame response, I burst out in laughter. "That was…," I kept laughing, "I do not know your word."

"Horrible, I know," Yrsarald grinned. "Can I kiss you anyway?"

I nodded, still laughing. As Yrsarald kissed me, I ran my hands over his chest, something I did often. He had a beautiful, fuzzy chest that I could rarely resist touching when presented with it. When my hands swept over the bare patch just below his neck, I backed away and forced myself to stare at the scar tissue. The patch of pink, hardened skin was a small reminder of the day I almost killed Yrsarald with an arrow. "Why did my healing magic not heal this?" I gingerly ran my fingers over the scar tissue.

"For the same reason I have these scars," Yrsarald answered, motioning to his left shoulder, his right torso, and right thigh. In each area he had a small, rounded scar.

"Because it was done by magic?" I asked.

"Yes."

Much like the frostbite injury I had given him, healing magic could only do so much to fix what destructive magic had broken. "Is that also why your tattoo is still there, not healed when you changed to be a werebear? Because it is a magic tattoo?"

Yrsarald nodded. "Something like that. The tattoo was made by a werebear shaman. Just like I can never be cured, because being a werebear is in my blood, this tattoo will never fade."

I lowered my lips to the scar I had given him from the frostbite, to his left shoulder that was pierced by an ice spear so long ago, and then to his bear paw tattoo, partially hidden by chest hair. "You might not believe me, or be glad for me to say this, but…." I slid my hands around the man's waist as far as I could while looking up at his smiling face. "I like that you are werebear. I like that you are warm like a campfire, fuzzy like a fur cloak, and that you can smell what I feel. I know you do not like what you are, but… I do not think it is so bad. Not completely."

Yrsarald smiled broadly before leaning forward to kiss me. He then swept me up in his arms – something that had become a habit – laid me down in bed, and proceeded to cover me in kisses.

. . . . . .

"I'll only be gone one week, maybe a little longer." Marcurio was packing for his journey to the Stormcloak camp near a town called Shor's Stone. He had agreed to take with him my reply to Ralof.

"I know, but you've only just accepted starting as Wuunferth's assistant," Bird said. "I would have thought that would mean you'd be… I don't know… enchanting things or making potions. Here. In the palace. Able to come home at the end of the day."

I was sitting with Flavia, waiting for her to fall asleep, though that was unlikely with her parents having a loud disagreement in the same room. I watched silently as Marcurio packed his essentials.

"I'll be fine, Bird. You'll be fine. Deb's here. Yrsarald's here. Gjerta's still around if you need her."

"I'm not worried about being alone with Flavia." Bird was nearly shouting. "I just don't want you coming home without your head!"

Marcurio looked up from his knapsack, frowning. He moved around the corner of the bed to his husband, cupped the man's face in his palms, and kissed him. "What did I tell you about being a mage? What did I say, years ago?"

The corners of Bird's mouth dropped. "Mages don't shy away."

Marcurio smiled and kissed the tip of Bird's nose. "Right. What good is being a decent healer if all I ever do is heal women's leginongumen?" Marcurio turned to me. "No offense."

"Hmm?" I asked. "Oh, I don't even know what you said, Marc. I think I have heard that word before, but I don't know. Is it like loskanonguma? I've heard that before, and I know what that means…." Yrsarald had made innocent joking comments about my stretched vagina, or loskanonguma. Even with the full-body heal Marcurio had provided me and my subsequent self-heal spells, my birth canal was still not fully ready for certain activities until Flavia was about one month old.

My two friends stared wide-eyed at me before bursting into laughter.

"What?" I asked. "Did I understand it wrong?"

My friends kept on laughing for a while until Marcurio finally caught his breath. "Sweetie," he said, turning to me, "loskanonguma is not really word, but… a nickname. Leginonguma is the correct word."

"Oh," I said, embarrassed. "Well, what does loskanonguma mean, then?"

Bird snorted, unable to stop laughing.

Marcurio cleared his throat, and answered my question. "Love-passageway."

. . . . . .

"I am told orcs have been spotted in the Imperial ranks," Ulfric said over breakfast.

Sitting next to Yrsarald, who sat across from Ulfric, I couldn't help but overhear. "Orcs?" I asked. "Truly?" Ulfric ignored me and turned back to Yrsarald and Galmar.

"This is not surprising," Galmar said after chugging honey water. "We fought alongside a few in the Great War."

Ulfric sighed through his nose. Jorleif then walked in, whispered something to the Jarl, and then walked off again. "Hmm…," Ulfric growled.

"What is it?" Yrsarald asked.

"The history scholar is here to help identify all of Calixto's skraen," Ulfric answered.

"Oh, right," Yrsarald said and continued eating.

"History scholar? Of Skyrim?" I asked.

"Yes." Ulfric chewed while gazing at me.

Apparently I needed to fill in the blanks. "I am a history scholar," I said.

"Not of Skyrim," Ulfric countered.

"No, but do you not think I would like to meet a history scholar of Skyrim?"

Tharstan Eiriksen was his name. He was a traveling historian, originally from Solitude, a town far to the west of Windhelm. He was knowledgeable of all things regarding Skyrim's history, and he was in Windhelm to catalogue the belongings of the Butcher, Calixto Corrium, who had a vast collection of oddities and artifacts. The house was full of display cases and shelves, and crates tucked away that undoubtedly contained more artifacts.

"My assistant and I will get to work," Tharstan said to me. "You can watch, and learn… help, if you like."

And learn I did. I learned about the vanished Dwarven, or Dwemer culture, and their artifacts. All of their artifacts were made of the same metal, which looked like brass. I also learned about elven metal, something of a greenish gold, light and strong, and the weapons and armor it was used to make. Elodie had a dagger made from this metal. I learned about Snow Elves, and the Falmer, their history, and their weapons and armor which were made out of some horrible-sounding, giant cockroach-like monster that spit poison. Calixto had collected other, less interesting items, such as gemstones, soul gems, and even had an extensive insect collection, each pinned to a display wall, preserved.

"Aldine, start opening those crates," Tharstan ordered his assistant. Feeling like a freeloader to this educational experience, I helped Aldine with opening the first crate, and then helped sort out the contents. Tharstan's assistant couldn't have been more than twenty by the looks of her, and I wondered if she was his daughter. I didn't ask.

The first crate we opened contained a random assortment of objects ranging from books to gemstones to blocks of engraved stone.

"This is such an odd thing," I said.

"What is?" Aldine asked.

"All of this. The owner of this house was a murderer. A necromancer. Crazy. But he truly did collect things."

"I suppose he was a collector before he was a murderer," she suggested.

"Yes," I agreed. "I think he just became very crazy, and did horrible things."

I helped remove the objects from the crate and organize them into categories. Books. Gems. Jewelry. Miscellaneous. The last object in the crate was a fairly large, heavy, roughly-shaped wooden box with a hinged back. I opened it, and was confused by its contents. "It is a… cut rock."

"Cut rock?" Aldine asked. I spun around the box to show her its contents. "Hmm. Miscellaneous pile, for now."

Before putting the box into the growing pile of random things, I couldn't resist examining the rock. It was almost shaped like an ostrich egg, though slightly less round, and was about the same size, though a bit smaller. It was heavy, but not too heavy, so I knew the rock was not terribly dense. Other than the fact that the rock was faceted on its entire surface, as if it had been held to a whetstone at all angles, there was something odd about the rock that nagged at my brain. I had to pick it up to figure it out before moving on.

"Help! Help!" A man's voice called to me from what looked to be a ruin. "I can hear you. Who's out there? Help me! I can't see!"

"Who's that?" I called. "Where are you? Are you hurt?"

"I can't see! Ohh, gods, where is my wife? Please, help me!"

"Hold on, I'm coming!" I sheathed my shortsword and signaled for my small troop to follow.

"We don't have time to save some random man, Garus," Valerio complained.

"Don't have time?" I turned, shooting Valerio a scolding look. "It's a man who can't see. We can grab him and go." I walked up the stepped hill and found an entrance to the ruin. "Hello?" I called.

"Please! Help me! I'm inside!"

"A Game at Dinner," Aldine muttered to herself, writing the title of the book on a piece of paper before placing the book in a pile behind her. She reached for the next. "The Warrior's Charge," she muttered again, repeating the process.

I stared at Aldine and then looked to my left hand which contained the cut stone. The stone was glowing, faintly, which it had not done before. It was warming against my palm.

"The Red Kitchen Reader," Aldine continued. "These are odd books to have."

I felt a tingle in my left palm and my vision went white.

"Damn it, Hakon, come back here, boy. Hakon!"

"Your mutt's more trouble than he is helpful, Stevan."

"Shut up," I yelled at my second-in-command, Karl. "Hakon!" I stomped down the stepped hill, certain my dog had decided to sniff around the ruin, or perhaps thought that the stone, winged statue at the top was an actual person. "Stupid dog."

"He's inside!" I heard someone shout.

"What? How in Oblivion did he get inside?" I asked, descending a set of stone steps.

"Door's open."

I peered inside and heard Hakon barking. "Shit. Hakon!" I waited for my dog to come. And waited some more. "I'm going in."

"There's probably draugr in there," I heard Karl say.

"I don't care. I'm getting my dog." And then I heard a distant yelp of pain. "Hakon!" I screamed, entering the ruin. "Shit, it's dark. I need a torch."

"Stevan, we have to get to the camp before dark."

Another yelp of pain carried from deep inside the ruin. "TORCH!" I shouted back at Karl.

"Some journals…. Nothing special." Aldine was still sorting through the books from the crate we had just opened.

I stared at her, but she was preoccupied. What the hell is going on? I looked again at the cut rock, which was still glowing, still warm. And then I saw a shadow move across or within the rock, which I had previously thought was opaque.

"Aldine?" I called, looking up at her.

"You bastard!" I lunged at the Imperial soldier who had been kicking Hakon's lifeless body. My axe entered the man's neck, ending his own life. My men set upon the other Imperials as I knelt before my dog; he had been impaled through the lungs by the soldier's shortsword. "Bastards," I whispered, giving my old friend one last pat on the head.

I turned to the skirmish just in time to watch an Imperial shove his shortsword down into the top of Karl's shoulder, piercing his lung.

Behind the soldiers, in the shadows, stood a black-robed figure with a long, pointed orange beard. Before my vision went black, I saw the torchlight reflect off of his toothy grin.

Aldine blinked up at me. "Yes?" she asked, holding a small journal in one hand and her list in another.

"What?" I asked.

"You said my name. What is it? Is it the rock? Did you find something?"

"I…," I looked down at the once-again opaque and cold cut rock. "No. No. Nevermind." I stuffed the rock inside its wooden box as Aldine returned to cataloging books. While she wasn't looking, I grabbed the cut rock, slid it into my mage's robe pocket, and replaced in the wooden box a similarly-sized chunk of engraved stone. I had never stolen an artifact before, but, unless I was going crazy, the cut rock was giving me visions. I had to keep it.

As I stood to pick up the already-catalogued books behind Aldine, the house shook, and the pile of books toppled over. I grasped at a tall bookshelf to steady myself, which was likely a poor decision, as bookshelves had a tendency to tip over in earthquakes.

"What is that!?" Aldine squealed.

"Earth-shake," I said as calmly as possible, though my wide eyes likely belied my demeanor. The house and ground stilled immediately. "Strange…," I said, standing. "That was quick. The last one was longer."

"Last one!?" I could see the fear in Aldine's eyes.

Tharstan trotted over to us. "Everyone alright?" he asked.

"Yes. Come on, let us see what is happening," I said, making for the door. Outside, everything seemed fine. I spotted a guard on his routine rounds. He was gazing at the sky. "What happened?" I called to him.

The guard turned to me, and in a dire tone said, "Dragon."