One step. Then another. And another, straining with every screaming muscle and every vein to place one foot in front of the other. Fredrik's vision had gone long ago, and he could not see, but he could feel the ground under his feet, and he used it to keep his struggling, painful pace as the agony wracked his body. He dragged himself forward step by step, bit by bit, piece by piece, bone by bone. He would make it. He would make it. Every fiber of his Nordic being was focused on this single, fatal mission of getting to Auldan before Arkay, Lord of Death, caught up to him.

Get to Auldan, he repeated to himself, as his body wailed for respite and the hot, frighteningly warm blood pulsing through the wound in his torso dripped through his armor and onto the floorboards with little sickening plops. Get to Auldan.

One more step. One more. Another one. His breath hissed out through clenched teeth as his fingers met a wall, and he paused, fighting to get his bearings. Where was he expecting to go? In this state he knew he couldn't get much farther, and he was still bleeding - leaving a bloody crimson trail in his wake, like snowberry juice. He'd been wounded before, but never like this.

His mind drifted as he forced himself to continue, scraping his fingernails painfully along the walls to stay upright. He remembered when Auldan had been injured like this, stabbed by that damn witch Alva in Morthal; he gritted his teeth at the memory, the ice-cold fear that he had been too late when he felt how cold the man's skin was. He'd had to carry his bleeding friend in his arms all the way to the healer, praying that he would get there in time, beseeching gods he didn't even believe in to save the life of his blood-brother.

And now it's my turn to get stabbed, eh? There was a bitter irony in it, and he tried to laugh, but coughed as blood stung his throat. Probably best to save his breath, before he got too greedy and ran out of it. He focused on moving ahead, pressing on through the seemingly endless, winding hallways of the Embassy and wondering dimly if the party was over yet, if the Thalmor had captured Auldan and were torturing him, if Delphine was starting to worry -

"Now, now, lads." A nervous, distinctly Imperial-sounding voice echoed through the hallway ahead, and Fredrik froze, realizing that there were two shadows heading his way. "Let's not be hasty here. I really think this is just one big misunderstanding."

"Misunderstanding?" a Thalmor voice said, angrily. "You snuck into the party under false pretenses, made a fool of yourself and raided Herself's personal wine cabinet as a trophy. I truly fail to grasp how that is a misunderstanding on our part."

"Raided is such a strong word," the man wheedled. "I was just borrowing it."

"Silence! You are coming with me to the dungeons and you are not uttering another word, or so help me I will cut your tongue out."

Fredrik limped behind a pillar and pressed himself against the wall, wincing as this made his wound twinge in complaint; he could just barely make out the fuzzy shapes of a Thalmor and an orange-clad human as they rounded the corner and entered the hallway. It looked like the Thalmor was gripping the man's wrists to keep him from getting away, and the human was anxiously trying to explain himself to his captor. "Now, look, my entry into this party was hardly under false pretenses. I am a distinguished Imperial mage and a member of the College of Winterhold, so surely I wasn't that unwelcome."

"You would have been welcome," the Thalmor said pointedly, "if you hadn't given your name to the invitation checker as His Distinguished Monsieur Long-Sword."

"True," the man allowed, cheekily. "But it was funny, wasn't it?"

"You seem to think you are some kind of comedian. I think our information chambers will put a stop to that." The Thalmor stopped dead then. "What is this?" he said, incredulously, and Fredrik watched uncomfortably as he knelt down to stare at the messy, spattered blood trail Fredrik had left behind. "Is somebody injured? Perhaps we have another intruder -"

"Ha!" In a flash, the Imperial man ripped his hands free of his bonds and blasted the Thalmor with a fire spell, sending him flying down the hallway; Fredrik watched in amazement as the Thalmor slammed into the opposite wall and sank down in a crumpled heap. He hadn't seen such impressive destruction magic since Auldan had blasted a horde of draugr soldiers to ashes in Ustengrav.

"Gods above," he said, and the Imperial man jumped in surprise.

"Oh! You startled me. Are you - oh, gods, look at you. What happened to you?" The man rushed to grab his shoulder, helping him stand, and Fredrik leaned heavily on him for support, unable to stay upright any longer; he suddenly realized the man sounded familiar, but in his half-blind, confused state he could not recognize him. "Oof - okay, lean on me, it's going to be all right. How did it happen?"

"Thalmor stabbed me." Fredrik winced; he was fading from consciousness now. "Fuck. I'm losing it. Have you seen a Breton in blue party robes around here?"

"Blue robes..." The Imperial mage frowned as he thought. "No, I don't remember. I just snuck in through the front door, stole some booze, and got nabbed by the guards on my way out of the room of Whatever-Her-Name-Is. I haven't gotten very far into this place, or talked to any guests."

"Shit." Fredrik couldn't think straight anymore; he'd lost so much blood that coherency was fleeing him. "If you - if you find him. Tell him he needs to get out..."

"Oh, hell, you're not looking so good." The Imperial adjusted his grip and carefully laid him down on the floor, grunting under the strain. "Akatosh, you're heavy. Lay right there. I know a healing spell from my College days."

"Please hurry," Fredrik rasped, as the mage frantically undid the clasps of his armor and pressed a hand to his chest. He closed his eyes as the familiar warmth of healing magic rushed through him, filling his veins like honey; it didn't do much to help the spinning in his head or the faintness in his limbs, but when he opened his eyes, he realized he'd been pulled from Arkay's doorstep, at least for a little while.

"That should hold you," the mage said, worriedly, as Fredrik sat up slowly and groaned in pain. "But you need a real healer. Can you walk a little farther?"

"Have to find him first." Fredrik wavered, then pushed himself up and staggered down the hallway, moving as slowly and clumsily as a draugr. The Imperial hastened to follow him, clearly alarmed.

"Hey, hey, not so fast. You're still bleeding -"

"Where did he go? I have to find him."

"Find who?" the mage asked, and Fredrik looked at him and finally recognized the orange adept robes, copper skin and tiny scruff of a beard.

"Marcurio," he said, wearily. "Ah, fuck."

"You know my name?" Marcurio stared at him for a moment, and then gasped. "Oh, my gods, why didn't I recognize you? You're Fredrik! I met you after you slayed that dragon back in Kynesgrove - but that means -"

"Auldan," Fredrik said, and Marcurio's face lit up.

"He's here?" The joy in his face was quickly replaced by worry. "Oh, shit, he's here. Where is he? I have to make sure he's all right -"

"You have to?" Fredrik said, amused, and Marcurio blushed fiercely.

"I mean, we have to make sure he's all right," he amended, sheepishly. "Both of us, obviously. Where did you leave him last?"

"We snuck in through the pantry and headed different ways. I don't know where he is. That's why we have to find him before we get out of here. I know the exit - there's a trapdoor in the dungeons, but if Auldan is still trapped in here somewhere -" Fredrik grimaced. "Can't talk much. Hurts."

"Don't worry, I'll do the talking. Come on." Marcurio placed a hand on his back to steady him, and helped him limp towards the courtyard door. "I already poked around in the solar, and didn't see him there, so that means he must be back in the courtyard or near the party. I'm assuming you already checked in the dungeons?"

"Yes." Fredrik chuckled quietly, and Marcurio shot him an amused look.

"What's so funny, Dragonborn?"

"Just thinking about Auldan," he said. "Back when we met in Kynesgrove, I had no idea what he saw in you."

Marcurio turned slightly pink. "Well, I'm not sure if he really - I mean, we were just teasing, I'm sure. He doesn't really like me, does he?"

"Fucking hell," Fredrik said. "I can't go five seconds without him talking about smart and clever and handsome you are. He practically fell over himself to write you back when you sent him a letter."

Marcurio looked deeply flattered, and Fredrik sighed internally as he realized he was unintentionally helping this budding relationship along. Well, whatever, he thought tiredly. He had never been one to rain on his friend's parade, no matter how stupid it was. As long as Auldan's happy with courting this failed comedian and utter idiot of a wizard, so am I.

"Just tell me something," he said, and Marcurio looked at him, clearly startled that the big Nord was taking an interest at all. "Are you going to treat him nicely, and take him out to dinner, and tell him he's handsome and make him feel good about himself? And maybe start a family with him after all this is over, instead of running off and breaking his heart?"

Marcurio smiled. "Well," he said, "it would hardly be fair if I didn't."

"And you should know that we're both pretty rich, at this point," Fredrik said. "So no gold-digging, or anything. You have to respect his purse. Don't go buying up spellbooks and sweetrolls with his money. I've dated girls like that before."

"I'll try to restrain myself," Marcurio said, amusedly.

"And protect him," Fredrik said, putting emphasis on the word. "Protect him with your life. Keep him safe. Don't let anything happen to him while you're around, you understand?"

"Sounds like you worry about him," Marcurio said gently. "I won't let him come to harm. I promise."

"I do worry," Fredrik muttered. Much as he hated to admit it. "I care about him. I hope you do, too. He's a good man."

Marcurio looked at him with a twinkle in his eye. "You should tell him that," he said. "I think that'd be the sweetest thing you've ever said to him."

"Bah. I don't do that." Fredrik closed his eyes as another wave of pain wracked his body; he bit back a groan, realizing that his time was running out again. "Listen, I -"

"Shh!" Marcurio suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him into a hallway, and Fredrik staggered in his effort to press himself against the wall, realizing that the room they had been about to enter was already occupied; they both held still, listening as voices echoed from around the corner. Angry voices.

"I never did get to learn your name," Elenwen's sleek voice said. "Or where you came from. Perhaps you'd like to enlighten me now, since I have you at such a... disadvantage?"

"You're mistaken," came the slightly nervous reply, and Fredrik stilled, his heart stopping in his chest; it was Auldan. What's he doing with her? "I mean you no harm. I only came here as a diplomatic representative of Whiterun. I've said as much already."

"But your real purpose here," Elenwen pressed. "You can give up your disguise now. I know you attended this party under false pretenses, and you tried to sneak past us into forbidden grounds of the embassy. The real question I have is why. What was it that you hoped to gain? Information, perhaps?"

"False pretenses?" Auldan laughed anxiously. "I had an invitation, just like everyone else. You must be mistaken."

Quietly, Marcurio reached over to Fredrik's wound and brushed it with glowing fingers, and Fredrik closed his eyes as he felt a fresh surge of strength - he suddenly realized that Marcurio was imbuing him with courage, one last rush. They both knew what would come next.

"You must be someone's agent," Elenwen said, her voice thick with suspicion. "Perhaps of Ulfric Stormcloak? Seeking to gain information to leverage against the Thalmor alliance?"

"No," Auldan said, clearly startled by the suggestion. "Do I look like a Nord?"

"I could see Ulfric using a Breton spy. Your lot do tend to be... politically savvy." The way Elenwen said it heavily implied that she wanted to use a different, far less polite adjective, and Fredrik's blood began to boil; on top of everything else, why did the Thalmor have to be so damn racist? "But enough talking. You will talk plenty soon enough. Omaril, do what you wish."

There was a shuffling of armor, and then the harsh shink movement of a sword from its sheath. "Wait -" Auldan said, suddenly terrified, and Fredrik finally understood the situation, and felt anger surge through him; the Thalmor had him at swordpoint. "Wait, wait -"

"Oh? Does the Breton feel like talking now?" Elenwen laughed softly. "I do think you will find Omaril to be rather persuasive."

"I told you, this is all a misunderstanding -"

"Not this again." Elenwen sighed. "Omaril, gut him."

And Marcurio and Fredrik both surged from their hiding place as one, as though on some invisible, unspoken signal - fury pounding through Fredrik's wounded brain as he drew his weapons for yet another fight. He was in no shape to be battling, but he was filled with magical courage and he roared "FUS RO!" as they rounded the corner together and the Thalmor soldiers whirled in surprise. His Thu'um battered them back like a hurricane, flinging one to the ground like a rag doll. Elenwen opened her mouth to say something, but she never got the words out as Auldan freed his hands and hurled a bolt of ice that sent her crashing to the ground in a heap.

Elenwen laid there for a moment, clearly stunned; she coughed, choked and braced a knee against the ground, ready to push herself up to her feet. But as she looked up, it was to find herself staring right into Fredrik's face. He grinned with bloody teeth. "Meet the Dragonborn," he said, and thrust his sword into her chest so hard that it came out the other side. Elenwen choked, stared at him, and then slid off his blade and fell wetly to the floor, slain at last.

"My dear Fredrik, you are an effective killer," Marcurio said, grimacing as he turned from blasting the Thalmor soldiers into dust. "There won't be much left of her for the Thalmor to bury."

"Good." Fredrik sheathed his swords, swaying slightly, and looked sharply at Auldan. "You all right?"

"Of course I'm all right, you massive dolt," Auldan said, still staring in awe at Elenwen's corpse. "I have a feeling that's going to come back to haunt us later." Then his gaze went to Marcurio, and Fredrik could swear he turned a little pink. "And - what are you doing here?"

"Long story," Fredrik said tightly, before Marcurio could speak. "Listen, do you still have your restoration spell lying around? I need it."

"For what?" Then Auldan saw the blood soaking through Fredrik's armor, and rushed to him at once, everything else forgotten. "Oh, hell, what happened? Fredrik!"

"We should never have split up," Fredrik grunted, lying carefully down on the floor as Auldan slid a cloak under his head for a pillow. "That was a stupid idea."

"Yes," Auldan said, carefully peeling away Fredrik's armor to get at the wound. "It was. Just stay calm, okay? We'll have to stitch you up when we get to the carriage."

"I'll care about that when I'm not dying," Fredrik said wearily. "Hurry up, will you?"

"Sorry." Auldan hastened to open his book bag and fumbled out his restoration book, cracking it open and balancing it carefully on his knees. "Just try to relax. I'm still not perfect at this."

"I'll help," Marcurio said, already clawing around in his bag for his own spellbooks. "I'm worn out from all the fireballs, but if we work together, we can at least stabilize him long enough to get him in a carriage."

Fredrik heaved a dramatic sigh, despite his aching chest. "I'm getting saved by a couple of nerds," he muttered, resting his head on the floor. Auldan laughed.

"Just hold still," he said. "We'll get you fixed up enough to bring you back to Solitude, and then we're getting the hell away from this place."

"Copy that," Fredrik mumbled, and closed his eyes as Auldan laid a hand on his shoulder; he felt that strange cold and warm sensation of torn skin knitting together, the wound closing itself slightly and an organ that was probably important sewing itself back together. The darkness and blood in his eyes cleared, and although he could tell there was still an ominous pain behind his stomach and a still-open wound on the surface, he felt much stronger, like his life force was finally returning. Or at least, he was no longer actively dying, which was a substantial improvement.

"There," Auldan said, removing his hand. "You look less pale now. How do you feel?"

"Just fine." Fredrik tried to brush off his existential fear from earlier as he sat up slowly, maintaining his Nordic bravado. "I wasn't even worried. I've been hurt far worse than a little prick from a Thalmor."

"You're still hurt," Auldan said, and seized his shoulder, helping to haul him to his feet. "But you'll make it out now. Have you found the exit yet?"

"Yes, in the dungeons. I already helped Malborn and Etienne out through there." Fredrik blinked a few times to dispel bugs of light from his vision. "Let's hurry."

"Right." Auldan looked sheepishly at Marcurio as they set off for the dungeons. "I, er - I didn't expect to see you here. It's nice to see you again."

"Well, since you couldn't come to Windhelm, I suppose the gods decided I should come to you." Marcurio winked. "How about we grab a meal when we get back to Whiterun? I hear the innkeeper at the Bannered Mare makes a mean cabbage soup and chicken breast."

"I might take you up on that." Auldan looked nervously at the floor. "I, er, we have a house in Whiterun. It's Breezehome, next to Warmaiden's. Maybe you could drop by sometime?"

Marcurio beamed. "I'd like that very much," he said, and Fredrik groaned loudly at the ceiling.

"Gods above, are you done yet?" he complained. "My knife wound has more charisma than you two."

Auldan turned pink and looked at the floor. Marcurio sighed. "I don't think your Nord friend approves of me," he said.

"What gave it away?" Fredrik grumbled, as they descended a flight of stairs and he pointed to the thick set of iron doors. "There's the dungeon."

"Looks a little ominous." Auldan pushed open the doors, tentatively, and stepped through. Then he stopped, seeing the pair of dead Thalmor strewn across the floor and the open jail cell soaked in blood. "Er - did you do this?"

"Take a guess." Fredrik grinned as he stomped over to the guard's corpse and gave it a fierce kick in the head. "Stupid elf never stood a chance."

"You're disrespecting the dead," Auldan muttered, heading for the trapdoor and kneeling down to pull it open. "Isn't that bad luck for Nords?"

"Not in my book." Fredrik spat on the elf for good measure, and then went to join Auldan, who was already wriggling nimbly into the trapdoor and out of sight. "Hey, wait for me!"

"It's fine," Auldan called, from below. "Looks like it's some kind of ice cavern, or - oh no."

"What?" Fredrik immediately vaulted down behind him, followed by Marcurio; and then together the three of them stood and stared at the corpses of Malborn and Etienne, motionless and lying prone in the snow. Malborn's arm was twisted above his head at a grotesque angle, and Etienne's jaw was ripped off, leaving him gaping hopelessly up at the ceiling of the cave. Fredrik groaned and looked away; even for a battle-hardened Nord, it was a grim sight.

"Akatosh above," Marcurio murmured. "What happened here? Who were those people?"

"He was our Bosmer friend," Auldan said, faintly. "Or at least, he used to be. I don't recognize the other one."

"Stupid thief kid," Fredrik muttered. "His name was Etienne. I knew him from the Thieves' Guild in Riften, back in the day. Didn't deserve to die like that." He had a heavy feeling in his chest; he should have gone with them, he realized. He should have protected them. Fucking hell, why do I always let people die?

"I don't know what killed them, but it looks like a beast of some kind," Auldan said shakily. "It ripped them apart. It might still be here. Let's be very quiet and -"

A guttural howl rose from the snow, and they all turned just in time to see a huge creature burst from the darkness like an angel of death - Fredrik had a brief, terrifying impression of three black, staring eyes and leering bloody jaws before Auldan yelled in surprise and Marcurio threw a javelin of lightning. It struck the beast in the forehead, and it roiled back, bellowing; and Fredrik understood at last what they were facing, and felt a jolt of cold fear.

"Frost troll," he realized. The unarmed Malborn and Etienne wouldn't have stood a chance. He fumbled to draw his swords and get into a battle stance, despite the now-throbbing pain in his chest; he knew all of this motion would reopen his wound, but at this moment he didn't particularly care. All of his attention was focused on the troll, who now dropped to its knuckles and snarled a challenge, beating its fists on the ground in an attempt to scare off the three warriors it faced.

"Fredrik," Auldan said, nervously. "Are you sure we can kill this thing?"

Fredrik looked at the troll, with its bloody teeth and fierce eyes, and then looked at the shaky mages by his side, and realized that they were all tired, weak and in no shape to be fighting this thing. "No," he said. "Auldan, I think we should run."

Auldan looked at him, clearly amazed; and Fredrik suddenly realized that in all of their time spent adventuring, he'd never once suggested that they run away from a fight before. "Are you sure?" Auldan asked, as though uncertain whether he'd heard him properly.

"Yes, I'm sure." Fredrik sheathed his weapons, grabbed Auldan's arm, and yanked him away without another word. And they ran.

There were not many times in Fredrik's life, he reflected later, that he had given up on his own, possibly excessive sense of Nordic pride and decided to flee from a fight he knew he couldn't handle. The temptation among Nords was always to consider it cowardly, and perhaps, a few months ago, before he had met Auldan and learned to get the hell over himself, he might have thought his decision a terrible breach of dignity. But when they emerged, safe at last, from the cavern and stepped out into the icy winds and wilderness, he could not help but feel a sense of profound relief, rather than shame or regret. Sometimes, he thought with a smile, he could be just a little bit wiser than he was before.

"We made it," Auldan said, sounding awestruck. "We're alive."

"And we have the dossiers we need." Fredrik finally reached into his crumpled armor and took out the books he'd stolen from the prison guard, offering them to Auldan for his inspection. "I think these are what Delphine was looking for."

"Fredrik, you're a genius." Auldan took them eagerly and flipped through the contents. "Wow, they've been watching everybody. Delphine, Ulfric..."

"And I know something else," Fredrik said; he was starting to get a little dizzy from blood loss again, but he knew he had to convey this final bit of information before he passed out. "They're looking for someone. Etienne told me a name. Esbern."

"Esbern," Auldan echoed, thoughtfully. "I'm not familiar. Maybe Delphine will know something about him?"

"Maybe," Fredrik mumbled; his vision was starting to blur. He fell down to one knee, and then the blood loss finally took him and he slumped ungracefully to the ground to Auldan's shout of alarm. But this time he was not seized with the existential dread like before; this time, he did not even consider the possibility that Auldan would not find a way to make sure he woke up again.

And of course he woke again, but whether it was a few minutes or a few hours later, he could not tell. When he cracked open his eyes again, groggy and confused, and found himself staring stupidly up at the black, icy Skyrim sky, it took him a second to register why the ground beneath him was jolting up and down and why the shapes around him were moving and talking. He was lying in the back of a carriage, wrapped in his own bear fur cloak and thickly bandaged from the shoulders down; he could feel the weird, agonizing pull of fresh stitches in his abdomen, and shifted uncomfortably, trying to reduce the itchiness and gritting his teeth as his wound throbbed with pain in response. Auldan was speaking to Marcurio in low tones as a very grumpy-looking Delphine drove them back southward. Fredrik strained his tired ears, trying to make out what they were saying.

"It doesn't make any sense," Auldan said. "If Fredrik's dossiers are correct, then the Aldmeri Dominion doesn't know a thing about the dragons. I thought they'd at least have a clue about where Alduin came from or how to reverse the crisis. But they haven't got a single lead except for Esbern and the Blades. Are the Thalmor just... stupid?"

"I wouldn't judge them so quickly," Marcurio said, delicately brushing snow off his robes as he considered the problem. "In my experience, elves tend to be a lot smarter than they let on. But I agree that their lack of knowledge about the dragons is a little strange, given their supposed vast intelligence and all. Maybe they really are too stuck up their asses to even gather information properly."

"It's just odd." Auldan looked at Delphine, who was gripping the reins of the horses in white knuckles and looking deeply impatient. "Who did you say this Esbern is again?"

"An old friend of mine," Delphine said, without taking her eyes off the road. "I didn't know he was even alive. But we have to find him - he'll know more about the dragons than anyone else."

"Strange name, that. Esbern," Marcurio said, playfully trying it out. "These Nords have such strange names. Your lovely Breton name, it flows off the tongue so nicely, but Esbern? Ugh."

"Are you including Fredrik in that judgment, then?" Auldan grinned. "It is a bit of a rough name, all things considered. All those hard consonants."

"Yes, I always found vowels much sexier," Marcurio said, wiggling his eyebrows in what he obviously thought was a very attractive way. Of course, it had the opposite effect, and Auldan laughed.

"Fuck you," he said. "You're just trying to win me over before we get back to Whiterun."

"Well, you are the Dragonborn and all." Marcurio fluttered his eyelashes playfully. "Highly desirable husband material, if I do say so myself."

Auldan chuckled, and Fredrik had to smile a little at the bright glow on his face; it had been a long time since he'd seen Auldan in such a good mood. "Gods," he said. "What is it with you and making me laugh?"

"I'm just as confused as you are. I was under the impression no one thought I was funny." Marcurio smiled in jest, but Fredrik caught the sheepish look in his eyes, and realized that the mage was serious; he really was used to no one laughing at his jokes, and was clearly overjoyed that Auldan actually liked his sense of humor. It made him feel just a little less annoyed at the mage's constant, irritating quips. But only a little.

He cleared his throat pointedly. "Are you done making fun of my name now?" he asked, and both Auldan and Marcurio jumped, clearly not realizing he was awake.

"Fredrik!" Auldan hastened to check on him, peering at his bandages to look for signs of bleeding. "Are you all right? How are you feeling?"

"Terrible." Fredrik closed his eyes, overcome by exhaustion again. "Are we going back to Whiterun?"

"Yes, we're taking you home. You need bed rest and more healing. Arcadia might have some potions that can help." Auldan patted his shoulder gently. "We got what we needed from the elves. Everything's all right. Go back to sleep."

"I'm killing you both when I wake up," Fredrik muttered, and closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.

He didn't remember exactly what he dreamed about. Maybe it was a black dragon gliding soundlessly through a cloudy sky, the screams of lost souls, the waving whispers of trees in some place that was far away from the plane he knew. Perhaps he even saw another dragon, a huge grey one with tattered wings who spoke of Words of Power and voices and Shouts that could cut dragons from the sky. But the dream soon slipped through his fingers like sand, and he forgot about it.

When he next woke, feeling the way he usually did after a long night at the inn - punch-drunk and deeply hungover - he found himself lying in bed and gazing up at the vaulted, slightly dusty ceiling of his bedroom in Breezehome. He could not help but sigh fondly. "Found a way to make sure I didn't die, eh?" he said, to no one in particular.

"Yes, you have a habit of staying alive," came Auldan's wry reply, right on cue. "Unfortunately for me."

"You'd better watch your mouth, wizard. I can write you out of my lease anytime I want." Fredrik closed his eyes tiredly, realizing he was too dizzy to try getting up; besides, he could still feel his stitches pulling in his stomach when he moved, which told him he was in no state to be in a sitting position, however annoying it was to be forced to lie in bed and twiddle his thumbs. "How long have I been out?"

"A week," Auldan said. "Delphine decided to give you some time to recover."

"Figures." Fredrik knew this injury would take a while to fully come back from, however much he wanted to leap out of bed and get back to the adventure; they would have to lie low and stay hidden for a while. "Is there a timeframe on when I can get back to kicking elven ass?"

"Two weeks at least," Auldan said. Fredrik growled angrily. "And don't look at me like that, it's not my jurisdiction. Arcadia's orders."

"Stupid," Fredrik grumbled, letting his head fall back into the pillow. "I was stupid, to let myself get stabbed like that. Could have really died that time."

"Yes, well, I'm very used to you being stupid." But Auldan touched his shoulder fondly. "Get some rest. I've been looking after the house and planning our trip to Riften."

"I always did miss that place." Fredrik had frequented those streets once, during his days in the Thieves' Guild. He knew the curves and turns of the Ratway better than he knew the lines and scars in his palm. "I look forward to beating the shit out of old Maul again."

Just then a small, rusty-haired boy ascended the staircase and hovered in the bedroom doorway, cautiously. "Mister Auldan, sir? Is it all right if I go to the market?"

"That's fine, Blaise." Auldan knelt down, took out his purse and counted him out some pocket money. "Here's twenty septims. Go buy yourself some sweetrolls and honey treats, all right? And don't let Braith take anything from you - she's a bully."

"Thanks, Mister Auldan." Blaise took the money, his eyes shining. "You're the best."

"I told you to stop calling me Mister." Auldan ruffled his hair fondly. "Go on, now. Run along."

The boy hurried off. Fredrik squinted at Auldan suspiciously. "Are you letting street urchins in my house?" he asked.

"Well, er - he's not exactly staying here. I just figured I could give him a place for a while, until I can find a better home for him." Auldan kicked at a crack in the floorboards, determinedly not looking in his direction. "I'll bring him to the orphanage in Riften, when we get there. You told me you killed that old hag Grelod the Kind, after all - surely someone better is running it now."

Fredrik stared at his expression, realized the boy had been wearing much nicer clothes and looked much happier and well-fed than he had when they'd met him back in Katla's farm, and sighed heavily. "There's not a chance in hell you're letting that boy rot in a Riften orphanage," he said. "You want to adopt him, don't you?"

Auldan turned a bit pink and did not respond.

"Well, fine. I don't care. As long as he doesn't make a mess or touch my stuff." Fredrik closed his eyes, resigning himself to the fact that his friend's heart was far too soft for his own good. "Maybe we can look at finding you a bigger house, soon. Like that cabin in Falkreath. I'm fine staying here, but you need more space if you're going to have kids."

"Maybe." Auldan smiled sheepishly. "But we can worry about that later. I think it would be hard right now, given that we tend to traipse halfway across Skyrim every other week."

"True." Fredrik chuckled wearily. "Now go on, play with your kid. I need some sleep."

"All right, but don't die while I'm gone. I'll run some errands." Auldan picked up his alchemist's satchel and slung it over his shoulder. "I might stop by Arcadia's again and pick up some more pain-relieving potions for you. Do you want anything to eat or drink while I'm out?"

"Some wine might be nice." Fredrik grinned. "And you know, I could really go for some Argonian ale right about now. And maybe a whiskey, if you have time -"

"No drinking," Auldan scolded him. "Arcadia said you have to wait until your stomach heals."

"Bah!" Fredrik scowled at the ceiling. "What am I, an invalid?"

"Right now, yes." Auldan rolled his eyes. "Just stay put and don't die. I'll be gone for about an hour."

"Wait," Fredrik said, and Auldan paused in the doorway. "I forgot to tell you - I got you something, back in Solitude. A present."

"You did?" Auldan looked on, startled, as Fredrik painfully reached over to his knapsack and rummaged around. "Fredrik, you didn't have to -"

"No buts. Just take it." And Fredrik carefully opened the small paper package he'd bought for most of his wallet back at the Bits and Pieces, and took out a beautifully polished Amulet of Mara. "I told you I got one of these in Riften a long time ago, but I never had anyone to give it to. So I might as well give one to someone who does."

"I - oh, gods." Auldan looked at him with a mix of awe and gratitude as he took the necklace, clearly recognizing the significance of the gift; it was not just a present, but a blessing from one brother to another. "Fredrik, this is too much."

"Well, look at the bright side." Fredrik cracked a smile. "Now you can fall in love like a proper Nord."

Auldan touched the amulet softly. "Fredrik," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "This means a lot. Thank you."

"But don't go thinking it's symbolic, or anything," Fredrik said firmly. "I'm not giving you my blessing to chase that complete idiot of an Imperial. It's just a gift."

"Right," Auldan said, but the twinkle in his eyes said otherwise.

A/N: At this point I have been going through the quests in Skyrim to see which ones Auldan and Fredrik have "completed" over the course of the story. They obviously just finished Diplomatic Immunity, which puts them at the middle of Act II of the main quest. Auldan essentially finished Laid to Rest solo, the vampire quest in Morthal, after he figured out the truth and killed Alva. He's also technically finished Rising at Dawn to cure his former vampirism. So overall, they've done a couple of sidequests and are now steadily chipping away at the main story quest, and I've obviously been strongly hinting that they will go through the Dawnguard DLC at some point too. Never fear - their adventures will continue!