Good grief it's been a long time, so the short version of where we left off: Cecilia and Ulfric are in Windhelm, planning their wedding. Emilin's on her way there. Junius recovering in Whiterun alongside Rikke while Elenwen is hiding nearby. Tanulvie, Ondolemar and Thongvor are going out for drinks in Markarth. Mjoll, Delphine, and Madanach are at Sky Haven Temple with Cecilia's grandma. Legate Fasendil is on his way to Solitude to arrange Cecilia's meeting with Titus Mede. Ok, let's get on with this!

But in the end, you mortals will always flit like fire with the winds of your desires and conveniences. - Mephala

8 Second Seed, 4E 202, Windhelm:

Windhelm had not changed a whit in forty-five years. Emilin had last been here then, during the Border Crisis with Morrowind. The only noticeable difference today was the colours flying above the camp outside the city, Stormcloak blue instead of Imperial red.

Her courier companion had been friendly enough on their ride down from the mountains, but she could feel the tension in his voice as he instructed her to dismount at the camp's entrance. He jumped down after her to explain to the officer on duty that she was a Legionnaire and so required strict supervision.

"I'm a guest," she gently reminded him.

"Yes, General Galmar's orders," the courier confirmed. "And she fought off a bunch of Thalmor on the road."

"So I'm not entirely a lost cause," Emilin supplied.

The Stormcloak soldiers now gathered around wanted to hear about her fight with the Thalmor, but she shook her head. "That's news for your Jarl first."

The courier agreed. "You can stay here while I go up to the Palace. And do keep an eye on her," he added to the commander, "She's supposed to be tricky."

"On the contrary, I'm rather straight-forward," Emilin told the commander, once the courier had departed. "Do you have a spare bedroll? I'd like to take a nap, if I might?"

More consultations followed. Eventually, it was deemed appropriate to give her a place in a tent. With the flap kept open, the Stormcloak commander emphasized. That was fine. She'd been up all night and day riding behind couriers. She closed her eyes and easily drifted off to sleep.

She was woken by Cecilia Varo shaking her into consciousness.

"Cecilia, I'm sleeping," she began fuzzily. Then she sat bolt upright. "Cecilia !"

Emilin had lived alongside Cecilia her whole life. She'd been in the room when Cecilia was born, lived in the same house for years. Until last year, she had never gone more than a few months without visiting the girl.

Their parting last year had not been a memorable one. On that occasion, soon after the death of Cecilia's mother, Emilin was going south to Valenwood to scout. Junius and Cecilia were already discussing a possible trip to Skyrim, but no decisions had been made. She'd expected to see Cecilia again when she returned to Anvil. Instead, Junius told her that Cecilia had set out to visit her grandmother in Markarth.

The young woman waking her was not the same one who'd seen her off from Anvil a year ago. The difference was not simply in her embroidered Nord apron dress or the way she let her curls fall wildly about her shoulders. She radiated an insistency Emilin had never seen in her before. Cecilia Varo listened. This young woman commanded.

"Quick." Cecilia rocked back on her heels. "Jarl Ulfric wants to see you, but you have to tell me first – what is this about?"

Emilin shook her head. "' What is this about ?' Really, Cecilia?"

"Did my father send you?"

"No, he did not."

Emilin observed how she relaxed at this answer. How unfortunate that Junius' absence was so obviously a relief to her. Unfortunate, but not all that surprising. Cecilia had always been a dutiful daughter; she must dread having to stand up to her father.

"They told me he's recovering from his wounds," Cecilia continued. "Is he?"

"He was well on his way to recovery when I left," she reassured Cecilia.

"Will he go back to battle?"

"Of course. Once he's signed up for a fight, he won't back down. You know that."

Cecilia's face fell. "This isn't his fight," she complained. "It has nothing to do with his mission."

His mission? Against the Thalmor, did she mean? Did she really know anything of that? "How could you possibly know that?"

Cecilia didn't answer that. "Are you here to stop me marrying?"

"I don't think I could. I might try, though."

"That's fair."

"Let me ask my own quick question, Cecilia. Are you truly committed to marrying the Jarl?"

"Yes." She answered without hesitation. "The wedding's set for two days from now."

"And does that make you happy?"

Cecilia shrugged. "It doesn't make me unhappy."

This was not what Emilin wanted to hear. If Cecilia had expressed regret, Emilin would have dedicated herself to her rescue. If she had declared her love for Ulfric Stormcloak, Emilin would have been shocked but sympathetic. Her nonchalant disinterest instead awoke a memory Emilin did not care to revisit: practical dispassionate Curinwe announcing her sensible marriage to a suitable Nibenese aristocrat who could give her a title, wealth, and child.

" Emilin, I have important things to tell you, but not here. Let's get behind stone walls first. Galmar Stone-Fist wrote that you wanted to see Jarl Ulfric. Is that true?"

"Yes."

"Then, come along. I'll answer all your questions once we're settled somewhere private, I promise."

She followed Cecilia out of the tent. The soldiers who'd mingled around Emilin were now lined up as if waiting for Cecilia's inspection. She ignored them, grabbing Emilin's hand and pulling her along at a brisk pace.

"I'm not going to run all the way into Windhelm," Emilin protested once they'd left the Stormcloak camp.

Cecilia let go of her hand and settled into a more comfortable stroll along the causeway. "I didn't want to talk to the soldiers."

"I noticed. Why not?"

"They think I'm here to liberate Skyrim with them. I'm going to disappoint them. I can't deal with it right now."

"So you're not here to liberate Skyrim?"

"Not from the Empire."

"But you're marrying a rebel."

"It's complicated." Cecilia stared straight ahead as they walked.

"It's ridiculous. I'm sure it makes sense in your head somehow, but it's ridiculous."

"Emilin, I'm trying to . . . I'm sorry, but it's not as simple as you and Dad made it sound."

Emilin snorted. "I never said anything about simple."

"No, but you've always been so sure. I knew you and Dad were out there, fighting the Thalmor. Getting ready for the next war. I never worried about choosing the right side."

"And now?"

"I don't know if there is a right side."

"Congratulations, you've grown up."

Cecilia finally turned to look at her. "Don't mock me."

"I'm not mocking you. I've never been sure of anything. Even your father isn't as sure of himself as he wants people to think."

"That's hard to believe," said Cecilia, with a small smile.

"He's chosen to follow Titus Mede. So he won't look back. Ever. But he knows there's another side to his choice."

"Really?"

"He loved your mother. Of course, he knew."

"But Mum supported him!" And then. "Didn't she?"

That was a very good question. It'd taken Emilin many years to understand Avelina; maybe she never had entirely. They'd first met a few weeks after the Battle of Red Ring, after Junius had rescued Emilin from a Thalmor prison. He'd presented Emilin almost immediately with Legate Avelina Attius, the woman he was going to marry. On further questioning, he'd admitted she hadn't yet agreed to his proposal. But she did marry him, just a few months later. Avelina had taken Emilin into her own home while Junius was away on Titus Mede's business. She'd been the one to guide Emilin back to wholeness. They'd lived together for years under the same roof. And yet Avelina rarely said what was in her own heart.

So it was with her daughter. Or so it had been, until Skyrim.

"Well?" Cecilia demanded. "What did my mother think?"

"Your mother refused to renounce Talos," she reminded Cecilia. Avelina had destroyed her career in the Legion in the process.

"I know that. But I don't know what she thought of my father's choices."

"She knew he was doing what he thought right. But it wasn't something she could do herself."

"She could tolerate him supporting the persecution of Talos worshipers?" Cecilia asked bitterly.

"Your father has always strived to keep innocents from the clutches of the Thalmor."

"But he was all right with letting them into Cyrodiil! How could she stand that?"

Avelina very nearly hadn't. A few months into their marriage, after the announcement of the Concordat, she'd slipped off her ring and handed it to Junius. I made a vow to you, she'd told him. But so did you before the gods.

But Emilin only knew this because Avelina had told her the story many years later. Junius had won his wife back, convinced her of his sincerity. . . how? Emilin couldn't truly answer that.

She hadn't been herself back then. She was recovering from her year-long ordeal in a Thalmor prison, unaware of the hurt and confusion that followed the Concordat. When she finally opened up to the world again, everything was settled. The only way to uphold Curinwe's legacy and to oppose the Dominion was through the leaner, more nakedly cynical Empire Curinwe's son was building.

"I don't know how she reconciled it all," she admitted to Cecilia. "But that's a conversation you should have with your father."

"My father who's gone to war just to avoid talking to me?"

She was right, of course. Tullius had first asked Junius to go to Windhelm to convince Cecilia to give up Ulfric Stormcloak. Junius had opted to win the war instead.

"He said you wouldn't betray your oath to Jarl Ulfric. And he couldn't make you do so."

Cecilia's expression softened. "At least he knows that."

They lapsed into silence as they continued along the causeway. At last, Cecilia spoke up, "I'm a lot like Mum. I can't follow you and Dad. And I can't do what Jarl Ulfric wants me to do."

She was indeed like Avelina. Emilin knew that. And yet, she couldn't be like her mother.

"You don't have the same options she did. She could step down from the Legion and hide away from politics. Your father protected her from Thalmor inquisitors. You are Dragonborn. Even if you hide, you change the world around you."

"You're right. I'm trying my best. I hope you'll understand that."

"I might if you explained it."

Cecilia fell silent again.

Ulfric Stormcloak met them at the city gate. She couldn't recall his face from Vilverin, but he was exactly as she'd imagined from Rikke's description: big, bluff, bearded, a Nord's Nord. She couldn't see the attraction herself, but he no doubt had many admirers. She was curious whether one of them was Cecilia.

Cecilia at least was all smiles as she presented the rebel Jarl to Emilin. He was courteous, but he did not smile. "Emilin of Silvenar," he greeted her formally. "I bid you welcome to my city, to be a guest at my hearth."

Not as a prisoner or a hostage, he meant. She appreciated the gesture. "Thank you, Jarl Ulfric. I'm here in part to give you thanks long past due. Twenty-eight years was too long to wait to meet again."

"Better we meet now than never," he replied. Then he turned to Cecilia, "We should take counsel in the gatehouse, my Lady."

"And avoid prying eyes," Cecilia agreed. "But it's a bit past lunch. Have you been fed, Emilin?"

"No. I just wanted to sleep."

"There'll be provisions inside," Ulfric told her. "Bread, meat and cheeses at least."

"And mead?" asked Cecilia.

"Certainly mead."

Cecilia turned back to Emilin with a grin. "I hope you can stomach mead."

"Kid, I've been up and down Skyrim before your father was even born. Of course, I can drink mead."

Cecilia laughed heartily at this. Ulfric, at last, smiled. Emilin watched the two closely as they led her into the gatehouse. There was an easy familiarity between them that quelled her worst fears. Cecilia was not being held here against her will.

Inside the guardhouse, Cecilia rounded on Emilin. "Do you know about the Emperor coming to Skyrim?" she demanded.

"No. Is he?"

"An Imperial Legate told me so. Is it not true?"

Was it true? Someone should have told Junius . . . and Ulfric Stormcloak knows? She kept calm despite her racing thoughts. "I wouldn't know. I've been in Skyrim less than a week. Which Legate?"

"Legate Fasendil. I talked to him in Winterhold. Do you know him?"

"Yes, I do. He's been in the Legion forever. He was a friend of your grandmother's."

"So trustworthy?"

"Yes."

"Good. I made the right decision then. I've agreed to meet with the Emperor when he comes to Skyrim."

"And you, Jarl Ulfric?" asked Emilin.

"I will attend. Although I've not been included in the invitation, I believe it is my duty and right to be there to uphold the freedoms of the Sons and Daughters of Skyrim,"

Emilin forced a smile. "I believe that will be for the best. All parties at the table. Have you considered a new truce in the meantime?"

Cecilia's face brightened at her suggestion, but Ulfric shook his head. "No. Not again. Delay is the Legion's weapon here. Perhaps once we take Whiterun, Titus Mede will, at last, be inclined to treat seriously with us."

Emilin suspected that Ulfric's definition of a serious response would be complete Imperial surrender in Skyrim. So she did not reply to that.

"You know the Emperor pretty well, don't you?" Cecilia asked. "What do you think he's here for?"

"I . . yes, I do know him. He served under your grandmother as a junior officer in Hammerfell when your father was very small. He was the heir then, not yet Emperor, and he idolized Curinwe."

"He's changed since then, hasn't he?" Ulfric spoke sharply.

"Since the war? Yes. He has. Haven't we all?"

"Not all of us for the better."

" None of us for the better. "

He did not gainsay her.

"What about those provisions, my Jarl?" Cecilia broke the awkward silence.

"Over here." As he opened up a cupboard to rummage for supplies, Cecilia turned back to Emilin. "There's a lot to tell you, I don't know where to begin."

"At the beginning? You were going to Markarth to live with your mother's family. We got a letter saying you'd arrived there safely. Was that a lie?"

"I did visit them." Cecilia's glance flickered to Ulfric's back for a moment, then she said softly. "But I didn't tell you I got lost on the road and was arrested by the Legion. Do you know what happened at Helgen?"

"Yes." Between Tullius and Rikke, she'd heard the whole sorry story. "They nearly executed you as a rebel alongside Jarl Ulfric."

"Just because I was lost and some Stormcloak soldiers had helped me out."

"Your father punched General Tullius in the face for that."

Ulfric froze at the cupboard.

"He what ?" Cecilia exclaimed.

"You must understand, Cecilia, he heard nothing of you after we left Anvil." Undercover in Valenwood. Cecilia would understand, but Emilin wasn't going to specify that in Ulfric's hearing. "But if you'd written him about Helgen right away -"

"Dad would have come up here and punched Tullius earlier, I get it."

"So why did you lie to him?"

"I didn't want him to come. I handled it. He has important work to do, doesn't he?"

It was as she'd guessed. Cecilia was just as stubborn and self-sacrificing as the rest of her family.

"His work is not more important than his daughter's welfare."

Cecilia shook her head. "It's way more important than my welfare. If there's another war - no, when there's another war, the people of Cyrodiil aren't going to be wondering if Cecilia Varo is safely out of it."

Ulfric turned from the cupboard, dropping all pretense of not listening to the conversation.

"The Dragonborn's welfare should be the concern of all Tamriel," he corrected Cecilia. "In that war, she must be mankind's greatest defender."

Mankind. Really? But Emilin was not here to start a fight with the Jarl. She'd swallow her derision so she could advise Cecilia correctly. "Jarl Ulfric is right. In such a war, you would be sought after by many, You would also be a prime target of the enemy. The aims and . . . the identities of these enemies you must discuss with the Emperor."

"Still pretending the Thalmor don't hold the Emperor's reins?" growled Ulfric.

"If they did, I'd be dead," Emilin replied testily.

"Not if it suits them for you to live."

"What exactly are you implying?"

"No ill-intent on your part. I believe you hate them as much as I do. But suppose you are giving them exactly what they want?"

"I could say the same thing of you, Jarl Ulfric. You've begun a war that only benefits the Dominion."

"Begun it? Nay -" Cecilia rested her hand on his arm and he checked himself. "It grieves me that they've set us so deftly against each other. And yet I cannot see any way past it."

"I'm not here to guide you to one. Cecilia, continue your story."

The story, as Cecilia told it, was simple. She'd discovered she was Dragonborn, then set out to defeat Alduin. Along the way, she'd met with adventures that threatened to shake her from her goal, but she hadn't let them. She'd ignored the war in Skyrim, ignored the Thalmor, ignored her family. Every waking hour, every decision she took, was dedicated to fulfilling the Dragonborn's destiny.

She recounted this swiftly, without detail or sentiment: a story of Greybeards and Blades and dragons and word walls scattered across Skyrim. Emilin ate and drank while she did. Jarl Ulfric had rustled up a good spread and some very good mead. Now he sat listening intently, his eyes on Cecilia the whole time, his expression . . . it was difficult to judge the inner thoughts of a man Emilin had known less than an hour, but she'd say his expression was almost worshipful.

Was that surprising? He was a Nord and she was the Last Dragonborn of prophecy. No matter his feelings for Cecilia Varo, he'd been brought up to idolize the Dragonborn.

Cecilia paused only once in her story, when she recounted the peace conference at High Hrothgar. "And then -" she stopped and looked to Ulfric, a small furl upon her brow.

"I asked for Lady Cecilia's hand," Ulfric spoke up. "To ensure the future of a free Skyrim."

"So you twisted her arm to get what you wanted," Emilin replied.

"Emilin, don't!" Cecilia ordered. "I know what you think. But it's not the right time for this."

"Understood. As long as you make time later for this conversation. Carry on. You were just about to defeat Alduin."

She sped through Alduin's defeat, narrating her journey into the realm of Sovngarde as baldly as though it was a jaunt from Bravil to Leyawiin. Then she plunged into the story of her recent trip to Winterhold and her strange encounters there with the Thalmor, the Psijic Order, and Legate Fasendil of the Imperial Legion.

"We have to go to Mzulft," she finished. "In case those Synod mages have the Staff of Magnus there."

"Both of you?" Emilin asked in surprise. Ulfric Stormcloak was busy with a war, did he have time to go tracking through Dwemer ruins?

"Lady Cecilia's mission may thwart the ambitions of the Thalmor in Skyrim. And the Synod expedition will be made to recognize my sovereignty over Eastmarch. I already have scouts watching Mzulft, we should be able to conclude this business within a week."

"If it's that pressing, why are you waiting around here?"

"Because the wedding's also pressing," Cecilia replied quickly. "It's important that the people see that Jarl Ulfric and I are united. That the Emperor knows he will be part of the negotiations. And I'm not wasting time here. I'm waiting for my housecarl to arrive, I have planning to do for our trip to Mzulft, I need all the information I can about what the ancient Atmorans might have found in Saarthal, I hardly have time to sleep!"

Emilin smiled despite herself. "You're scarily like your father, Cecilia."

"I'm not!"

"Neither of you knows how to stop for a moment."

"I can't, though."

"Neither can he."

Ulfric ignored this exchange. "My steward's prepared a room for you at the palace, Emilin. Let me escort you both."

"If you would, I'd be very obliged," said Cecilia. "People are less likely to bother us," she explained to Emilin. "

"And I'll be less likely to wander off to survey the city's defences," Emilin replied.

"You are a Legionnaire," Ulfric growled.

She wasn't, officially. She'd retired from the Legion forty years ago. But she didn't think Ulfric would appreciate the correction.

"There's someone you need to meet at the Palace," Cecilia continued. "Well, in the Palace jail, to be precise."

"The jail?"

"You'll see." Cecilia was smiling. Ulfric was not.

8 Second Seed, the Bannered Mare, Whiterun:

"Are you going to order something?" Saadia broke into Junius Varo's thoughts. "Or are you just taking up a table?"

He grinned up at her. "Bring me some mead. I'm working on my Nord credentials." In a whisper, he added. "Did Elenwen show up again?"

"I haven't seen her. That doesn't mean much, though, does it?"

"It does mean you're safe from her meddling right now."

"And your meddling?"

Right. He had said the Empire might have a use for her. "Cheer up. Unless you have some way to break a siege, the Legion doesn't need you right now."

"Will you stop me from leaving Whiterun?"

"Right now?"

"When the siege is over. I'm thinking I might have to move on. Morrowind is starting to look very attractive."

"There are Alik'r out looking for you. You'd never get to Morrowind."

"There's no way for me to earn a safe passage?"

"Hmmm…." His business in Skyrim wasn't spycraft. But perhaps it should be. "Stick around as long as I'm here. I might be able to arrange something."

"For a price?"

"Everything has a price, but I'm not the Thalmor. I don't charge more than you can pay."

"I guess I'll have to be grateful for that." She was scowling as she went to fetch his mead.

He never got a chance to drink it. While Saadia was taking down a tankard, Jon Battle-Born burst into the inn. "Sir! You have to come quickly! There's a Stormcloak messenger at the gates for you!"

"Don't announce it to everyone, Battle-Born."

Battle-Born looked abashed. "Sorry, but it's not a secret. Thorald Gray-Mane is down there, says he has a message for you from Galmar Stone-Fist. He's waiting with Legate Rikke."

Reluctantly, after promising Saadia he'd be back for his mead, Varo headed out for the gate. He started at a brisk pace, then slowed down as his injured shoulder began to protest at the strain. Battle-Born had gone a little ahead but turned back. "Sorry, I forgot you were wounded, sir."

"So did I," Varo admitted. "Give me your arm."

Battle-Born did so and they began hobbling down to the gate together. "You don't know any Restoration magic?" he asked Varo.

"Enough to get me in trouble. Restoration's a lot of fiddly business, you get the smallest thing wrong, and there go your heart-valves. I'll stick to a proper Health draught and some brandy to chase it down."

"Can I get you anything?"

"I'm at my limit. Anything more and I'll poison myself."

They took their time getting down to the gatehouse where Thorald Gray-Mane was waiting. Balgruuf's housecarl Irileth had got there before them, but she informed Varo that Thorald would speak only with him and Rikke. Legate Cipius had been similarly ousted.

"Are they trying to frame you two as Stormcloak collaborators?" Irileth asked him.

"The Dominion's Ambassador is," Varo explained. "She's been complaining I'm secretly communicating with Ulfric Stormcloak. You don't think Elenwen's pulling Stone-Fist's strings?"

"No, I don't."

"Thanks, I have to keep a check on the Thalmor-induced paranoia. The Thalmor can't be behind everything ."

But they could be behind a lot.

"The Thalmor tried to kill your messenger," Gray-Mane told him as soon as Varo entered the gatehouse.

His stomach sank. How he wished he'd been wrong. Elenwen had done something awful.

"Emilin?" asked Rikke.

Gray-Mane nodded. "She's safe, on her way to Windhelm still. But she and my sister were attacked on the road up past Valtheim Towers. They killed their attackers, but they wanted you to know what had happened."

"How do you know they were Thalmor?" Varo asked.

"Emilin identified them. Said they were a soldier and mage who'd come up to Whiterun with Ambassador Elenwen." He looked down at a scrap of paper in his hand. "The mage was named Amirion."

"That bastard who tied your hands behind your back, Legate," Varo reminded Rikke.

"Oh, the one who had an apoplectic fit over Martin Septim. Won't be missed. You're sure all the assassins are dead?" she asked Gray-Mane.

"There should be a third," Varo added. "Never seen a Dominion unit with only two members."

"Our courier found a third Altmer body on the ride back over the pass. Looks like a saber-cat got him."

"They lost a soldier on their way up to ambush Emilin, you mean?" Rikke asked.

"Looks like it."

"Your sister and Emilin were incredibly lucky, then," Varo commented.

"But why were they alone?" Rikke asked. "I thought they were travelling with your people?"

"They were trailing a bit behind," Gray-Mane answered. "I don't know why. The message wasn't very detailed. Just that they were all right and Emilin was hurrying on to Windhelm. Emilin wanted Varo to know. General Galmar asked that I also let Legate Rikke know what the Thalmor had done."

"That all he said?" Rikke asked.

"He said it might get you to pull your head out of your arse, but he doubted it," said Gray-Mane, avoiding her eyes.

"Ah, that sounds more like him."

"What does Stone-Fist expect us to do about this?" asked Varo.

"I don't think he expects you to do anything," Gray-Mane answered.

"Then we won't disappoint him. I don't expect Ambassador Elenwen to show her face again, now we know what happened with Emilin. And I expect we'll never be able to prove Elenwen gave those assassins that order either."

"The Empire wouldn't want to prove it," muttered Gray-Mane.

"You're probably right," said Varo. "Emilin, by the way, has not gone to Windhelm on Imperial business or with my approval. So it wasn't an attack on the Empire. If Emilin had been murdered there - I don't know what I could have done. But since she's alive, I'll thank the gods and your sister for their help."

"Cecilia said her family hated the Thalmor," said Gray-Mane suddenly.

Announcing her hatred for the Thalmor, praying publicly to Talos. The more he heard of Cecilia in Skyrim, the less he recognized his prudent daughters in the tales. "She's developed quite the loose tongue lately, hasn't she?"

"She said her grandmother was killed by them."

"Correct."

"And doesn't that -"

"Does it gnaw at me? Keep me up at night?" It had once. He'd got used to it, as one did, in time, to all things.

"I still have nightmares of what happened at Northwatch Keep."

"Naturally."

"But I don't have to wake up and remember that I'm letting it happen."

"Congratulations on your clean conscience. You're following a man who started this war and put you in that nasty spot in the first place."

"Ulfric didn't -"

"You can talk off Legate Rikke's ear, maybe she'll have some sympathy to spare you. I'm going back to the Bannered Mare to get a proper drink."

His bravado carried him no further than a few feet past the door. There, Jon Battle-Born was faithfully waiting and helped him back to Breezehome. That drink at the inn would have to wait for another day.

"Do you know anything about Northwatch Keep?" he asked Battle-Born once they entered Breezehome.

Battle-Born stiffened. "I know they sent Thorald there. He was taken prisoner fighting for the Stormcloaks and the Legion gave him up to the Thalmor."

"That shouldn't have happened. The Concordat's for Talos worship not rebellion. He should have stayed in Imperial custody."

Battle-Born shrugged. "I only know what General Tullius said in his letter."

On further questioning, he elaborated that Idolaf Battle-Born had inquired about Gray-Mane's whereabouts and received a letter from Tullius informing him the Thalmor had Gray-Mane in Northwatch Keep. Tullius had ordered them to drop the matter.

"And that's not right?" asked Battle-Born hesitantly.

"I'm sure the General had his reasons." Covering up for some incompetent junior officer who'd handed Gray-Mane over. Or worse, for a Thalmor stooge.

"Olfina says the Thalmor tortured him horribly."

"No doubt. If all you want is a confession, that's a quick way to get it."

"Is that how you would interrogate a prisoner . . sir?"

He shook his head. "I didn't say it's the way to interrogate a prisoner. You only get what you want to hear once you break out the fire and sharp instruments. That suits the Thalmor; all they need is a confession to show they've arrested the right person."

"And the Empire lets them?"

"Ideally, no. The local government should require proof of the Concordat violation before the Justiciars proceed to the arrest. If the suspected Talos worshiper is arrested, the Imperial bureaucracy should follow up on the case and oversee the sentence. And . . . the evidence and the suspect can easily vanish while the paperwork is being sorted out, collapsing the Thamor's case. There are counties in Cyrodiil that have this down to an art. Nowadays they rarely lose a person to the Thalmor enforcers. But twenty-five years ago? We learned all this the hard way."

"The Thalmor here take anyone they want to," said Battle-Born bitterly.

"Doesn't surprise me. These things happen in war."

"But the war started because it was already happening! Why do you think so many people flocked to Ulfric Stormcloak's banner? After their families disappeared in the night, that's why!"

"If they did just vanish, that's a problem. There should be lists."

"Does it make it better if they're on a list somewhere?"

"It's a sign that the Empire is in control. That we know where our citizens are and what's being done to them, even if we can't protect them all. If you've got it right, your Jarls have a lot to answer for. Your dead High King even more."

"So Ulfric was right?"

"He's made everything worse, so no. He's not right. Damn it, though, maybe I should have asked for early retirement in Skyrim. Got out in front of this." The Emperor had trusted the Jarls to restrain and protect their people, though gods knew why looking back on it. They weren't ready for it.

It was the Empire's fault, the Legion's fault, maybe Tullius' fault - he wanted it to be Tullius' fault because he already loathed the man, but he'd inherited this mess. It was certainly young King Torygg's fault, and even more certainly his father's and advisers' fault. It was Ulfric Stormcloak's fault, though not as fully as Varo could wish. Soon it'd be his own fault as well because winning a battle for the Empire wouldn't help if the Thalmor in Skyrim weren't dealt with.

But none of them could deal with them now. Unless -

It was all going to come down to his daughter, wasn't it?

8 Second Seed, the Palace of Kings, Windhelm

"Eliande?"

Emilin's immediate recognition of the prisoner settled the question for Cecilia. Niranye was indeed her father's old nanny.

"Emilin!" Niranye effusively greeted her. "How lovely to see you again. My Lady, my Jarl," she dropped a curtsey their way.

"You can confirm this person's identity?" Ulfric asked Emilin.

"I can confirm a few of her identities," said Emilin. "Eliande's not her real name. She was Lilae when Curinwe first met her, Tirwin at some point in Alinor, I have no idea what her original name is."

Ulfric's face was reddening.

"It's best forgotten," said Niranye brightly. "I've been Niranye a good while, and I've quite settled now."

"It can't have been that long," Cecilia observed. "You said you were hiding your old ties to the Thieves' Guild in Skyrim. And you told me in the market last year that you came from the Summerset Isles just a few years ago. Is that when you changed your name to Niranye?."

"Very well-observed, my Lady," NIranye nodded to her. "Can I be blamed for wanting to avoid those people's attention? Even changing my name didn't keep Linwe and his thugs from my door."

"You want me to pardon this woman? This career criminal ?" Ulfric demanded of Cecilia.

"I owe her a debt, my Jarl. For her service to my family and the ill she suffered for it." She wouldn't even try defending Niranye's actions. She'd put this in terms a Nord would best appreciate. "Her association with my grandmother meant she could not return to Summerset. She might even be targeted by the Thalmor back in Cyrodiil." That was unlikely - she could see the skepticism on Emilin's face - but it would help win Ulfric's sympathy for her.

Ulfric turned to Niranye. "Very well. At Lady Cecilia's request, I will set you free. But this will be the last time I pardon you. Do not return to thievery."

"How could I, with my lady's patronage?"

"We will see. Are we done here?" he asked Cecilia.

"Niranye, we'll expect you to attend our wedding feast," Cecilia told her.

"I look forward to it, my Lady. Is there any way I can help you prepare?"

"Not really . . . wait, You could write some invitations to the most notable citizens in the Gray Quarter, you know who they all are, right?"

"If that is what you and the Jarl desire."

"It is." They hadn't discussed it, but she knew he wouldn't contradict her in front of Emilin. "They can show their fealty to the Jarl, this way, same as the other citizens."

"Is there anyone I should make certain to invite?"

"Ambarys Rendar," she said automatically. "Make it clear it's an order."

"Should I suggest they bring gifts as well?" There was a glint in Niranye's eyes.

"No," said Ulfric at just the same moment that Cecilia said, "Yes."

"Why?" he demanded.

"Small tokens of their esteem," Cecilia explained. "And in return, we should give them something back. Isn't that how it'll go with your Thanes?"

"The Dunmer are not my Thanes! They do not serve Skyrim, let alone me."

"And you wonder, Cecilia, why we elves support the Empire?" Emilin said drily.

"The Dunmer in this hold do not wish to be citizens! I do not require that they shed their blood for Skyrim, not against their will. This is their choice and I will not be made accountable for it."

This wasn't the time or the place for this argument. They could have it out when Niranye and the guards weren't hanging on their every word. "Niranye, take care of the invitations. Jarl Ulfric, I know you and Emilin have much to discuss, but I'm going to settle her in her room first."

They could have a private conversation there, without Ulfric's interference. Cecilia wasn't exactly looking forward to it, not to Emilin's inevitable lecture, but she had more questions to ask about her father and the Emperor.

8 Second Seed, The Silver-Blood Inn, Markarth

The private room at the Silver-Blood Inn was well-appointed, the snacks plentiful, and the drink heavenly. Tanulvie had not expected to like mead, but she did. At her first sip, all worries of having to pretend to enjoy it vanished. It was light, heady, absolutely amazing, nothing like the cough medicine the Embassy's soldiers had described.

Commander Ondolemar had ordered her to pretend to like it for their host Thongvor Silver-Blood's sake, but it was the innkeeper woman whose heart she was winning. Dame Frabbi was in and out of the room with more delicacies for Tanulvie to sample, while the conversation between Ondolemar and Thongvor grew frostier by the moment.

As soon as they'd arrived, Tanulvie had thanked Thongvor for his part in her rescue. He'd responded warmly, inquiring after her health. He commiserated with her over the Forsworn's barbarism. This easy conversation lasted a good five minutes. Then Ondolemar brought up the Dragonborn's family in Markarth.

"Have you accepted by now that the Attius family are your enemies?" Ondolemar asked.

"I don't know that they are," Thongvor replied stubbornly. "You say the Blades kidnapped your Justiciar here, they could have kidnapped Dame Embla too."

"Perhaps. I'm sure it makes you happy to think that."

"And I still haven't seen any evidence these people are real Blades," Thongvor continued. "Why would Blades kill my brother? Or take up with Forsworn?"

"The Blades do what they must to survive, they will use anyone along the way. And today it appears to be the Forsworn."

"I'm not going to believe everything a Thalmor tells me."

"You're in a bad place. Denial won't do you any favours, not with the Empire, nor with the Stormcloaks. After this attack on our people, the Aldmeri Dominion will be re-evaluating its position in the Reach. That includes deciding what to do with the material we've collected on your brother's ties to the Forsworn."

"Damn elf !" Tanulvie got the feeling Thongvor had no worse curse in his vocabulary.

Ondolemar ignored the insult "Neither of us is in a very enviable position here, but I at least have my government's backing. You - is there anyone on your side, Thongvor Silver-Blood?"

"I am on the side of the true daughters and sons of Skyrim."

"Are they on yours? Ulfric Stormcloak's new wife brought those Blades with her to High Hrothgar for the peace council. Don't you think it's likely she sent them to the Reach?"

Thongvor stood up from the table. "I don't know why I thought for even a minute there was any point in this meeting."

Commander Ondolemar's eyes flickered to Tanulvie. She quickly put down her cracker spread with rich pâté. "Master Thongvor," she said sweetly. "I truly did wish to thank you for rescuing me. I'm sorry this led to contention between you two."

"I'm still glad to have pulled you out of there," said Thongvor stiffly. "Being handed over to the Forsworn - no one deserves that. But you're a Thalmor Justiciar, you don't mean our people any good."

"She saved the lives of your people ."

"Are the children safe?" Tanulvie asked quickly.

"Yes. They're staying up at the Keep until their father can collect them. The old woman you saved, though, she's in your cells."

"I released Mistress Aud this afternoon," Ondolemar corrected him. "She hid your presence on the cart, Justiciar," he told Tanulvie. (She already had been briefed on the entire story; this conversation was for Thongvor's benefit.) "But she acted only out of fear of the Blades. She cooperated with us in identifying them."

"I'll check on her," Thongvor said shortly. "If she's been hurt in any way -"

"She hasn't. You may ask her yourself."

"And what about Pavo Attius? Can I talk to him?"

Ondolemar had explained to her that the Dragonborn's uncle was held in Thalmor custody on charges of Talos worship. He'd also explained that Attius was the only leverage they currently held over the Dragonborn and the Blades. They must hold on to him at any cost.

"If Housecarl Faleen agrees, certainly."

"You're taking orders from Faleen now?"

"You know the Jarl ordered her to ensure Attius' safety while he's in our custody. We will follow the proper procedure here."

"For once!"

"Whenever have I not?"

Thongvor didn't answer that as he made his way to the door. Tanulvie's appeal had kept him in the room for a few extra moments only.

"I'm sorry, Commander," she told Ondolemar once Thongvor was gone. "I didn't know what to say."

"There was nothing you could have said to make him stay. He will never be a friend to the Dominion. But he is a possible ally. You played your part well."

Ondolemar's praise was even better than the mead. She regretted she could not stay for more of Dame Frabbi's cooking, but her heart swelled with pride walking up through the city by her Commander's side. People lowered their heads and turned away as they passed. There were a few resentful glances in their direction, but no one stared; the power of the Thalmor was on full display in this city and it was intoxicating.

Author's Notes: This has been a year, and I think that's all I'll say about that. Well, that and I hope you're all keeping safe, as am I.

Since last I posted, I was surprised with some wonderful fanart of Thongvor, Ondolemar, and Junius for this fic. Which I can't post here, since this site doesn't support imags or links. But if you look up my name on A03, where I also have my stuff posted, the art is posted in the notes for this chapter.