A/n: Corrections for chapters 1-6 are posted along with this chapter.

Corrections for this chapter are the usual


"The ruling king that sees in another his equivalent rules nothing." -Vivec


The Greybeards agreed to host the council without contest. Since Paarthurnax helped her, they were bound by their oath to do likewise. Even if they weren't, Arngeir seemed convinced on his own. His support meant the world to her, given the argument they had over learning Dragonrend.

Mehra left High Hrothgar and headed toward Solitude, grateful for the overwhelming support she had from everyone in her life. Even Neloth, who was a bit out of touch with sentimental words, encouraged her – though it was typically with realism.

The parcel he sent her didn't have much of a note. All it said was, "You deserve something nice." The gifts enclosed were too much. Mehra had no clue where Neloth got them from, but they must have cost an absolute fortune.

The gifts consisted of a golden comb inlaid with rubies – a comb massive enough to pin back the full length of her hair in a twist. With it was an outrageous strand of pearls, each impressive stone the size of a blueberry.

Mehra wasn't sure what to do with these things; she still wore a linen tunic full of darning patches and plain pants under her armor. Surely, it would look ridiculous on her.

Lydia suggested she visit a clothier while she was in Solitude. It was worth a try, given that she had no clue what to wear with the expensive gifts. Still, she figured she'd look like an urchin regardless of what she wore. Since her stint in prison and the subsequent time afterward, she hadn't oiled her hair once.

In Morrowind, it was a grave mismanagement of one's long hair to not properly oil it. Mehra figured she ought to just shave her head again, but she had misgivings about it, now that she had the comb. She didn't care either way about her hair, so if Neloth liked it long, it didn't bother her to keep it.

As she traveled toward Solitude, she found herself continuously reminded of the ludicrously expensive presents. Mehra curled up beside her pack each time she slept when she camped, with the pocket she kept the gifts in against her body.

Neloth wouldn't have liked her obsessing over the things he gave her, but she couldn't help it. If nothing else, the clothiers in Solitude would know how to style her new items so she didn't look ridiculous.

Mehra passed through Whiterun's plains, stopping overnight in Rorikstead. She spent an uneventful night there and headed out the next morning after a small breakfast.

Mehra stepped out of the village's single tavern. Not one of the residents were out, but the smell of smoke and breakfast from the chimneys throughout the village permeated the air. People went about their business as usual, unaware of the potential apocalypse that awaited them.

Maybe it was unfair to keep it to herself and her friends. But Mehra wanted all these people to live without fear; the presence of dragons was frightening enough.

As she traveled down the road toward the wilderness beyond, she spotted someone on the road. The traveler wore a basic set of light armor, and the tip of a bow stood out above the top of her head from where it lay strapped to her back. It wouldn't have been an odd sight, were it not for the hour at which the woman traveled.

The person waved. While it was typical for people to signal that they were friendly, there was something familiar about her appearance.

Mehra drew closer and sighed in relief. Of all the possible people out in the world, it was Delphine. No wonder she waved; the dragon skull helm was distinctive enough that anyone who knew her could single her out at a distance.

In hindsight, it was a very bad set of armor for a former assassin to wear, but her enemies were dragons this time. It still surprised her that people picked fights with her, however.

"I guess Talos guided you after all," Delphine called.

Mehra chuckled and picked up her pace to meet Delphine on the road.

"I'm getting guided all over the place," Mehra said.

Delphine nodded. "Looks like it. You learn that shout, yet?"

"Oh yeah," she replied. "Got to use it, too. I'm assuming you didn't get my letter."

Delphine shook her head. She looked more tired than ever. The dark circles under her eyes were accompanied by bags, and her golden hair was streaked with more silver than before. Life on the run was unkind to her, as were her worries about Alduin.

"Well, I got to use the shout," Mehra explained. "I saw back in time with the Elder Scroll and learned it. The shout makes Alduin mortal. As soon as I learned it, he attacked."

Delphine stared at her in disbelief. "You're alive so – I don't dare hope that it's over, do I?"

Mehra sighed and shook her head. She wished she had better news.

"It wasn't for a lack of trying," she said. "It turns out that powerful ranged magic might be the key to finishing him off. Problem is Alduin flew off before we could finish the job."

"'We'?" Delphine repeated. "Amazing that you had help from the Greybeards."

Mehra winced. "Uh, yeah. Very helpful, those Greybeards. But, yeah. Alduin flew off before I could finish him off. I can't just use shouts like I do normal speech; they work a lot more like magic."

Delphine nodded slowly, as if she didn't quite buy her story. Mehra had no clue what she would do about Paarthurnax, and she didn't want to get him tangled up with the Blades.

"Anyway," Mehra said. "The bad part is that he flew off to Sovngarde to devour the souls of the dead. The plan is to shout the name of one of Alduin's allies and capture him in Dragonsreach. But, in order to do that, Jarl Balgruuf wants me to negotiate a truce. That's why I'm on the road up to Solitude."

Delphine pursed her lips in thought. "It's a reasonable plan. I can't blame Balgruuf. Where will you meet, though?"

"High Hrothgar," she replied. "The Greybeards are neutral and well-respected. And they are to my advantage."

"Do you think they'll agree to that?" Delphine grumbled.

Mehra shrugged. "They already did. Peace is their way, so it makes sense that they would agree to this. I guess that negotiating peace would overrule their code of seclusion."

"Your guess is better than mine," she said. "They sure wouldn't talk to us. Have you picked a date, yet?"

"Not yet, no," Mehra admitted.

"Fair enough," Delphine said. "Since you don't know how armies work, I'll give you a bit of advice: try to arrange it for a month and a half from now. It'll put a bit of a pinch on them to get moving and make an immediate decision to hold the meeting, but it'll give them enough time to send out communications."

Mehra nodded in agreement. That was her thought as well, but she wasn't about to tell Delphine how she knew about these sorts of things. Still, she needed both sides to agree to the date before she confirmed it with the Greybeards.

"Maybe if they employed more mages, they wouldn't have to worry about communications issues," Mehra quipped.

Delphine closed her eyes and nodded. "I – can't say I disagree. But the magic you speak of is very advanced."

"They can do it. Stormcloaks included."

Mehra refused to buy into the stereotype that Nords were rock-banging cavemen. While they eschewed magic, they were certainly capable of doing anything they wanted to accomplish, the same as everyone else. And combined with that was a culture filled with a very strong work ethic.

"That they can," Delphine agreed. "But, that's beside the point. Do you have the name of an ally?"

Mehra didn't know how to answer that. She still wanted to keep Paarthurnax's existence a secret, despite the fact that he was helpful. Her instincts told her it was unwise to say too much to Delphine at the moment.

Delphine sighed and stared off toward the wilderness. "Judging by the look on your face, I'll take that as a no."

Mehra nodded quietly, knowing full well that if she replied verbally, Delphine would find her out in a second.

"Esbern has been looking into old texts," she said. "I've got a few names you could try. Does Mirmulnir sound familiar?"

"Yeah," Mehra winced. "I'm wearing him."

Delphine couldn't help but chuckle. "Alright. What about Paarthurnax? He was one of Alduin's trusted circle during the Dragon War."

"Name's vaguely familiar," she said. "Not sure from where. Are we sure that he's got the same friends, this many years later?"

Delphine shrugged. "Could also try the name Odahviing."

"Haven't killed anyone with that name, that I know of," she admitted.

Mehra attempted to look as if she were thinking; whether or not Delphine bought it, she couldn't say.

"It's worth a try," Delphine said. "If he helps you, we'll worry about killing him after Alduin is done with."

"Isn't that a bit unfair?" Mehra asked.

Delphine shook her head. "He's a dragon. I know you're Dragonborn, but you've got a handle on yourself better than any dragon could. History shows that they are wholly incapable of morality, and at any given moment, they will try to harm mortals. It's not a matter of if a so-called 'good' dragon will go on a rampage; it's a matter of when."

Mehra couldn't disagree more, but there was a time and a place to argue, and this wasn't it. She didn't know Odahviing in the least, but if he helped them out, she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and listen to what he had to say in his defense. And if these were truly the Blades, they were technically under her employ, not the other way around.

"I guess that's a little irrelevant to the point," Mehra said. "We've got to actually get a dragon before we even argue their merits. I guess I'll try Odahviing. If he's one of Alduin's close circle, I doubt that Alduin would send him to me. You don't send a General to fight in a battle."

"Agreed," Delphine said. "Anyway, we probably shouldn't be seen talking. I suppose we'll see you at High Hrothgar in a month and a half. Thankfully, it isn't too terribly far from where we're staying. But that climb will be brutal."

Mehra nodded. "Agreed. I'm concerned about Esbern traveling too much."

Delphine gave her a sad smile. "As am I, Dragonborn. I've got him writing down everything he can remember, but he knows so much. He's forgotten more things than I even know."

"I'm assuming that the Blades' history isn't supposed to be oral," Mehra said.

"No, it's not," she sighed. "The Thalmor torched our archives. Names of our Blades, our heroes, the descriptions of how each looked, and firsthand accounts – they're all gone. All we've got is what Esbern can remember and whatever he was able to carry out of there."

Mehra swallowed. "I'm sorry it happened that way."

"We can't change it," Delphine said. "But we're doing our best to do something. If we go down, we're giving them hell on the way out."

"I intend to do the same," Mehra replied. "With luck, I'll see you in a month and a half."

Delphine nodded. "I'm damn proud of what we've been able to accomplish so far. See you then."

With that, they parted ways. Mehra walked down the road toward Solitude once more. As soon as Rorikstead was out of view behind her – and Delphine along with it – her shoulders slumped.

Delphine didn't seem inclined to give any of the dragons a chance, and Mehra didn't find that to be fair. They were all individuals, and though most followed Alduin, it was clear to her that they could change. After all, Paarthurnax changed and he helped mortals multiple times.

It disturbed her that Delphine even knew Paarthurnax's name. He was supposed to be a secret, and the ugly thought that the Blades possibly argued with the Greybeards over his existence was hard to put aside. Mehra hoped that her hunch was wrong, but pessimism told her otherwise.

Regardless, she couldn't do anything about it. If it came up later, then she'd deal with it at that time.

Mehra continued on to Solitude, the scenery slowly changing as she approached the rocky coast. She passed over a wide, rapid river, then back over it once again much further down the road. Eventually, the familiar sight of Dragon Bridge came into view, just as the sun began to set.

Now that she thought of it, she did eventually destroy the Dark Brotherhood as Commander Maro asked her. It took her a long time to get it done, of course, but she was certain that had she made an attempt immediately, they would have killed her with little trouble.

Curious if he even remembered asking someone to do such a thing, Mehra approached the Penitus Oculatus Outpost, opened the door, and stepped inside.

Immediately, a pair of soldiers stood from the crowded mess table in the corner of the room.

"What do you want?" one asked. "You look tough, but enlistment's handled in Solitude, not here."

Commander Maro looked up from the papers on his desk and ordered the soldier to stand down. Slowly, he stood and peered at Mehra with curiosity.

"You look familiar, but I can't quite place it," he said. "I think I'd remember you, though."

Mehra unstrapped her helm to reveal her herself. "You told me the password to the Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary. Since I've taken care of them, I'm here for the reward."

"Ah," he mused, "that's why you look familiar. Yes, now I remember the scars on your cheek. You look very different than you did a few months ago."

Commander Maro seemed to think for a moment before nodding. Turning, he walked over to his desk.

"Their activity dropped off sharply not too long ago," he said. "Can you describe them?"

Mehra shrugged. "One of them turned out to be a werewolf- the male Nord. There was an elderly Imperial male, adult Argonian male, and a female Dunmer."

"Sounds like the ones we know of," Commander Maro replied. "I hope that was all of them. You've done the world an incredible favor."

He reached into his desk, withdrew a bag bulging with coin, and handed it to her.

"Three thousand gold," he said. "We are much safer thanks to your efforts. Honestly, the Penitus Oculatus could use more people with your skills."

Mehra put the purse in her bag and shook her head. She was Dragonborn, Nerevarine, and Blade– in that order, at the moment. There were plenty of talented young people who could fill the role.

"Are you headed to Solitude to join the fight against the Stormcloaks, at least?" he asked.

She put her helm back on top of her head and fastened it.

"The dragons are more pressing, Commander."

"You gonna do something about that?" he asked.

Mehra nodded. "Absolutely."

Commander Maro narrowed his eyes and stared intently at her, then eventually sighed.

"I suppose so," he replied. "Take care, Thane of Whiterun."

"And you as well."

Mehra left the outpost, grateful that her office as Thane of Whiterun, and Dragonborn by proxy, preceded her. The war was a losing proposition, no matter which side she chose.

She just hoped that Jarl Balgruuf held on to his convictions, and only gave in if he absolutely had to.

After staying overnight in Dragon Bridge, Mehra headed out first thing in the morning. The rest of her journey to Solitude was uneventful, something which brought her immense relief. If it wasn't a dragon, she usually had trouble from bandits, or in the case of the northwestern part of the Province, the menacing Forsworn.

The city was as busy as ever, even at the odd hour at which she arrived. Still, the sight of her imposing armor made people step out of her way as soon as they saw her, giving Mehra a quicker walk toward the place where the Imperials kept their headquarters.

It was an imposing castle on top of a hill, on the opposite side of the city from which the Blue Palace stood. Red banners of the Wolf of Solitude hung from the rampart of the castle, heavy in the still, warm air.

Passing through an archway, Mehra stepped into the outer courtyard of the castle. The Imperials made good work of turning it into a training yard – soldiers practiced archery and swordsmanship off to the side, while other recruits trained their fitness by jogging in full gear in laps around the worn cobblestones lining the courtyard. An instructor shouted at them to pick up the pace.

It was one of the few places where nobody paid much attention to her.

Mehra wandered further into the training yard. Directly opposite of where she stood was a door with a banner hanging above it. A pair of guards flanked the door on each side, signaling that whatever was inside was important.

She approached the door and stopped as one of the guards held his hand out.

"What business do you have here?" he asked. "Come to join?"

Mehra shrugged. "Sure."

They were both shorter men with dark hair and dark eyes, and their accent was definitely of Cyrodiil. Without asking her for more information – or noticing her symbol of office pinned to her cape – they opened the door and let her inside, buying her lie without question.

The reception area inside was imposing and unwelcoming. A pair of braziers stood in the center of the room, unlit and empty of ashes. Some half a dozen shimmering, crimson Imperial banners lined the walls. At the far end of the room were two sad, hard benches, rough and unstained. To her left, a half-hearted attempt at a waiting area sat, with a similar rough bench as across the room, and a mismatched table covered in lattice-style woodwork. A pewter pitcher and a pair of goblets occupied the table. She wouldn't have been surprised if the pitcher were empty.

Mehra walked slowly across the padded, blue runners that formed an intersection in the center of the room. There were no guards in sight inside the waiting area, nor anyone assigned as an aide. Directly across from her was the war room: through the open archway, she saw a table covered in maps, as well as various desks and shelves filled with papers. Voices drifted out into the foyer.

"I'm telling you," a woman said. "Ulfric is planning an attack Whiterun."

Mehra stopped mid-step and waited in the foyer.

A familiar voice replied. "He'd be insane to try. He doesn't have the men."

"That's not what my scouts report, sir," the woman replied. "Every day more join his cause. Riften, Dawnstar, and Winterhold support him."

Mehra nodded to herself. This was important to relay to Jarl Balgruuf. He was very wise to ask for the truce meeting.

"It's a not a cause," General Tullius scoffed. "It's a rebellion."

"Call it whatever you like, General," the woman replied. "The man's going to try to take Whiterun."

"Jarl Balgruuf –"

"Balgruuf refuses the Legion's right to garrison troops in his city," the woman explained. "On the other hand, he also refuses to acknowledge Ulfric's claim."

Mehra continued toward the war room. With luck, they would be willing to attend the meeting. She stopped in the doorway and waited for a break in the conversation so she could politely make herself known.

General Tullius scowled. "Well, if he wants to stand outside the protection of the Empire, fine. Let Ulfric pillage his city."

"And if I am there, the attackers will die to my fire," Mehra interjected.

The General turned to her with a frown. "So, now my men are letting just anyone in here? Do you have some reason to be here, citizen?"

The officer he spoke with winced and snapped a hasty salute. "Sir, this is the Thane of Whiterun, by the looks of her medal."

"Has Jarl Balgruuf come to his senses, then?" he asked.

Mehra nodded. "He makes the most sense of anyone I've spoken to, at least."

"Good," he replied. "There's something familiar about you, though."

She couldn't help but smile. Reaching up, Mehra unstrapped her helm out of courtesy.

"Oh, of course," General Tullius said. "You were at Helgen. One of the prisoners, if I recall correctly. Not many survived Helgen. We have heard grumbling about the new Thane of Whiterun being a foreigner. I suppose that's you."

"Yes."

"Well, what does Jarl Balgruuf want?" he asked. "The Legion is ready to defend Whiterun from Ulfric. That many Holds versus one are poor odds."

Mehra nodded slowly. That wasn't incorrect.

"It is along the line of defending Whiterun, yes," she replied. "But it's not in the way you're inferring. I'll speak plainly; the dragons have become a menace. The one that attacked Helgen is the leader of them, and if we don't stop him, he will destroy everything."

General Tullius crossed his arms. "I won't throw my army at that dragon."

"I wouldn't ask you to, either," Mehra said.

He stared at her, likely trying to figure her out. The look in his eyes was intimidating.

"We would like to hold a council for a temporary truce," she explained. "It will make dealing with the dragons easier. I wouldn't ask this if it wasn't important. The dragons are a bigger problem than the Stormcloaks right now."

He narrowed his eyes. "I'll be the judge of that. Besides, by all my reports, the Stormcloaks are suffering just as much as we are from these dragon attacks."

"Then the peace council is warranted," Mehra replied. "Especially if your legions are trying to fight both dragons and Stormcloaks at the same time. It's a lot of unnecessary casualties and a waste of resources."

"I'll give you that. But who's going to stop them?"

"I am," she said. "I am Dragonborn. If I defeat the dragon that attacked Helgen, the dragons will stop being revived, since he is the only one who can resurrect the dragons. I will then work on exterminating those who cause trouble. The Greybeards and Jarl Balgruuf want me to carry out the plan without the threat of attacks."

General Tullius nodded slowly. "Well, if Jarl Balgruuf permitted the Legion to garrison troops within Whiterun – as is our right as – then he wouldn't have an issue."

He was mostly correct on that one, but there was a catch to it.

"But the city could still face an attack," she replied. "And since we are using Whiterun as our counter-dragon headquarters, it's imperative that we are allowed to complete our mission unhindered."

He chuckled to himself and shook his head. "For a former prisoner in rags, you've sure got a lot of sense in you. You take your job as Thane of Whiterun seriously. Fine, I'll come to this Greybeard council, for all the good it will do. When are you holding it?"

"A month and a half from now," she replied. "I've spoken to you first, so we can pick a day to make it official."

General Tullius motioned for her to follow him over to his desk at the corner of the room. His officer watched intently, her expression guarded.

"Is there a specific day that works?" he asked, turning the page on the filled calendar on his desk.

Mehra shrugged. "The Greybeards don't really have engagements."

General Tullius nodded, then pointed to a specific day. "This gives me enough time to inform everyone out in the field to cease operations."

Mehra made a mental note of the date.

"Excellent," she said. "Once Ulfric has agreed, I'll send a letter of confirmation immediately."

He snorted. "Good luck with that. He won't even like the looks of you."

"Hopefully he respects the Greybeards enough to look past that," she frowned.

General Tullius shrugged, then motioned toward the door.

"We'll see about that," he said. "Now if there isn't anything else, I have things to do. I assume you know where the door is."

The silent officer visibly flinched at his brusque manners. Mehra didn't particularly care; she got what she wanted, and that was all that mattered to her.

Mehra nodded. "Thank you for agreeing. We will see you in one month's time."

"Mhm."

With that, she turned and walked toward the foyer, giving the officer a nod when she gave her a small bow of recognition. As Mehra headed out of the castle and into the courtyard, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. She had two of the three pieces to this peace council figured out. All that was left was to talk to Ulfric. She was very concerned that he wouldn't agree, but to give him credit, Mehra didn't know much of him other than the rumors. He was gagged for most of the time she was in Helgen, after all, and she didn't have the opportunity to speak with him.

Still, she took General Tullius seriously. She'd mention anything she possibly could to get the advantage over Ulfric.

In the meantime, she desperately needed help in finding some new clothing. Mehra headed back toward the entrance of the city.

From what Lydia told her, the most prominent clothiers in Solitude were Altmer sisters. Their shop was near the front of the city, and anyone of note in Solitude wore their clothing. If anyone would know what to pair with Neloth's gifts, it was undoubtedly the sisters of The Radiant Raiment.

Mehra felt nervous as she stood outside the shop. Wealthy people knew she was a fake from the moment they spotted her, and she was certain that this would be no different. Mehra exhaled as she grabbed the handle of the door. She'd rather traipse through a haunted barrow, but this was the only way to really get something nice and appropriate to go with the gifts.

Mehra pushed the door open. A bell above the door rang as she stepped inside to see a tidy, small shop filled with vibrant and expensive cloth. Beyond the small entrance was a counter, at which a bored-looking Altmer woman sat doing embroidery work. A lit stick of incense sat on the counter, the scent of Summerset teak filling the shop.

The shopkeeper looked up as Mehra crossed the threshold and stared at her expectantly.

"I need help," Mehra said.

The woman raised a brow, stuck her needle into her project, and stood.

"I can certainly see that," she drawled. "What's the occasion? I am not a warrior, but I can spot fine armor well enough. You can afford us."

Well, that was good, she supposed.

The seamstress glanced down at the Ebony Blade with narrowed eyes. "With a blasphemous weapon like that, however, I ought to just kick you out."

Mehra narrowed her eyes in return. She opened her mouth to snap a retort, but a voice from the back of the shop beat her to it.

"Sister, dear, how about you take a break? I shall help our fine customer."

The woman rolled her eyes, grabbed her work, and sauntered off through a silken curtain to the back room of the shop, just as a similar looking, albeit slightly younger, woman came from the back of the shop. The smile on her face looked fake, but at least she put forth the effort.

"Hello," she said. "I am Taarie. That was my sister, Endarie. Please forgive her abruptness; it is merely the Altmer way."

Mehra nodded and unstrapped her helm. "Understood. It is also the way of Morrowind, and of much of Skyrim. I am Mehra Dreloth, Thane of Whiterun."

Taarie smiled and inclined her head in a show of respect. "Well met, Lady Thane. I have heard much of the beauty of Whiterun. How may we assist you?"

Mehra removed her helm, swung her pack from her back, and reached in to withdraw the fine cedar box which contained the gifts.

"As I'm sure you're aware," she said, "many thanes are appointed to their position through merit, rather than status. I admit that I am of common birth. I need some clothes to pair with these, which my lover has gifted me."

Taarie gave her a condescending smirk as Mehra handed the box to her. When she opened it, however, her expression changed immediately to shock.

"Goodness," she gasped. "How exquisite! Certainly, a marriage is in your future."

Mehra winced. "He's a very old wizard. I – I don't think he wants something like that."

Taarie shrugged, placed the box down on the counter, and removed the comb to take a look at it.

"So, he's a foreign man," she mused. "Not a Nord, given what you just said. Pearls are very much cross-cultural, but the style of the comb is very traditional to Morrowind. In fact –"

She peered down at the pearls, then back to the comb. Squinting, she turned it in the light.

"Pearls are new," she said. "The comb, however –"

Mehra had no clue what she was on about, but in the next second, Taarie seemed to find what she was looking for.

"Jeweler's marks are in daedric," she grumbled.

Mehra shuffled over to peer at the comb. "Where?" she asked.

Because she could read daedric runes, and always had the ability, likely thanks to her past life. Knowing such things in Daggerfall by default had her painted as devil-spawn, but it came in handy when she moved to Morrowind. She belonged there, without a doubt. And while she missed it, Mehra also felt like Skyrim was slowly becoming home, as well.

Taarie pointed to the runes etched into one of the tines of the comb.

"There's a two here," Mehra mumbled. "Looks like E2 13."

The curtain to the back room flew open.

"You have got to be kidding me," Endarie grumbled. "An early Second Era comb? I want to see it."

Taarie handed the comb to her sister, who examined it with narrowed eyes.

"This isn't a piece of jewelry," Endarie said. "It's an artifact. You – you've got some wily ways about you, girl. Keep that up, and you'd probably even entrap that old fool, Mede, if you wanted."

Mehra crossed her arms. "I really like him though. We do enchanting together and talk about all sorts of things. And he's really handsome."

Endarie handed the comb back to her sister.

"You should go for a man who won't steal the soul from your body," she said, disappearing quickly into the back room once again.

Taarie rolled her eyes. "A man that rich is a keeper, in my opinion, and the study of magic is a noble pursuit. But do watch out for your soul, all the same."

Mehra nodded quietly. Neloth wouldn't do that to her.

She did find herself wondering, however, if she could take him in a fight. While she did take care of Dagoth Ur handily centuries ago, that wasn't without the aid of potions.

"You seem to be thinking of something," Taarie said.

Mehra snapped out of her thoughts. "I was thinking that maybe I could take him in a fight. Then again, the resulting destruction magic would probably do some immense damage to the area, and I'm almost certain that his tower is his second mistress."

"Wizards," she drawled. "Now, if you don't mind removing your armor, I shall get your measurements, and we will look at fabric."

Taarie walked across the room toward a door and opened it to reveal a small changing room. Stepping inside, Mehra placed her helm on the nearby stand, just as the door closed gently behind her. Given their location, it wasn't too surprising to see an armor stand in their changing area, as heavier armor was common among many Nords. She did, however, find it odd that Taarie didn't ask if she required assistance in removing her armor.

Perhaps, it was a matter of class. Nobility usually had help; people like Mehra, Erich, the Companions, bounty hunters, and the like put their own armor on.

Mehra slowly shed her armor and sighed as she looked down at the clothes she wore underneath.

"Smalls only?" she called.

"Yes," Taarie replied. "I highly recommend new ones. A good foundation is paramount for a successful fit. We shall set everything right; this is the goal of fashion."

The typical icy Altmer attitude with backhanded compliments made her feel oddly at ease.

Mehra opened the door. "You remind me of the seamstress in Sadrith Mora who outfitted my under-armor wear a long time ago."

Taarie approached the fitting room and looked as if she smelled something bad. Mehra laughed.

"It was meant to be a compliment, I assure you," she said. "This woman tailored robes for the Master-Wizards and their court. She found my request for pants rather offensive."

Taarie shook her head. "Then, why are you in rags if you have access to such a person?"

"The misfortunes of being an immigrant, I suppose," Mehra said. "When I moved from Daggerfall to Morrowind, I had a similar rough time in adjusting."

She nodded slowly as she stepped forward with a length of string.

"They're taking their time in warming up to us here," Taarie admitted. "My sister speaks to people as we would in the Summerset Isle. It is a difficult habit to break, but necessary to gain clients."

Mehra held still as she encircled the length of knotted string around various parts of her body and wrote down each measurement in a book.

"You could wear anything," Taarie said. "Shame you hide behind that bulky armor; traditional Aldmeri dress would look lovely on you, with all the layers involved."

Mehra heard something shifting around in the back before the curtain flew open. Endarie craned her neck to peer around her sister and stare at Mehra for a second, then smirked.

"Ah, that's how she got the wealthy man," she chuckled. "Mer excellence. Shame about your skin and the scars, but –"

Taarie turned to her sister and jabbed her finger in the direction of the back room. "You get back there, now!"

Mehra couldn't help but chuckle under her breath as Endarie disappeared into the back of the shop once again. Taarie hastily shut the fitting room door behind her in an unnecessary gesture. Though the shop was empty, it was apparent that she didn't want her sister to make another comment.

"Disgraceful," Taarie groused, her face turning red. "The form is inherently sinful, and we tend to dress in a manner which respects this fact. To verbally draw attention to such a thing – horrendous!"

Mehra nodded quietly. Velothi culture deviated very strongly from Aldmer ways, and the difference was stark, even into modern times. The experiences she had in Morrowind would have scandalized the Altmer. In fact, she was scandalized when she first moved there from Daggerfall.

"I lived in Morrowind for a few years," she said. "Trust me; I'm not offended in the least."

Taarie sighed in relief, her facade completely gone. "I thank you for your consideration. Do not be concerned; we're aware that garments around here are more fitted than what we see in our homeland. Your clothes will be tailored tastefully with this and modesty both in mind."

Mehra didn't particularly care whether she was modest or not, but she didn't want to say it aloud. Soon, Taarie finished the measurements, and quietly slipped back out of the dressing room to allow her to get her clothes on once again. Mehra quickly tugged on her patchy pants and tunic before stepping back out into the shop.

A pile of cloth swatches lay on top of the counter, with Taarie sorting through them. She looked up as Mehra approached, a look of shock plainly on her face.

"Your status demands better," she said.

Mehra shrugged. "I suppose."

"If nothing else," she countered, "your Jarl deserves his Thane to be well-dressed. Now, I have some samples here. Do you have any preference?"

Mehra approached the counter and stared down at the various fabrics. She had no clue where to begin. Sensing her bewilderment, Taarie drummed her fingers on the counter.

"Alright," she said. "Is there anything you dislike, then?"

She eyed the swatches and gently pushed a black one aside. "People tell me I look like a Dremora. No red and black, please."

Taarie quickly sorted through the swatches and tossed anything red or black aside.

"That is an incredibly rude thing to say," she mused.

"I've gotten it anywhere I've gone," Mehra admitted. "Or people say I look burnt. I – I like brown. That's the color of House Telvanni."

"Brown trousers would be lovely," Taarie said. "How about something bright for the top? Silk stains with sweat, so I believe it ought to be avoided, in this instance. Otherwise, it is a superior fabric, in my opinion."

Mehra peered down at the fabric and ran her fingers over a swatch of forest green. It reminded her of Erich's cape.

"That is a most flattering color," Taarie said.

She sighed and peered down at the fabric. "My ex wore that color often."

Taarie tossed the swatch unceremoniously into the pile of reject swatches.

"You will have your own style," she insisted. "Something different; something new."

Turning, Taarie disappeared into the back room for a brief moment before emerging with a wrapped bolt of cloth. Untying the strings binding the package, she tossed the paper around it aside to reveal a deep golden-yellow cloth. She quickly unwound a portion of it and held it up against Mehra's chin.

"Yes, perfect," she said. "Come over to the looking glass."

She motioned over toward a small, oval glass on top of a table in the corner. Mehra peered into the looking glass and fought to recoil in shock. She felt much older than she looked. Perhaps, she ought to get a looking glass for her tower, just so she could get used to her appearance.

Taarie held the cloth up under her chin once again and Mehra stared at her reflection.

"Yes," she said. "Perfect."

Taarie nodded. "I thought so, as well. This color is called gamboge, and the material is made of a very special cotton that has been treated with lye. This makes it stronger, and much shinier than common cotton."

"It matches some of the colors in Whiterun's coat of arms," Mehra said.

It really was a beautiful fabric.

"Once you need woolen gambeson for the winter," Taarie said, "we can knit one for you. But for now, you'll want to stay cool. Now, we shall discuss patterns and payment."

Together, they went through a book of drawings. Mehra chose a simple, collared tunic with a small amount of brown embroidery on the shoulders and around the chest. The pants were of a sturdier, thicker cotton, and she chose to leave them plain. And, while Taarie lamented that Mehra wouldn't be around for a fitting, she understood that Thanes were busy and would send the finished items via courier to Whiterun.

As Mehra stood in the dressing room to put her armor on again, Taarie called through the door.

"I heard a rumor," she said. "They say that the Thane of Whiterun is Dragonborn, just as the Septims were. Isn't that odd?"

Mehra pursed her lips and strapped her bracers to her legs. "It's true," she admitted.

"Most excellent!" Taarie replied. "Then we are dressing a champion! How lovely that you are Mer. Apparently, our last great hero of this continent was also Mer. Altmer, that is."

"Oh?"

She hadn't heard of any heroes since Erich. This was interesting.

"They unearthed some documents," she said. "They describe the Champion of Cyrodiil from the time of the Oblivion Crisis. A head and shoulders taller than anyone else, strong, sharp features, golden eyes, flaxen hair. I've no doubt that he was Altmer. What else could he be?"

Mehra stumbled around in her cuirass and fought to hold in a fit of laughter.

"Nords can look like that," she quipped.

Taarie laughed. "They're never described so eloquently. But I wouldn't put it past them to put a claim on it. Divines know they claimed a God for themselves – heresy that it is."

Mehra winced. "I will stay neutral on that one, as my Hold tries to remain neutral. Though I do understand the sentiment."

She understood Ulfric's sentiment toward being betrayed, at least. She didn't like the Stormcloak methods, and especially not their policies. But what was being done to Talos was as bad as how Daedra worship was viewed during the time of the Tribunal.

Mehra didn't want to pick a side, really.

"Certainly," Taarie said. "You may be of common birth, but you have more decorum than many I have seen come in here. Where did you say you were originally from, again?"

"Daggerfall."

"That explains it," she said. "The Bretons are the most civilized of the humans, naturally due to their heritage. The rumors of savages around Markarth? I think they're propaganda aimed at insulating the natives from their mage cousins to the west."

Mehra fastened the rest of her armor in place, grabbed her helm, and shouldered her pack.

"They're definitely out there," Mehra said. "Very unfortunate when I come across them living in squalor out in the wilderness. I don't know what they want, nor why they're living like that, but they attack anyone who comes near. I wouldn't chance traveling west of here, to be honest; looks like some dark magic."

She opened the door of the fitting room to see Taarie staring on in shock.

"Why doesn't Markarth do something about it?" she asked.

Mehra shrugged. "I assume their garrison is stretched thin with the war. It's making the whole province dangerous. And I'll admit that it concerns me to think about people without combat and magic experience traveling the roads."

"I suppose we should be grateful that we haven't had a holiday in some time," Taarie sighed. "For the good of the continent, I hope this war ends soon."

"As do I," Mehra said.

Perhaps, the truce meeting would establish a line of communication between the opposing sides. But, she wasn't so optimistic to think that they'd resolve the war through talking.

Nobody wanted to talk until they were at the absolute brink. From what she heard of Ulfric, this was the way he operated. And, from what she saw of Tullius, he also shared the sentiment.

Mehra followed Taarie to the counter and hastily signed the work order before reaching into her pack for her purse. She paid the deposit – expensive, but not outrageous – and left the shop with a promise that she would send a letter to them as soon as the garments arrived at her tower. Based on how well their personal clothing fit, and how thorough the measuring process was, Mehra was confident that everything would turn out excellent.

She strapped her helm on and headed out into Solitude's bustling streets. It was late afternoon, and Mehra realized with a sigh that she wouldn't make it to Dragon Bridge in a reasonable amount of time. She had to stay overnight, unless she wanted to travel in the dark for a while.

Mehra glanced across the street to the Winking Skeever. It was the most reputable tavern she knew of within the city, though she was loathed to stay at such a popular place at the end of the work week. Sighing again, she looked back up at the angle of Aetherius and toward the city's main gate. Groups of Imperial soldiers entered into the city to return to the barracks for the evening. Some marched; others walked casually, signaling that they were off duty and headed for the local taverns. There was no way she'd get any sleep with the war-weary soldiers drowning their sorrows in the tavern beneath her bed.

She nearly decided to make a go of traveling later into the evening, until she spotted a familiar face in the crowd.

Was that Hadvar?

Mehra called out to him, and watched as he glanced around the crowd in confusion. Grateful that he heard her, she walked through the crowd toward him. People parted the way immediately as she approached, and she couldn't help but notice the look of apprehension on Hadvar's face and the faces of his companions.

"You don't recognize me?" Mehra asked.

His fellow soldiers shot him a curious look and Mehra laughed.

"It's me," she said. "Mehra. From Helgen. You know."

Hadvar recoiled in shock, and his friends took a step back.

"Mehra?" he awed. "That can't be you!"

Rolling her eyes, Mehra unstrapped her helm once again to reveal more of her head. To be fair, from what she saw in the looking glass at the Radiant Raiment, she looked very different.

Hadvar did a double-take. "It really is you! You look great!"

He leaned in and peered at the medal clipped to her cape.

"You're – you're my Thane?" he asked. "That's you that everyone's talking about?"

Mehra laughed. "I guess so. Though they never tell me what they're talking about. Everything going alright for you?"

"Yes," he said. "I've had a few assignments, but they've waited to send me back to the front lines after Helgen. I have a feeling, though, that I'll be back out there soon."

"Hopefully everything goes alright with that," she replied.

Hadvar nodded. "We were just about to go get a drink. Want to join us?"

Mehra peered toward the city gate once again. Did it matter if she traveled in the dark? There wasn't much of anything that could harm her, and she was perfectly fine with camping out.

Solitude was crowded. It reminded her of Daggerfall, and of memories she preferred to keep buried.

"No, thank you," she said. "I – I honestly don't like crowds anymore."

He looked a little disappointed, but quickly shrugged it off. His friends quickly interjected that they'd get a spot at the bar, and he waved them on. They left with a quick nod to Mehra, which she returned.

Mehra motioned toward the side of the street, and Hadvar followed her over to the overhang of a nearby shop. Though people walked around them well enough, she didn't want to stand in the way, and it was rather loud in the middle of the street. Thankfully, it was quieter in the shade of the awning of the nearby store.

She still didn't like the amount of stares she received, but Mehra knew that she'd have to get used to it eventually.

"No worries about that drink," Hadvar said. "I can see that you attract a lot of attention. People step aside for me as a soldier, but they really clear the way for you. Are you going to camp out for the night, then?"

Mehra winced and Hadvar chuckled.

"Hey, you know what you're doing," he said. "After all, you helped me get out of Helgen, and you saved Whiterun from a dragon. You don't owe anyone an explanation of what you're doing."

She sighed in relief. He understood her situation, and if his invitation to a drink hadn't involved a noisy tavern, she probably would have taken him up on it.

"I honestly wish I could go camping, too," Hadvar admitted. "Solitude's nice and all, but –"

He trailed off, as if unsure of what to say next.

"Crowded?" Mehra offered. "Noisy? Too many people, and not enough stars?"

Hadvar smiled and nodded. "Yeah, that. I miss Riverwood."

"I understand that feeling," Mehra said. "The loveliest places in the world I've ever been have always been remote. Most of the time, they were wizard towers. I know people say that places like that are full of horrors, but I've found it to be the opposite."

"Oh?"

Mehra nodded. "Not that I suggest just knocking on the door of one. Well, you could at mine. We don't take tourists, but I'd make an exception for you."

"Ah!" Hadvar gasped. "That is your tower! They said that the Thane of Whiterun had a new tower right in the city. When I saw the medal, I hoped it was yours."

"Jarl Balgruuf has been a gracious leader in every sense of the word," she said. "I owe him a lot."

"I'm glad you went there," he said.

There was a long pause as Hadvar glanced around, then looked down at her, his cheeks tinged red.

"You uh, you really do look great," he said. "I'm so relieved you've gotten back on your feet. It tore my heart out that they wanted to execute you."

She supposed that he was still embarrassed about that. Still, it wasn't his call to make at the time.

"That wasn't your order," Mehra replied. "And technically, you were keeping record of the fact that they attempted to execute an innocent person. Well, that Captain, specifically."

Hadvar sighed, as if somewhat relieved. "You're very gracious. Anyway, don't let me keep you. Enjoy camping. It's a shame I couldn't go, too."

"Maybe the war will end soon," Mehra said. "Then you can go without worries."

He gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, maybe someday. I'll see you around."

"Take care, Hadvar."

"You too."

Mehra gave him a pat on the arm as they parted. She couldn't begin to understand the weight he felt as he watched his homeland tear itself apart, knowing that he played a role in the fighting. Whatever his original convictions, he was bound by oath to stick by them. Mehra hoped that his superiors' attempt at executing her hadn't changed his mind. She didn't wish doubts like that on anyone.

Mehra left Solitude and headed for the road. Despite being away from the city, a heavy weight settled on her, even as she made camp at sundown.

She had a sinking feeling that even with her efforts with the meeting, the war would drag on until someone did something drastic.