Valleri never felt so relieved to see Whiterun. The city was right in front of them, still standing where she left it. Whiterun wasn't on fire and an invading army wasn't parked right outside of the main gate. Instead, the surrounding plains were green and lush again. The carpet of green was dotted with purple and yellow flowers. After the long winter months, the sudden burst of color put a smile on Valleri's face.

The Imperial glanced over to the two men next to her. Marcel was having the time of his life with the makeshift crutch he found. Small twigs were poking into his side and a look of general discomfort hadn't left his face for hours. Vilkas on the other hand looked like a weight was lifted from his shoulders. Valleri rarely ever saw him quite this light looking.

Vilkas turned back to Marcel, "You remember Whiterun, right?"

"Not at all," the Breton replied. "Mostly because I've never been here."

"I thought you said you were a part of the Silverhand?" Valleri added.

Marcel grimaced as he accidentally put too much weight on his bad foot. He breathed out sharply through his nose then answered in a low tone. "Just because I was a member of the Silverhand doesn't mean I was there when they raided your musty boat. So, when I say I didn't murder your father, I mean I didn't murder your father."

Valleri watched Vilkas roll his eyes. Maybe the Nord wasn't completely over the weird feud he'd gotten into with Marcel, but who could really blame him? Valleri wasn't okay with what happened to Alastaros so she hardly expected Vilkas to stop grieving for Kodlak. That was going to last years.

But she did have to admit the entire thing was just so silly.

"Well anyways, what are you gonna do now?" Valleri asked in an attempt to dispel some of the animosity.

He sighed and paused, "Who knows? Apparently, I have some family in High Rock. I could always go there."

"Why'd you join the Silverhand anyways?" Valleri asked as the trio finally made it to the first gate.

"I dunno. I was with the Vigilantes up in the Rift. Old Skinner was looking for new recruits and it seemed more exciting than staring at a giant bonfire all day," Marcel muttered, staring pointedly ahead.

Vilkas grimaced, "Seems like a bad idea to join an organization on a whim."

"Well, you joined the Companions just because you grew up with it," the Breton retorted.

Valleri frowned as they passed the main gate. She bit her tongue and glanced over to Vilkas. The expression on the Nord's face was sour. A tinge of guilt ran through her before Valleri opened her mouth to speak. "Hey, Marcel? Why not just stay in Whiterun for a bit?"

Vilkas' head whipped around to face Valleri with a look of betrayal. Valleri rolled her eyes with exasperation. Marcel obviously noticed their interaction. "What makes you think the Companions would welcome a stranger into their ranks."

He waited for an answer from Vilkas but scowled when he found none. Valleri's gaze fell to the ground in front of her, "You'd be surprised who they let into Jorrvaskr." The Imperial glanced over to Vilkas with a grin. "Me for example. I've only been a Companion for hardly a year and I only found myself there by chance."

"That," Marcel paused, grimacing, "that does not make me feel better in the slightest. On another more immediate matter, where can I get my foot checked out?"

Vilkas sighed, "Temple of Kynareth. Ask for Danica. She's a sharp womn but good at her job."

Valleri regarded the Nord with wordless surprise. Shrugging momentarily, a smile came to Vilkas' face as the two of them left Marcel to his own business.

"You're growing soft," the Imperial muttered.

Vilkas furrowed his eyebrows. "I am not. Giving someone directions is not a sign of going soft. Anyways, we're home finally."

"Good thing too. I have to start on those documents. You brought back so many I'll be translating for weeks."

"I didn't know what would be important or not so I took all I could."

Valleri laughed, "In most cases, any old pages would be priceless, but well…"

"Time is sort of important," Vilkas finished. He held the door into Jorrvaskr open, waiting for Valleri to go inside first. He almost ran into her, not realizing that the Imperial had stopped in her tracks. He craned his neck to look over Valleri. "What in Oblivion?"

The room was covered in stacks of paper and scrolls. Books lay open on the table. If Vilkas looked closely, he could make out a massive ink spill on the table. Towels were piled up around the mess, stained black with old ink.

"Has this placed turned into a library?" Vilkas murmured half to himself.

"I'd sooner say Jorrvaskr was robbed," the Imperial answered. In seconds, Valleri felt her heart start pounding as she remembered the documents in the basement. She started out into a sprint, rushing past the mess on the table.

"Wait, Valleri!"

The Imperial disregarded Vilkas as she continued running. She slowed somewhat as she approached the shared bunkroom. Someone was riffling around in the back corner where she slept. In only a few moments, Valleri came to a halt and unsheathed her sword. "Stop!"

The figure kneeling on the floor screamed and looked up to her. Valleri would have made a killing move had the noise not startled her. She was glad that she hesitated when she recognized the face looking at her. He got up in a fluid motion and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Valleri! Why weren't you here earlier?" Aicantar yelled.

The Imperial woman couldn't find the words to answer, still in shock to find the elf going through her possessions.

"Hey, Valleri. Aela said there was a strange Altmer that barged in here earlier." Vilkas called as he came into the room. His eyes went wide as he saw Aicantar. "I guess that's the elf."

Valleri pushed out of Aicantar's hold and stepped back. "Aicantar, what are you doing here?"

"I swear I have a good explanation for this!" Aicantar paused to take a breath, face grim. "I know how you can prevent the war!"

…

Valleri leaned against the support pillar with her arms crossed. Aicantar was flitting about the table in an attempt to make the area look cleaner. Neither of them had said anything since first meeting. The Altmer was obviously unnerved, frightened even. She knew the look well.

"I thought you were supposed to be back in Markarth," Valleri muttered finally.

The Altmer laughed bitterly before turning to face her. His eyes were lined with red and the smile on his face was desperate. "Well I am. I was. But, uh, something came up."

She groaned. "You said that earlier, Aicantar. You can't just you know how to stop a war then leave me on edge like that." Valleri walked to Aicantar's side and pulled out a chair. "Now, sit down and tell me what's happened."

The smile faded from Aicantar's face as he stared back at Valleri. She didn't move, only continued to stare at him through narrowed eyes. Aicantar relented with a sigh and took the seat. Valleri leaned against the table and muttered, "Well?"

"Look, do you remember how Cyrenial only took a few pages from Mzinchaleft before he ran away?"

Valleri felt her heart drop. "Yes." She paused, face melting a frown, "He didn't come back, did he?"

"Well, no. It's just about two weeks ago I got a commission from one of the Thalmor agents in Markarth for some translation work. He handed me the papers Cyrenial took and refused to give any background information on where he got them," Aicantar explained. He paused, watching Valleri open her mouth to say something but losing the words. "Look, hardly anybody knows that I can translate Falmer, much less the Thalmor. Except Cyrenial."

"I'm not saying you're wrong," Valleri said softly, "but if it was actually Cyrenial…"

Aicantar rose from the chair with a clatter and slapped his hands onto the table top. Valleri flinched at the sudden movement. "It was Cyrenial! He's the only one of those bastards that knows! I don't know why you're being so iffy about this, Valleri."

"Because I'm not ready to face what happened!" Valleri exclaimed after a tense moment, rising from her spot on the table, expression contorted into a snarl. "You weren't there when he set off that centurion and got Alastaros killed! How dare you assume anything is okay after my father was killed by some maniacal son of a bitch all for some stupid piece of jewelry!"

The Altmer didn't say anything for a moment, steely eyes still locked on Valleri. He shook his head slowly, "You can't blame me for that. Just because I wasn't in the room with you doesn't mean it left no mark on me. Yeah, I get that it hurt you the most but it hurt me too."

Valleri dropped like a weight had been placed on her shoulders. Aicantar was right. Sighing, Valleri shook her head, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"Damn right." Aicantar breathed sharply through his nose and sat back down. "Honestly, maybe I shouldn't have been so harsh either."

"Well now what?"

Aicantar brushed the stray hairs out of his face. "Do you remember which book Cyrenial got his paper's from?"

Valleri furrowed her eyebrows in a desperate attempt of recollection. "Not really, no. I was bit focused on other details. Though now, it's too foggy."

"I guess I can't blame you for that."

"Actually, that brings up a good point, Aicantar," Valleri interjected with a frown.

"Oh?"

Valleri gestured to the stack of papers next to her friend. "If you know where the necklace is then why're you asking for my documents?"

Aicantar's eyes went wide for a moment as he stared at Valleri. "Oh right. That is a good point. But you know that general pattern where a book might just prattle on and on and on before you find anything useful?"

"Like you're doing right now?"

"Yeah. Well anyways, I learned the general idea of where it is. I can only assume the rest was written in another part of the book."

"I would have thought the same thing," Valleri agreed. She picked up one of the scattered papers. She tossed it back on the table when she found it was one of Lexius' old guide notes. "Another question before I forget, but do you have the original pages with you?"

"What? No. I left them with Calcelmo."

Aicantar paused and watched as the Imperial furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "The Thalmor aren't after you now too, are they?"

"Not at all!" Aicantar exclaimed, shifting back in his seat. "No, if anything I only left the notes in Markarth so they wouldn't think anything was wrong for a while."

"As soon as they realize you've gone, you'll be put on a watch list."
Aicantar shook his head, "I'm sorry. When I found out I came straight here."

A soft smile finally came to Valleri's face as she put a hand on Aicantar's shoulder. "No, you didn't do anything wrong. Coming straight here was the best thing you could have done."

"That's great, but now what?" Aicantar paused, narrowing his eyes. He tapped the table top nervously, "We only have the idea of where the necklace is."

"Do you have a name at least?"

Aicantar breathed in sharply and stared hard at the stack of papers in front of him. "I do. It's in a place called Darkfall Cave."

…

Marcel cracked open an eye as he felt a heavy hand shake him awake. He smacked his head against the back wall when he finally decided get up. Groaning, Marcel leaned forward and held his head. "Damn it," he droned, finally looking up at the person who shook him awake. "Why in the world would you think it would be okay just wake up a person like that?"

Vilkas shrugged, "I'll let you know after you tell me why you're sleeping in a temple."

Marcel stared at the Nord pointedly. "I haven't had a good night's sleep in a few weeks at least. It was comfortable in here and no one was set on bothering me. A temple seems like the last place a killer would be lurking anyways."

"You'd be surprised. Valleri said something about the plague and then this is healing temple." Vilkas paused momentarily, glancing behind himself to the rest of the room. In a few moments, Vilkas took a seat next to him. "If there's one thing I've learned is that killers come in many forms."

"Way to be philosophical all of a sudden," Marcel muttered with a scowl.

"I guess."

The Breton's scowl deepened, "What are you even here for, Vilkas?"

"Who's to say? What are you doing for the rest of the day?"

Marcel sighed and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. "Probably stay here for the rest of the day. I'm planning on leaving tomorrow then you won't have to hide nor hair of me for the rest of your life."

"Well, that's on you." The Nord sighed, "I hope you don't mind sleeping in a closet."

The Breton furrowed his eyebrows, "Why?"

"Danica doesn't enjoy it when people who aren't patients stay too long. Don't ask me why."

"Well great." Marcel paused, taking in a sharp breath, "That ruins my plans."

"That's the way it always seems to work."

"Aye, it is," Marcel muttered, tilting his head to the side. He yawned and exhaustion seeped into his bones. If he wasn't careful, the Breton was going to fall asleep again. "May as well get as much rest as I can in the meanwhile."

Marcel glared at Vilkas from the side and wished the Nord would just get up and leave. He sighed in relief when Vilkas did get up, but then without warning, he turned to face Marcel. "Come on, let's go."

"What?" Marcel asked with narrowed eyes.

Vilkas gestured to the door, "I'll leave you here if you here if you really want to stay. But Danica will kick you out eventually and I have a feeling you'll just end up at Jorrvaskr anyways."

"I will not."

Vilkas started walking away without another word. Marcel smirked and rested his head back down on the wall. Closing his eyes, Marcel tried to fall asleep. Danica was walking around the back and Marcel couldn't help but feel a bit nervous when he heard her.

His eyes snapped open and Marcel leaned forward, rubbing the large lump on his head. Groaning, Marcel got up from the bench before walking out of the temple without another word. His joints tensed up as he crossed the plaza. The stairs leading up to the mead hall went on forever. He'd never been here before, but after his detour to Winterhold, Marcel couldn't help but feel oddly guilty for what had happened.

Marcel stopped short of the door. It didn't seem quite right going inside. Instead he went around the side path. The sounds of a conversation and arrows flying through the air alerted him to more people. Marcel kept close to the side of the building and watched.

Vilkas was watching a tall, red headed woman, talking to her about gods know what. The woman was focused on the targets in front of her, firing off an arrow every minute or so. Her aim was impeccable. Each arrow met its mark much to his surprise.

Suddenly, the two Companions looked over in his direction. An evil smirk came to Vilkas' face as he called out to the new comer, "So you did come after all."

Marcel narrowed his eyes and approached. The red headed woman turned around a grin came to her face. She laughed before Marcel could answer. "This is the person you ended up picking up? Gosh, first Valleri and now a Breton with a crutch."

"Well, Valleri did actually turn out to be worth it," Vilkas said, shrugging.

Marcel frowned as he glanced between the woman and Vilkas, "Wait a moment! What do you mean pick up?"

The Nord man rolled hie eyes. The woman now spoke to Marcel, "What's your name?"

"Marcel. That's not the point though!"

"Yeah, I guess not." The woman paused when Vilkas started to walk away. Marcel felt himself begin panic. The one person he knew in this entire town was now abandoning him and Marcel couldn't think of a good excuse to leave. Not that he had anywhere to go really. "Wait, you dolt. Where do you think you're going?" The woman called out.

Vilkas only waved his hand dismissively, "It looks like you've got Marcel covered. I'll see you later, Aela."

Marcel stared at the woman with furrowed eyebrows. There was an awkward pause before she started talking again. "Well, Marcel, what are you good at?"

"Excuse me?"

"Swords, axes? What?"

"None at all," Marcel stated.

The woman threw her head back with a cackle. "That's rich. Have you ever shot a bow before?'

The Breton's shoulder fell, "Not at all."

The woman all but shoved her bow into Marcel's hand and gestured to the target, "Give it a go, my friend."

"I'm good, honestly."

The smile on the woman's face turned serious, "Just give it a try. You'd be surprised how amazing it feels to land a hit."

Marcel shook his head and attempted to hand the bow back, "No."

"Well, how about this then?" the woman continued, clicking her tongue. "I'll bet you one hundred septims that you can't land an arrow within the second mark."

The woman's eyes continued to drill into marcel. He knew she was challenging him. Marcel's blood began to boil. First Vilkas and now her. He swiped the bow back and marched to the target. "You've got yourself a bet."

"Good," the woman said softly. Marcel tried his best to put her out of his head as he knocked an arrow. He let the arrow fly with a good amount of hope only to watch it fall short.

"I've seen better, but the heart was there."

"Oh, shut up. Give me another go and I'll get it," Marcel replied. The next arrow fell short again. This time the woman only laughed, but Marcel grumbled quietly and grabbed another arrow. Over and over again, Marcel kept missing. Eventually the woman went back inside. But Marcel was outside shooting by the time it was dark and the sun was under the horizon.

He wasn't going to lose this bet for anything.