Nobody enjoys a thorough dressing down, and so it was perhaps unsurprising that I spent the rest of the day trying to convince myself that I had been the wronged party. I tried to be angry, to insist that Viarmo had been unfair and out of line, that it was only natural I'd have doubts about his motivations — but pseudo-righteous indignation could only fuel my dissembling for so long.

Viarmo was right. His actions should have made it obvious that he'd been looking out for me all along, whether out of pragmatism or genuine fondness. I'd acted like a spoiled and foolish child. Viarmo deserved better from me. Especially given, as he'd said, he had been quietly cleaning up my 'messes' for months, all while I had kept him in the dark about so much.

As with Father, perhaps it was time I admitted that Viarmo did know what he was doing, and stopped dismissing his actions and advice out of hand. So that night I slept alone, then the next day settled at my desk with a stack of paper, a fresh quill and pot of ink, and an enormous mug of Angeline Morraud's special tea blend.

By the time I needed to leave for my lute lesson in the afternoon I'd drunk at least a gallon of tea, and had six reports ready in magically-sealed envelopes. One each about my encounters with Sheogorath, Molag Bal, Sanguine and Mara. Another detailing everything to do with the Dark Brotherhood attacks, though leaving out any mention of the death spell.

The fifth and longest had been the hardest to write, despite being by far the most mundane. It was about myself. I wrote about my family, my childhood, my education; my reasons for coming to Skyrim and all that had befallen me here; my strengths and weaknesses as I saw them, and as Inigo had helped me understand them.

Never had I undertaken such an objective and critical assessment of myself, my life, my family and my place in the world. It had been rather a sobering experience. My hand had moved across the page, the words appearing in gleaming black ink as though written by another, an odd sense of disconnect between my brain and the familiar cramped handwriting: Her upbringing as a member of the ruling class has led to both a unshakeable conviction of her duty to help the less fortunate, as well as an overwhelming belief that she is the person best placed to facilitate any necessary changes. This sometimes leads to naive or even reckless decisions.

I sighed as I picked up the stack of envelopes and stuffed them into my bag. Did everyone have to suffer through such painful moments of self-reflection? Perhaps it was just an unavoidable part of growing up. I certainly felt as though I'd aged a disproportionate amount in the past day and a half.

Meeko had been snoozing at my feet, but shook himself awake when I stood up and cocked his head in the way I'd long learnt to recognise meant: 'walk?'

"I'm going to the College. You can come if you like, but you'll have to wait in the common room while I have my lesson. You know Master Six-Fingers doesn't like dogs."

Meeko bounded to the door and sat down on the doormat, then barked twice.

"Fine. You're just hoping to wheedle some treats out of Bendt, aren't you?"

His tail waved harder.

I huffed, and slung my lute over my back. Life would have been so much simpler, had I the luck to have been born a dog.

Viarmo wasn't in his office, and I wasn't fool enough to try unlocking his door with magic, so I slipped the envelopes through the gap underneath and hurried upstairs for my lute lesson. Two hours later I returned down the stairs in a much better mood. We'd spent the lesson working on my Amaderil suite, with which I'd finally had a breakthrough. Just in the last week of practice I'd started to feel like I was coming to grips with the essence of his style, and Master Six-Fingers had rewarded me with a remark that today my renditions of the work had sounded 'like actual music' — high praise indeed, from her.

I was so wrapped up in pleased pride that I nearly didn't notice a soft weeping once again drifting from behind the staircase. My stomach dropped. I recognised that particular sniffling, and was unsurprised to once again find Illdi hugging her knees in the dust and dark.

"Illdi?" I said, peering into the shadows.

"H-hello, Kirilee," Illdi replied. "I sh-should've known you'd find me."

I clambered into the small space beside her, dismayed. "What's wrong? Not Aia again?" I'd thought Illdi safely out of Aia's clutches, now that the snooty woman had been telling anyone who'd listen how Thane Erikur had begun sending her little gifts and favours.

She shook her head. "N-no. Not Aia. It's … it's …" Suddenly she threw her arms around my neck, near bearing me to the ground with her weight. "Oh, Kirilee, it's Ma and Pa," she sobbed into my hair. "The meadery. It's all gone wrong."

I patted her soothingly on the back as she cried into my hair. Eventually she drew away, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

"S-sorry. You always seem to find me like this …"

"Don't be. It's okay. But what happened?" I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and passed it to her. It was the one Tobias had given me, I noticed, with the little daisies around the edges.

Illdi blew her nose, then dug the heel of a hand into her eyes. "W-well, you remember how I told you that Honningbrew took out a huge contract for our honey?" I nodded. "They've … they've gone out of business."

"What! But they were doing so well! Corpulus told me it's been selling better and better — he was going to up the Skeever's order —"

Illdi nodded miserably. "They were. Ma wrote that something happened at the meadery last week — someone important got sick from a tasting — and suddenly the whole thing fell apart. I don't know exactly what happened, but the meadery was going to be closed down altogether. Then apparently it got bought up at the last second by the Black-Briar Meadery."

My stomach clenched. Black-Briar? This boded ill. Still, I tried to be encouraging, for Illdi's sake.

"Well … that's better than the meadery going under entirely, right? Your parents' contract would transfer over, wouldn't it?"

Illdi's breathing turned sharp and ragged once more. She clutched the damp handkerchief so tightly her knuckles stood out even in the gloom.

"No. They s-said the contract was voided. They offered them a new one, b-but at a fraction of the c-cost. Only Pa c-couldn't turn them down. They'd already ordered new hives and couldn't cover the costs without a buyer for all the honey. They still can't. But they'd have been completely r-r-ruined …" She buried her face in her knees.

I held Illdi as she lapsed into sobs, rocking back and forth in my arms. Though I tried to make sympathetic noises, inwardly I was growing angrier and angrier. The more I thought about this the less coincidental it seemed. Black-Briar Meadery's newest and most successful competitor, suddenly happening to have an incident so severe that they were about to go under? Only for Black-Briar itself to snatch the business up at the last minute, not just removing the threat but expanding its own holdings in the same fell swoop? How very fortunate for Maven Black-Briar. What a lucky incident indeed.

She had orchestrated this herself somehow, I was convinced. I knew it sounded mad, but the more I turned it over in my head the more sure I became. She'd done this. She'd once again ruined lives and livelihoods, purely to line her own pockets and spread her own influence. It sickened me that someone could be so self-serving, so corrupt, so … so evil.

"What is it, Kirilee?" Illdi said at last, sitting up and wiping her eyes. I realised I was breathing very heavily.

"Oh. Nothing. Sorry. Just … angry, about what happened. It's not fair."

She sniffed and wiped her eyes on her skirt — the handkerchief was by now completely sodden. "No. It's not. But what can you do? What can anyone do?"

I knew she meant it as a hypothetical question, but at her words a flame roared to life in my belly. I could do something. I could fix this. Should fix this. Illdi was my friend — this was now personal.

An instant later, my stomach sank again. I remembered the words I'd penned mere hours earlier about my tendency to make every problem mine to solve. Was this that same arrogance and self-importance rearing its head? But … what was the alternative? Just to let all the bad things in life happen, blithely dismissing them as somebody else's problem? Surely, change had to start somewhere; with someone.

Just then a head became silhouetted against the light of the hall, and a deep voice called out, "Hello?"

Illdi startled so badly she cracked her head against the underside of the staircase.

"Oh — sorry Illdi, I'm so sorry!" The curly-haired silhouette resolved itself into Ataf, who crouched at the entrance to the hidden space-below-the-stairs. "I just heard voices and … are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Illdi said, turning away.

I made a face at Ataf, but wasn't sure he could see. "Illdi, you're not fine, and that's okay. Look, let's get out of this dusty hidey-hole. Ataf, are you done for the day? How about we all go for a few drinks at the Skeever? Throw some septims at Maven Black-Briar's competitors?"

"Um, sure," he said, clearly confused, but helping Illdi and I out into the airy entrance hall nonetheless. I noticed his face redden as he took Illdi's hand — then even more as she gave him a small, tear-filled smile.

"Thanks, Ataf. You sure you don't mind? I have to say, a bit of company would be nice. I could use distracting."

His own face split into a smile so broad and warm the sun-drenched room seemed to dim in comparison. "Of course."

Inigo was already at the Skeever, having finished his day's work training Legion recruits. As it was a quiet afternoon Felix was soon able to join us too, and Lisette also sat in for a drink or two between her sets. We passed a merry few hours drinking our way through every variety of alcohol the Skeever stocked except for Black-Briar mead. Corpulus hadn't yet heard about the change in ownership of Honningbrew, and joined us in a solid half hour of verbally thrashing the Black-Briar family — but only while there was nobody else in the inn, I noticed. I certainly couldn't fault his caution, and had to work hard not to let my own rage bubble to the surface. What Illdi needed now wasn't anger but friendship, and distraction.

"Will you be at the festival on Loredas?" Illdi asked. "The beginner lute class is performing. Ataf's even playing a solo, Master Six-Fingers is so impressed with how he's improved!"

I beamed at Ataf, who was trying and failing not to look inordinately pleased by Illdi's praise. "That's amazing, Ataf — you never told me!"

He lowered his eyes. "I don't like to boast."

"That's hardly boasting. Congratulations!" I said. "I'm so glad for you. But no, I'm afraid I'm in Riften this weekend. Another soiree, and quite an important one, apparently. I'm sorry to miss your performance."

Illdi and Ataf nodded, but Felix said plaintively, "Can I come, mayhap? I've still not seen Riften. Maybe Da would let me have a couple of days off for the trip, with how much I've been working lately."

"I'm sorry. Not this time." I laid a hand on his, stilling its fiddling with a half-empty mead bottle.

His mouth twisted. "You're always away at these fancy dos. I wish just once I could come along."

"I'm sorry," I repeated. I didn't know what else I could say — I'd told him time and again that these weekend trips were work, and not social events to which I could bring a lover.

He shrugged off my hand, and stood up sharply. "Well. I'd better get to work. I'll see you all later."

Illdi's eyes widened at his abrupt departure, and it took a lot of effort not to roll my own as he disappeared into the back room.

"What was that about?" she said.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

We were all silent for several long moments, the air suddenly thick with tension. I sipped at my wine. This wasn't the first time Felix had pouted like a spoiled child when left out of something, and it was becoming rather tiresome.

I looked up from my goblet to see Minette marching towards us, face set. She tapped Illdi on the shoulder, who was examining her fingernails glumly.

"Miss Illdi. Papa told me what happened. I'm real sorry."

"Thanks, Minette," Illdi said through a weak smile. "That's nice of you."

Minette's face crumpled into a scowl. "I told Papa that we should buy the honey instead. I've got a really good mead recipe. Better than Black-Briar. I said we should just start making and selling our own, and get back at them like that. But he said no." She scowled harder, and crossed her arms. "He's an idiot."

A peal of clear laughter rang out, and Illdi broke into the first genuine smile I'd seen that day. "Oh, Minette. Thank you. That really is very sweet of you."

"Guess I'll just go whack them with my sword instead, once I'm good enough," she said, shrugging. "How long's that gonna be, Inigo? Maybe another month?"

"Perhaps, if you practice hard," he grinned.

She nodded firmly. "Okay. I gotta go practice my letters now. Kirilee, can I ride Talara while you're gone this weekend?"

I nodded my assent, and she darted away. Illdi smiled fondly after her.

"What a sweet little thing."

"She is," I said. "Fiery, though. And muleheaded. Corpulus certainly has his hands full with her."

"You do not sound remotely sorry about that," Inigo remarked.

"Nope." I grinned broadly.

Ataf, who had been staring fixedly at a spot on the table with knitted brows, suddenly looked up. He took a deep breath, as though steeling himself.

"You know, Illldi, that's actually a good idea. What Minette said."

"What?"

"Well — we could help them sell the honey! Surely your parents will get better prices if they sell it for the table rather than for mead, right?" He sat up straighter, adopting the assured and confident cast he assumed while teaching me drumming. His voice was bold, eager. "I can help. My parents are traders. I'm sure they could help us find some wholesale contracts, and even sell some themselves. And Kirilee, maybe you could write home? Skyrim honey would sell very well in High Rock — Inigo, do you have contacts? Maybe in the caravans? And … and in the meantime I could buy some myself, to help tide them over …"

I couldn't help myself. "Ataf," I said. "You hate sweets. All sweets. I offered you a snowberry tart once and you looked at me like I'd asked you to eat mammoth dung."

He reddened and clutched his goblet, muttering about changing tastes and medicinal purposes, while Inigo roared with laughter. My eyes, however, had moved to Illdi. She was staring at Ataf with an expression I'd never seen her wear before — a mixture of confusion and wonder, as though she'd been carrying a rock around in her pocket for months, and suddenly held it up to the light to reveal veins of glittering crystal.

My heart pulsed with Mara's warmth. I shared a secret smile with Inigo, as Illdi leaned closer to Ataf and said, "You've never told me much about your parents, Ataf. What are they like? You grew up in Falkreath, right?"

Ataf's teeth flashed bright white as he smiled. His brown eyes met Illdi's blue, and I slipped from my seat to prepare for my set — I didn't think they needed my help, or Mara's, any further.

Illdi and Ataf stayed for the rest of the evening, heckling me good-naturedly and becoming more and more tipsy as the night wore on. Eventually I noticed Inigo leave their table, giving me a wink as he drifted off to chat with Corpulus.

From then on the two young bards were in their own world. Their eyes were locked, and I noticed both their hands oh-so-casually resting on the table, inching ever closer to one another. On an impulse, I pivoted my setlist to a piece from Elsweyr. I chose the sultriest, most sensual one I knew, and layered the sentimentality as thickly as I could. Catching my eye, Inigo gave me an approving nod. Felix looked up in surprise, then his face too split open into a wide smile as I nodded towards my friends in the corner. I wasn't surprised when they left together not long after, fingers intertwined.

A flash of warmth in my breast, a whisper in my heart. The dawn would surely open on my two friends — together, in each other's arms, at last.

For the rest of the week I threw myself headfirst into my practice. I was determined to make up for my recent shortcomings at this weekend's soiree, which meant that I needed to play my best while also keeping most of my attention free for observation and eavesdropping. The purpose of this particular party made it all the more important — Ulfric Stormcloak himself was to be in attendance, as well as a host of guests hand-picked for their political importance. Who was and wasn't there, and how those present comported themselves at an event honouring the Stormcloak leader, was certain to be extremely valuable information. I hadn't needed Viarmo's near-daily reminders of the importance of the evening, and of my being at the top of my game and fully in control of myself.

Of course, Ulfric Stormcloak wasn't the only guest around whom I'd need to keep my emotions in check. I considered it a near certainty that whether or not Maven Black-Briar was a Stormcloak supporter, she was sure to have secured an invitation. Spending four or five hours each day working through the finger-twisting counterpoint of Amaderil and Bachantar served the double purpose of keeping my mind firmly away from what I'd mentally dubbed 'the Black-Briar bind'.

Loredas dawned grey and stormy in Solitude, and I felt sorry for my friends at the festival while I was tucked away inside, doing some last-minute practice. At least it meant I wouldn't be missing Ataf's performance, as no musician would let their precious instrument anywhere near a drop of rain. Thankfully, Riften's skies were clear, and the sun warmed my back and my lute as I walked across the city for a quick visit to Honorhall before I was due at the Keep in the midafternoon.

"Hi Miss Kirilee!" Aventus yelled across the room, before barrelling after his voice. He drew to a stop just in front of me and his eyes widened. "Wow. You're a real lady."

I smiled as the other orphans peered up from their games too, blinking owlishly and hiding shy glances. Not wanting to risk being late because of stopping at the orphanage, I'd arrived already dressed for the soiree, and the green and silver silk gown I'd chosen was very fine.

I handed Constance the big box of pastries I'd brought for the children. "I'm no lady, Aventus. Just a musician."

Even as I said it, my stomach lurched. A letter had arrived from Tobias the day before. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't been able to find a suitable guardian for Aventus. Neither had I.

My stomach continued to flutter nervously as I watched Aventus and his friends exclaiming gleefully over the sweetrolls and crostatas Constance handed to them once she'd chivvied them into a semi-orderly queue. I had one last idea for who could take him on … but I didn't much like it.

For once, Mistveil Keep looked like a place fit to rule from. The dusty sandstone had been scrubbed til it gleamed; tapestries and garlands of snowflowers hung from the walls; and even the huge decrepit chandelier in the great hall, which I'd thought entirely nonfunctional, had been fitted with a score of candles which lit the room with a warm yellow light. The hall was beautiful. And every ornament, blue.

I worked hard to keep my face still and a smile hitched as Anuriel showed me where I would be playing. It was to be a long function — afternoon drinks, followed by a feast, then a ball — but a full ensemble had been hired to play for the dancing, and so I would be dismissed after the meal. Viarmo had quietly seethed that I couldn't stay for the whole event, but there was little that could be done about it. I'd just have to make the most of what time I had.

As such, and because my main purpose today was not to flirt but to observe, I'd dressed far more demurely than usual for Riften. Though my gown was unquestionably beautiful and full-skirted, the embroidered neckline sat above my collarbones, and the sleeves reached my elbows.

Unfortunately, Sibbi Black-Briar still seemed to find it the most alluring garment he'd ever seen on a woman. While his mother and siblings had gone to greet Laila on arrival, he'd made a beeline straight for me. My mouth tightened as his leering face wended through the gathering crowd of guests. I'd thankfully had very little to do with him before now, but Viarmo's warning that he was dangerously unstable rang in my ears every time I saw him at one of these events.

He stood watching, arms crossed, while I finished a light waltz from Cyrodiil. I intended to launch straight into my next work, but while readjusting my finger positions he cut in.

"Nice dress. Would look nicer on my floor." His lips quirked into a self-satisfied smirk at his wit.

I examined him blandly in return. He himself was wearing an extraordinarily tacky velvet doublet — very nouveau riche, and fashionable among men in High Rock who had more money than taste.

"Thank you kindly, Sibbi," I said, smiling sweetly. "I wish I could say the same about that jacket."

Sibbi's brow creased as he tried to work out whether I'd just complimented or insulted his outfit. I stifled a smile, but my mirth turned to alarm when I noticed his confusion darkening to anger. His breathing grew heavy, and when he lifted his eyes to mine I was suddenly afraid that, despite the crowd of surrounding nobles, this man was about to hurt me.

I took a step backwards. He followed. "What I mean to say is, it looks much finer displayed across such a broad —"

A slim hand dropped onto Sibbi's velvet-covered shoulder.

"Sibbi. That's enough."

The tension went out of the man in one long breath, and Maven Black-Briar turned her eyes onto me instead. Her lips were very thin; her face unreadable.

"I admire a clever tongue on a woman. But watch out, girl, lest it lead you somewhere from which you can't return."

"Thank you, Lady Black-Briar, for such sound advice," I replied, trying to remain poised despite my pounding heart. "I shall endeavour to follow your lead, then, and to sweeten my tongue with honey. I hear there is an excellent apiary near Rorikstead. Perhaps you've heard of them."

Her catlike eyes, cold despite their warm umber colour, narrowed. "Come, Sibbi," she said, supremely unconcerned. "You have not yet greeted our host. I expect better manners. Leave the bard to her work."

I took a moment to compose myself after they'd left, breathing slowly and deeply. Despite what had probably been an uncomfortably narrow escape, somehow I felt as though I'd stepped not out of the jaws of a trap, but into one.

As always, music calmed and centred me, and by the time I was halfway through my next work I was myself enough to turn my mind to the growing mass of colourfully-dressed people gradually filling the hall. Guests milled around, sipping drinks, small knots of people forming and dissolving like some great silent dance. Many of the gathered nobles I didn't recognise, but more than half I did, and I eavesdropped furiously to glean the identity of as many of the unknowns as I could. That tall Nord with his hair in braids and a thousand-yard stare was Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun. That preening young man about whom everyone in the room seemed to have something new and unflattering to say was Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath. Jarls Korir and Skald were also in attendance, and spent most of their time conversing with only one another; Jarls Idgrod, Igmund and obviously Elisif were not. Also conspicuous in his absence was Saerlund Law-Giver — I could only imagine that his mother throwing a grand party to honour a man he loathed on principle and in practice had been too much for him to stomach.

The jarls weren't the only notable attendees, however. Across the room I spotted Thane Erikur, a beaming Aia Arrea on his arm, who very pointedly didn't so much as glance in my direction all evening. Several other Solitude nobles were also dotted through the room, as well as a few I recognised from other cities, such as Whiterun's Gray-Mane family and a pair I thought I'd seen in Markarth — the dark-haired woman catching my eye with her gown of Evermore lace — but the bulk of guests seemed to be a mixture of people from Windhelm and Riften. I tried to take careful note of who spoke with whom, which guests seemed friendly and which were rivals, who spoke from power and who tried to curry favour, but the social and professional webs were so dizzyingly complex that I was sure there was much I missed. Nevertheless, I observed and remembered what I could, and blessed both Master Ylbert for insisting I work so hard at honing my memory, and Master Six-Fingers for insisting I practice my pieces until I knew them so well I barely had to pay attention.

Ulfric Stormcloak and his party arrived fashionably late. While there was no dramatic hush as he made his entrance, a frisson certainly ran around the hall, and both the tension and excitement palpably thickened. Within a dozen heartbeats the energy of the room had noticeably shifted, at least from my perch in the back corner. Now I paid even fiercer attention. As my head filled with lists of names and shorthand observations I felt myself growing both frightened and excited, drunk and glutted on the huge feast of information on which I gorged. Never before had I felt so keenly the power Viarmo wielded and had handed me the key to unlock. It was heady, disorienting, wonderful.

After two hours I took my first break as servants brought in platters of hors d'oeuvres to line the guests' stomachs, lest even the perpetually alcohol-soaked Nords become insensibly drunk before sitting down for the first formal course. I was so absorbed in trying to settle into my memory a conversation I'd overheard between Thane Erikur, Hemming Black-Briar and a Whiterun noble I'd learned was called Nazeem that I didn't even notice Ulfric Stormcloak had approached until he stood in front of me, not three feet away. It felt strange, somehow, to see him in soft fabrics and furs rather than armour. As though his garments should match his etched-steel personality.

"Amaderil," he said. "One of the greats." His voice was low and rough, and I imagined I could feel it like a physical force as his glass-green eyes held me in place.

Afterwards I was never quite sure what came over me in that moment. Perhaps it was my distraction from the overwhelming mass of information I'd been trying to absorb, or simply that I'd been startled, and still learning to rein in my impulsiveness. Whatever the reason, before I'd even realised I'd opened my mouth the words had slipped out:

"Yes, the Altmer have given us much to be grateful for, have they not?"

I froze, barely able to believe what I'd just said. Behind Ulfric Stormcloak an approaching Laila also stopped in her tracks, her indulgent smile falling into a look of open-mouthed horror. Hardly daring to breathe, I lifted my eyes to the face of the man who'd devoted his whole life to standing in opposition to the Aldmeri Dominion, and according to rumour wouldn't even allow wine into the Palace of Kings, calling it 'elf juice'.

He was laughing.

His shoulders shook with quiet chuckles, and his eyes were creased with mirth. "I always did say you have balls, girl. Yes, the Altmer certainly have graced us with some of history's finest music. If only they were content to leave their influence at that."

I dropped my eyes and fumbled an awkward one-armed curtsey, the hand gripping my lute damp with sweat. "I really couldn't say, my Lord. I'm but a simple musician, and know little of influence and politics."

It was a lie, and we both knew it was a lie, but the laws of courtesy run deeper than any other. His lips just quirked, and he turned instead to Laila, who now stood on his left. She was smoothing her cloth-of-gold skirts anxiously, clearly still wondering whether her favourite bard had given offence to the man this whole gala was meant to honour.

"Laila. This one's a find indeed. Talent and wit — not to mention a keen-nosed dog." His eyes flickered to mine again.

Laila was clearly confused, but masked it by retreating into girlish ebullience. "Oh yes, my Lord, Kirilee's an absolute treasure. Why, I can't imagine how we ever got along without her before! She's here nearly every week, you know. Everyone simply adores her, even dear Maven. Of course a man of your tastes would recognise her wonderful potential."

The corners of Jarl Ulfric's mouth twitched, and his eyes didn't leave my own. "Make sure you keep her close, Laila. Such potential should not go to waste." He then offered Laila his arm, and led her to the table for the first course.

This encounter I found much harder to shake off than that with Sibbi Black-Briar. From then until I was dismissed a few hours later I was hard pressed to pay attention to anything or anyone other than Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, the Bear of Markarth — the man who would, should all go wrong, become High King.

Felix had Sundas off, and so wanted to spend the day together. After so much time spent on my lute through the week I was falling behind on my magic, however, and really needed to spend the day studying. In the end I compromised, saying he could come around to the apartment — though with dire warnings to him, Inigo and Meeko that if they interrupted my work there would be consequences. Of the 'magically transfigured to only ever be able to use the vowel 'E'' kind. Of course, I didn't think anything of the sort was even possible, but they didn't need to know that.

Predictably, they took it as a challenge. And so while I was trying my best to concentrate on my Melody of Healing they insisted on testing my patience by muttering all kinds of scandalous tales — mostly about me, mostly made up — at a volume pitched low enough that they could claim innocence while also loud enough to make sure I definitely heard them. Eventually I'd had enough and snapped at them to either shut up or get out. They retired to the garden with a bottle of wine, laughing uproariously, though Meeko elected instead to take a nap with his head in my lap.

I had to concentrate too hard to sustain a temper, and my bad mood had burned out by lunchtime. Felix cooked us soup with a big box of squashy tomatoes he'd 'rescued' from the inn. Inigo was rather apprehensive as he took his first spoonful, his tail and ears twitching, but to my delight his ears shot upright as soon as the soup hit his tongue.

"This is wonderful, my friend!" he said. "Just as good as Mister Corpulus' own!"

"Thanks, Inigo. Da taught me the family recipe, and I've been practicing," Felix said with a shy, but proud, smile.

My eyes and heart shone. "I suppose a craftsman is a craftsman, no matter the trade." I took a spoonful myself. It was indeed very good, and I tore off a hunk of bread to dip into the tangy, creamy soup. "It makes sense that your skill with your hands would translate well from the forge to the kitchen."

"I suppose," Felix said, and I was surprised to see his face had fallen a little.

"What's wrong?"

Felix took a seat at the bench next to me and absently dunked some bread into my soup. "Well … That, I suppose. Da wrote in his original letter that he'd only need me to help out in the Skeever for a while. I'm starting to think he actually means for me to take over as innkeeper one day."

I exchanged a look with Inigo. That had indeed been plain to both of us, from the moment Felix had arrived.

"I don't want to run an inn," Felix continued. "I haven't even finished my smithing prenticeship yet. But what can I do? My family needs me. I can't just tell them I don't want to do it."

"But if it's not what you want to do with your life …"

Felix shrugged. "My family needs me. Besides … there are some perks to living in Solitude." He took my free hand which had been resting on the bench and squeezed it. "It's nice to have you properly home for a day, larkling. I missed you yesterday. I wish we could do this more often."

I squeezed his hand back, but when I tried to return to my soup, he wouldn't let it go.

After lunch Felix and Inigo went out to take Meeko for a walk, while I stayed behind to keep studying. Instead of spells, however, my mind was on Tobias' letter, and Aventus' face while telling me he missed home.

I didn't see any way around it. We'd exhausted every other option — the only solution I could think of was writing to Father and asking for his help. He was certainly of a high enough station that Jorleif would have to accept his guardianship of Aventus, were Father to agree to it.

But … it would almost certainly mean that any anonymity I had, my days of being just myself, would be over. It would be highly unusual for a Breton duke to be taking an interest in an obscure orphan in Windhelm, and once word got out it wouldn't take long for the Skyrim nobility's information networks to piece together exactly who I really was. After that it would only be a matter of time before the gossip filtered through every inn in the province. My time as Kirilee the unknown bard would be done. Not to mention that this would mean admitting to Father, tail between my legs, that I did need to capitalise on our family name and influence after all. That I couldn't do everything for myself.

I stared at Tobias' carefully penned words, tears beginning to prickle at the corners of my eyes. Was this really a step I was willing to take? Was bringing one young boy home from an orphanage worth giving up my independence, and the freedom I cherished? Skyrim was full of orphans. What did one more or less growing up in an orphanage matter? Viarmo certainly wouldn't approve; he'd say that my value as an intelligence asset far outstripped the worth of one unimportant child. And what about the complications to my relationship with Felix? The daughter-heir of Perival Dobraine being openly courted by a commoner would be the most delicious gossip across all of High Rock once it got out, not to mention I'd so far been trying very hard not to think about how my parents would react once they learned of what I'd done.

And yet … I had undeniably done what I'd set out to do in coming to Skyrim. I had built a name for myself on my skill alone, Viarmo's manipulations and string-pulling notwithstanding. Revealing my true identity now wouldn't detract from that. And while it had been wonderfully freeing to not be recognised, and to just be Kirilee rather than the daughter-heir to the Duchy of Aldcroft, who could make decisions how she wished without thought for the broader consequences to her House … perhaps my pride and independence were less important than that child's happiness and future. He was just one child, yes. But change had to start somewhere, with someone.

Viarmo's words echoed from the back corners of my mind: You're the sum of your past selves. Don't discard them wholesale, use them.

I'd said to Inigo, many times, that my responsibility extended to all those I could help, whether they were my subjects or not. Perhaps it was time I fully embraced that ideal, and used all of myself to make a difference, even those parts I didn't like to acknowledge. Inigo had learned to make peace with who he had been, and who he wanted to be. I knew, had known for some time, that the day was coming when I'd have to do the same.

I had a responsibility.

I pulled a fresh sheet of paper towards myself, inked a quill, and began to write.

-THE END of PART 2-

We're moving into the final stretch of the story! I really hope you continue to enjoy it; I'm very excited to share these final chapters with you.

Thank you so much to everyone who's left a fave, follow or review or is just quietly reading along - I appreciate every one of you more than I can say. 3