I awoke with a cricked neck and a sour mouth, groaning as I picked my head up off the patient bed where I'd slumped from the chair I occupied, draped over the edge. Ow – oh, that can't be good for my back…

But of course, my back was the least of my troubles. Memories of the night before drifted back, hard to grasp in the groggy morning light but returning, nonetheless. Magub's threats, Lucien and I, my uncertainty…

Aldos still slept, turned on his side and snoring gently. Lucien's words crept back in, niggling, irritating.

"If you give him a place where he can indulge it without judgment, why should he ever stop?"

As much as I hated to admit it, he had a point. It was unfair, how the city had treated him – mocking him or ignoring him, letting him drink himself to death in his grief and fining him out of house and home. The cultists at the ruin – if they accepted him as their brethren at the shrine did me, they wouldn't mock him as the city did.

But neither could they give him a purpose. And that – that was what he needed. Not permission to grieve, but a reason to move on. That was the gift my time at the shrine truly gave me. I'd needed time to grieve, and they'd given me that, but what let me move on was the thought of something more.

A light in the dark.

…One thing at a time.

Cleaning up, first – washing my face and changing into clean clothes, having fallen asleep before undressing the night before. Slopping out the bucket beside Aldos where he'd slept, filled with vomit and worse. Filling his pitcher with fresh water, putting on tea and breakfast, the morning chores that kept me tethered to my goal for the day. Chamomile tea and buttered, warm bread brought forth the comforting smells of morning, wafting through the house and, I hoped, rousing his senses.

It wasn't long after I opened shop that I heard creaking down the stairs. He sagged at the end of the rail, squinting in the light.

"You're – the alchemist. That girl from the jail."

Thank gods. He looked exhausted, but at least he was clear-headed. "That's right. You were in a bad way, so I brought you here. I hope that's alright."

A slow blink. He stumbled down the last step towards me as I moved out from behind the counter – just in time, too. I caught him as he lost his footing, helping him keep upright as he mumbled. "Should've left me t'die, if it was that bad. Do the guards a favour."

I tried not to wince, hooking my arm under his and guiding him to the kitchen. Rare to have customers this early – hopefully, I had a little time. "Maybe you'll feel better after some breakfast, hm?"

"Mmn." He didn't have the energy to argue, sitting heavily at the table, blinking at the plate I set before him. "Haven't eaten right in days."

"Take it slow. There's tea, too."

"Don't have stonepetal, do you?" He picked up a thick-cut sliced and slowly chewed, eyes glassy. "… My wife, she loved stonepetal tea. She said it tasted like home."

"I'm sorry, I don't." I sat across from him, sliding over a mug before cradling my own. "… Tell me about her."

He looked up, face twisted – in confusion or pain, or both. A moment passed, his breath hitching. Then, haltingly, he did.

She was the daughter of an innkeeper, a native of Morrowind – not like him, who'd lived all his life in Cyrodiil. They'd met just over the border, when he'd finally worked up the nerve to see the land of his ancestors. I felt my smile go watery as he explained, lost in memory.

"I hated it. Grey, quiet, dull. Everyone treated me like scum – outlander, after all. The food was strange, the drink was bitter, and if the locals didn't kill you, the nixhounds or alit would." A deep sip, his lips turning in the first real smile I'd seen. "I hated all of it, except her. She was sweet in a place that doesn't know the meaning. She loved my stories, 'bout home. I stayed for weeks just to be with her."

"She was special."

"I knew that." He let his head sink, catching it just before it would have hit the table. "From th'beginning. When she asked to come to Cyrodiil with me – how could I tell her no?"

It was a love story, not like something out of those torrid novels Netta and I giggled over, but something tender and true. How they fell for each other on their travels, married within the year. I thought of Lucien – how could I not?

They met over greef and flirtations under the eye of her disapproving father. We met over the point of my mother's blade. An ache in my chest, tenderness and resentment warring in me. I pushed both away, for now.

"Every year, we took a trip t'the Imperial City. She was always so excited for it." He focused on the dregs of tea, staring into his mug. "The hillside, the little inns we'd stop at. It wasn't fer the city she wanted to go – she liked the journey best." His breath caught. "We were on our way back this year when the bandits attacked. A handful of gold and some trinkets to take home was all we had. That was all, and they killed her for it."

"I'm so sorry." Grief clung to him, almost visible in how heavily he seemed to hang.

"I should've been able t'protect her. Like a good husband. I went to th'chapel once, y'know." He sat upright again, hugging himself. "She never followed the Nine, but she didn't mind me visiting on Sundas, 'givin alms when I could. I asked if they could help me speak t'her. But that's not how Arkay works."

"No." Uncertain I reached out and placed my hand over his, just for a moment. "But I think – I think maybe the chapel can help, in another way. If you can help them, too."

He frowned, wiping crumbs out of his beard. "What makes you think I can help anyone? What makes you think I want to?"

"I don't know, honestly. But I know…" I swallowed my own grief, the hollow spot inside that I'd had to learn to live with. "… I know it hurts. I know it never really goes away." I thought of the ruin, sitting with Blue at the water's edge and imagining, just for a moment, that maman was still with me. How tempting that dream had seemed.

"… But you can still learn how to move on. Not to forget her, but to live with her memory beside you. It's hard, but you can." Was I explaining it right? What if I only made things worse? He sat still, head down, lank strands of hair hiding his eyes. "Mister Othran, do you remember anything from last night?"

A shrug. "Bits and pieces. It's foggy."

"You said…" I took a deep breath, steadying myself. "You asked what Ureso would think of you, if she saw you now."

That hurt him. I knew it would, inwardly cringing as his face crumpled, before taking his hand in mine again and squeezing hard.

"What do you think she would want you to do?"

A long pause, broken only by shuddering breaths. At last, he stood.

"… The chapel, then."

A light warm in my chest, a flicker of hope as I offered the brightest smile I could manage. This is what I am.

"Let's go."

"Presumptuous of you, wasn't it?"

I narrowly avoided stepping on a frog, sending it squawking indignantly back to the river in a leap.

"Maybe. But – you had a point."

"An unlikely occurrence, I know."

"Ass." I shot Lucien a half-hearted glower, noting how deftly he navigated the overgrown path we were taking. He had, as he'd said, found me in town after I'd left Aldos at the chapel. In theory, it was to check in and make sure nothing had interrupted my plan before it could take place tonight, all business.

In practice…

In practice, I couldn't stop myself from smiling at the smirk he gave. "I couldn't just let him go back to drinking himself to death, could I?"

"I fail to see why not. What business is it of yours?"

"He was hurting. I'm a healer."

"So you've said." A wry note to his voice, not quite mocking, but probing. "You think the Dunmer is happy?"

"I hope so." He hadn't been warm to the idea, not right away. Ohtesse, bless her, had welcomed us. Sat us downstairs and listened as I explained what I envisioned, if they agreed. He needed a purpose, coin, a home – the chapel could provide all of that. In exchange, they'd have a dearly needed pair of hands for running errands, helping clean, keeping the chapel and their services running smoothly.

He'd demurred. He paid his tithe like any good citizen, but he was no priest, he said. No healer, no acolyte.

I remembered Ohtesse's words, sending a shiver through me even now. But you're someone who has known grief. Perhaps, in helping others who have known your pain, you can find healing.

He would try, he said. What else did he have to lose?

It was the best I could have hoped for, and I left them then to work out the details and meet Lucien, leading him out here. He offered me a hand to help me over a fallen log, eyeing the woods around us with a skeptical stare. "And why is the healer traipsing through the woods?"

"No mushrooms this time." I kept ahold of his hand, now stepping ahead to lead him along. "I wanted to show you something."

A beat. He stalled, not pulling away, but his weight forcing me to pause and look back, his expression stony. "I have no interest in meeting your little friends."

"I – no." I let go, swallowing. "No, not that. I know that." It was the part of me I couldn't share with him, just as he had parts I couldn't accept. But there were things we could share, and if I tried, if I fought for it –

Maybe it would be enough. At his increasingly critical stare I pleaded, meeting his gaze. "Indulge me, just this once."

A lopsided smile. "As I did with that ridiculous picnic?"

"As though you didn't enjoy it just as much as I did."

A chuckle, and a bloom of relief as once more, he followed.

True to my word, I didn't lead him to the ruin entrance. Close, though – near the river I'd walked beside that night, before the Dremora found me, where I'd marvelled at the beauty of it all. The river was deep, but placid now, glowing with afternoon light reflected in glossy leaves turned green-gold, dappled shadows across the surface. Soon the sky was fading, from red, to orange, to purple, and one by one flickers of light awoke in the rustling trees.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

He surveyed the scene in silence, meeting my gaze as I waited. I thinned my lips and stepped back, letting a spell move from my fingertips to my feet. An incredulous look as I moved to step onto the surface of the water, hands extended. "You can cast it, can't you?"

"I can, when I see a point."

"Who needs a point?" I laughed aloud, keeping my hands open, an offering. "Dance with me."

He stilled, confused, guarded in the narrow of his eyes, the setting of his jaw. I couldn't help myself, giggling at the display. He had to fight to let himself enjoy things, to let himself soften, even for a moment. "I know you like dancing. I saw you smiling, in the plaza. I felt it at the festival."

A beat. Then, at last, he inclined his head and stepped onto the water's surface, his boots sending ripples across the surface. Fish ran in silvery darts beneath our feet, the air aglow from the fireflies all around.

He took my hand in his, the other finding my waist, tone airy and polite. "You truly are mad."

I grinned, letting him lead as we began a simple two step. Though I heard those flickers of fear whispering in the back of my head, the hum of the crickets, the song of the river was louder. "What isn't mad about dancing? Movement, for the sake of movement. Pleasure…"

We moved suddenly, a whirl on the water. I moved automatically with him, guided back with head spinning, a flush creeping up my cheeks. "… For the sake of pleasure."

"Hedonist."

"Spoilsport," I countered, laughing high and bright as we moved, then came to slow, his hand moving to my back, mine to his chest. And yet, he was here. He'd indulged me, as I'd asked. I could reach him, I knew I could, and he was willing to reach back.

The question was, when the time came, if he'd be willing to let go.

That thought stilled me, made the lingering warmth of the evening flee for just a moment. I met his gaze, feeling that strange sensation of sinking into those deep, black eyes as he read me through and through.

"... You are a very strange creature."

The bluntness of the statement caught me off guard, leaving me blinking before I burst into giggles. "I'm the strange one?" I squeezed his hand, swallowing hard, screwing up my courage. "… You see me. You know what I want."

A quiet nod. I looked back up, the both of us still now in the center of the river. "… But why me?" At his quirked brow I pressed on, inhaling the sweet air now bordered with the taste of summer twilight. "You know what I am, what I want. Half the time, you think I'm a nuisance." Even at his snort I continued. "… You know I want you, in spite of it all. But why do you…"

It felt vain to say it, making my cheeks go hot, making me avert my gaze. "… Why do you want me?"

We seemed frozen there, a painting when the world all around us was alive with movement. The orchestra of insects, the rush of the river, the fading light only seemed to highlight the silence, make it yawn on until at last, he broke it.

"… I never understood why Abelle left with your father." A squeeze of grief inside but he continued, our dance renewing in a slow circle. At my look he shook his head, answering my unspoken question. "I never met the man. I heard enough to dismiss him – he was a healer, an outsider. Some naive, homeless wanderer peddling tonics in the name of the Divines."

At my glare he chuckled, but his expression swiftly sobered. "… It was clear she saw something in him. Not enough to leave the Family, not enough to change who she was, but enough to want to be with him, around him. I thought she'd gone mad in her pregnancy."

A swell of affection at the thought of them both – sun and moon, light and shadow, so very different and somehow in love. Apprehension, hope trickled down my throat, making my voice hoarse. "… But?"

His eyes narrowed. A long, silent moment of thought, nares flaring, gaze drifting away. "… I am not in the habit of singing praises."

"I'm not asking for flattery. Just for the truth."

A soft laugh in his throat. "That's just it." A shiver cascaded down my back like cold water as he moved his hand to my cheek. "You are… genuine. It's not something I often see, in outsiders."

I blinked past tears, half-jesting. "Maybe if you kidnapped more of us, you would."

"I am unaccustomed to something – someone – changing my view of the world. It is…" His thumb brushed along my jawline, sending sweet tingles up my neck, along my shoulders. "Refreshing, I suppose." At my laughter his brow sobered, mirthless, almost scolding.

"You are naive to a fault. Reckless, soft-hearted. You delight in the smallest, most frivolous of fancies, yet you risk it all for another." All spoken with an air of condescension but I knew, I knew what he meant behind it all, bringing a fresh wave of tears to my eyes, making my heart swell. A long inhale, as though he needed to steel himself for this confession, even as casual as he made it. "… And, I suppose, I have come to see the – dubious value in that."

My laughter came out watery, halting as I rested my brow against him. "… I'm glad."

"And what about me, pet?"

I pulled back, meeting his wolfish smirk with a little, mocking glare. "Your turn, is it? Even though you can see exactly what I feel?"

"I want to hear you say it."

"Of course you do." I let my teasing tone soften. By now the fireflies had come out in numbers, the air all around us aglow. "… You are – a deep man. A complex man, with more layers than I could have guessed." I reached for him now, thumbing the stubble on his cheek, the fleck of a scar under his chin. "You are capable of cruelty, of – worse. I know that." As were maman, Vicente, Netta – any one of the people I'd somehow come to love. "But you're passionate. You're loyal, and in spite of yourself you make me laugh. Vicente told me, once, we can't accept shards of a person. It's all, or nothing."

A rumble of agreement and I continued. "… There are parts of me you don't like, or want. And there are sides of you I can't even imagine being part of." A shudder at the thought. I shook it off, standing straighter, willing my voice to stay steady. "Do you remember what I asked you on the hill?"

"…You asked me if I could take you as you are."

"If you can understand that – that there are pieces of us both that make us who we are, that we can't share. That we can't own." The tremor came through in my words anyway, even as I met his gaze. "… If we can know that, and still accept each other." A sudden urge to sob swelled over me – I forced it back with a breath, leaving me in a whisper. "Lucien – "

He kissed me. I melded to it, yielded for just a few sweet moments as his hand encircled the small of my back, as I linked my arms around him. I almost didn't want it to end, afraid of the truth that still needed to be spoken aloud.

We parted breathless. I felt starry-eyed, swallowing and trembling, having to steel myself to speak again. "… You said I'm genuine, reckless. And it's true. Can you accept that, even if you don't agree with it? Can you let me make my decisions, my mistakes?" Tears fell freely now in spite of all my attempts to stall them, but now my words came strong. "That's what I want, Lucien. I want us to have each other, not by chains, but by trust. By…"

"Dust." Strangely patient he brushed my cheek. "You know where my loyalties will always lie, first."

"I know. And I understand that, I do." Even if it stung, I knew it was true. I knew there was no other way to have him. "I can, if you can accept that mine might not. Even if it means I don't belong." I remembered his words in the swamps so long ago. "Even if you have to punish me for it, as Listener."

A hush fell heavy. It was getting late – too late to remain out here much longer, knowing what awaited me in the city. At last, I couldn't take it any longer, his silence deafening. "You don't have to answer now. I just want you to – know that, to know where I stand."

A quiet nod. At last he straightened, taking my hand once more to guide me back to the river bank. "Come."

I followed. We made our way without words, leaving the peace of the woods undisturbed to return to the city proper. First home, to fetch the candle I'd made and the nightshade they requested. Then, waiting for the stroke of midnight.

He stopped me outside my door, expression stern, but a heat behind his eyes. "Telaendril will be watching, and I will be in the city to ensure all goes according to plan over the following days. But be cautious."

That heat wasn't gentle, wasn't kind – it was fierce, in a way that lit in me like a bonfire. He cared, I knew he did, in his own strange way. Maybe, just maybe, he could understand. Maybe between us, I could find the common ground I prayed for. It left me in a croak. "Lucien?"

He paused. I took his hands, leaned my head against his chest, and squeezed our cupped hands between us. "… I love you. I do."

A gentle sound – agreement? Laughter? Then a kiss to the crown of my head, a long moment there in the night, intertwined.

"I know, pet. I know."