Winter returned with a vengeance as soon as they departed Eldergleam Sanctuary, like an assassin that had been waiting in ambush. Miraak gasped when he took his first step outside and the air bit at his face and filled his lungs with a bitter chill. The mule whimpered and tried to return to the warm tunnel, but Vilkas stopped it in its tracks with a single look.

"We need to get back," Lucia said, her attention on the dark clouds in the distant sky. "It's only going to get worse."

Vilkas nodded. "Keep a good hold on that sapling. If it dies on the way, we aren't going back for another."

On their journey to the grove, the sight of the steaming cracks and geysers had been an invigorating omen suggesting an end to an arduous trek. Now Vilkas cursed every time they reached the top of a hill just to find more shimmering mineral pools and hissing vents. As the freezing air tumbled into the lowlands from up high, it smashed against the hot volcanic air to create areas of fog that seemed to extend for miles.

Lucia complained more than once that they were obviously lost, but Vilkas ignored her and carried on in brooding silence. Miraak was mainly occupied with keeping the sapling as warm as he could with his body heat and making sure it got a few minutes of sunlight whenever that fickle sphere of radiance deigned to show itself. All the while, warmth fled Skyrim as if the land had abruptly remembered its reputation.

"Lucia," he forced out after a fit of shivering. "My winter cloak. Give it to me."

She unpacked it from the mule and held the sapling while Miraak slipped into the warm garment. "Y'know, this little fella is pretty heavy. We could take turns holdin' it if you wanted."

He took a deep breath and accepted the sapling back. "No. This is my burden to bear."

"Yeah, you're soundin' like a Companion all right. As bull-headed and dumb as the best of them."

"No more talk," Vilkas grumbled. "We're not stopping until midnight."

"Great," Lucia said under her breath, along with various expletives. Miraak braced himself as best he could, held the young Gildergreen tight to his chest, and soldiered on.

When they were huddled around a campfire hours later, mostly too cold to speak, Vilkas surprised Miraak by looking directly at Lucia and posing a question.

"Huh? Could you say that again?" She didn't glance up from rubbing her hands together almost over the coals.

"I asked," Vilkas replied, "how many members of the Circle were in Whiterun when you left?"

"Hard to say. Don't really pay much attention to you people. Saw Aela; she's helpin' at the temple now. Better be, anyway. Njada, too."

"That's all?"

"I've got enough to worry about without wastin' thought on which Companions are where." She bit her bottom lip. "Don't know why you're frettin' over them. They all have a nice big warm mead hall and cozy beds to fall into. This freeze fell fast. Too fast. The temple will be full to bursting. People might slip through the cracks."

"Did you see Athis? The Dark Elf?"

Lucia paused in the act of tying back her hair. "I know who Athis is. Think Sofie said he was huntin' with that bastard Hrongar. Surprised ya didn't see him."

"Hunting with the Jarl? No. You must be mistaken. I spent hours with that party, and Athis was not among them."

"Just tellin' ya what I heard."

Miraak held out his gloved hand to catch a snowflake. "Looks as if your 'worse' has arrived, Lucia."

Vilkas cursed and stumbled to his feet. "Up with you both, now. We have to find better cover." Though his body stayed with them as they hurriedly moved camp, Vilkas' haunted eyes were somewhere else.

For the first time, Miraak missed the scavenger. If his journey to Eldergleam Sanctuary had been a grace period of adjustment, then the return trip was a breathless gauntlet meant to test his resolve. They woke scarcely refreshed on the first dark morning to find the world buried in white. An hour passed before they found the road again, and then only thanks to the dim light of the roadside lanterns. Compared to what came after, Miraak would have described that day as warm, but by its end they were all shivering like infants freshly born.

It had taken seven days to reach Kynareth's sacred grove from Whiterun, but twelve bitter nights passed before the city materialized on the horizon. Twelve nights of frantic campfires, of warmth treasured like a dying thing, and of desperate, piercing worry over the life of the young sapling. He quickly realized the scavenger, being the selfish and petty creature it was, would have been useless to him. It would have insisted on feeding the sapling to a campfire for the ephemeral comfort it would bring. Instead, Miraak kept the new Gildergreen as close to him as he dared and tended to its fragile existence, blowing with all his strength on these cinders of Kynareth's creation to keep them glowing steadily, if weakly.

Lucia helped where she could, but she mostly joined Vilkas in ensuring their march forward was as swift and uncompromising as possible. Afterwards Miraak would agree their unwavering resolve had probably been for the best, considering the dangerous weather, but at the time he could not help but resent them for it. Like Ysgramor and his Companions had swept across Skyrim millennia ago in their quest to wipe out elven life, now Lucia and Vilkas flew towards Whiterun as if on god-given missions. Miraak lacked the strength to wonder at their reasons.

With his attention focused solely on the sapling, Miraak failed to note the declining health of their mule until it collapsed just after they passed through Valtheim. Lucia insisted on giving the poor beast Kynareth's blessing, despite Vilkas' agitation, before they loaded up their packs with its vital supplies. Much was left behind. How strange, Miraak thought: not so long ago, the sight of a freshly fallen mule would have set his mouth watering. Now the thought of eating a friend just made the cold seem all the more biting.

"I do not know any prayers," he said to the mule when Vilkas and Lucia had walked ahead. "None that would not taste false coming from a man like me. You deserved a kinder fate than this. Thank you."

Almost three weeks after Miraak first left Whiterun with Sofie and Lucia, he knocked weakly on the front gates with a trembling fist. Vilkas eventually had to yell up at the guards to let them in.

"Poor sods," one of the guards commented as he looked down at them. "Can't fathom what fool's errand brought you into the wilds on a day like this. Wait, is that a tree you've got there? Kyne's breath. Look at that, Hodna. Man's holding a sapling like it's his newborn babe!"

"Just open the damn gate," Lucia hissed through chattering teeth, her hands stuffed into the pits of her arms.

It took three men to push the heavy doors open against the packed frost. The sound of that ice-breaking was as sweet to Miraak's ears as any song he'd ever heard.

This was a different city than the one he'd departed from, in more ways than one. The snow had been mostly cleared from the main streets, but it covered every roof in sight except in places where the heat of chimneys melted it away. Long stalactites of ice glittered in the dawn's light like daggers hovering over sleeping victims. What people remained outside, mostly exhausted-looking guards, huddled prayer-like around crackling braziers.

But what stopped Miraak as well as Lucia and Vilkas from seeking immediate respite from the elements was the sight of The Drunken Huntsman in full resplendent glory towering over the Plains District. Not the Huntsman any longer, Miraak reminded himself. The headquarters of the Silver Dawn.

This new structure could have easily passed for a tavern, if not one built in traditional Nordic style; while most of the buildings around it were wide and low to the ground, the Silver Dawn's lodge was a squat wooden tower that looked no less welcoming than the Bannered Mare far down the street. Even from such a distance, Miraak imagined he could feel the beckoning warmth of its hearthfires, and when the doors opened to admit a tall figure he heard a buzz of laughter from within. The figure walked to the edge of the porch and leaned over the railing to study them.

"Vilkas," she said gruffly. A woman's voice. "Good to see you again. Been a while."

"Lydia?" Though it clearly pained him, Vilkas took a few steps closer to the lodge. Miraak quickly recognized the knight as the one who'd been speaking to Belethor in front of the ruins of the Huntsman weeks ago. "Shor's bones, girl. Don't tell me you've tied yourself to this madness."

What Miraak could see of Lydia's unburnt face closed to them at Vilkas' words. "Some part of me didn't want to believe what some of the others said. I remembered you as a wise but arrogant man. Seems the balance has tipped to one direction in the years since."

Lucia, too, drew away from Vilkas with a bitter expression on her face.

He shook his head incredulously. "You, of all people, should know better than this. What would your cousin have thought of these false knights setting up camp in his city?"

"Balgruuf would still draw breath if we'd respected the dangers of the Thalmor. Rest assured, the Silver Dawn will make no such mistake in regard to the new darkness threatening Whiterun."

"And what of the Blades? You swore loyalty to them, as well. Are all of Montrose's pets so fickle with their vows?"

Her armored hands tightened on the railing, and Lydia glanced away. "My pledge to that order expired when Sky Haven Temple collapsed in a blaze of dragonfire. Just as my oath to the Dragonborn died with him. I have suffered for my mistakes, Harbinger. You would be wise to recognize your own failures before they destroy you."

Vilkas cursed and took off down the street, his cloak fluttering behind him like a dead man's shroud. Lydia nodded to Miraak and Lucia before returning to the lodge.

The Temple of Kynareth was stuffed with souls, as Lucia had foreseen, but the chaos Miraak had anticipated did not materialize. Every cot in the temple held a tired body, but those without a place to lie found comfort on furs spread across the stone floor. Acolytes flitted about the place of worship like mother birds checking on their nestlings, and although Miraak heard a few groans of pain, the majority of the beggars and other unfortunate persons clustered in this place appeared to be sheltering from the weather in relative comfort.

A few people looked up curiously at Lucia and Miraak carrying the young Gildergreen towards the end of the temple. They reached Danica just as she collapsed into a thin chair, her chest heaving.

"Lucia," she breathed, and then her eyes fell on the sapling in Miraak's arms. "Goddess' blessing. I feared you both would be lost in the storm. You've done a wonderful service for Kynareth and this city in bringing this sapling home, but your safe return is a far greater gift."

"It was a worthy quest," Miraak replied. He didn't realize how weary he was until Danica urged them both to the bench beside her. All the strength rushed from his body in a rush of air as he sat. The new Gildergreen sat in front of them, looking much the same as it had in the Eldergleam Sanctuary. "Looking back, I am unsure how we survived the long trek. And it defies reason that the sapling reached Whiterun in a healthy state."

"This little tree holds the spirit of a Divine in its branches, dear friend. Our Gildergreen lived for thousands of years, through many violent wars and worse happenings." She sighed. "I suppose it might have gone on living for millennia more, if not for the Thalmor. Flames born of magic reach to places no natural fire could."

Lucia leaned forward to squeeze Danica's knee. "Are ya doin' okay? I'm sorry I didn't get back in time to help."

Danica's smile seemed to light up this dim corner of the temple. "We survived, by some miracle. Your friend Aela seemed challenged, at first, by the work of charity, but she proved to be a great aid during the worst of it. We have the Silver Dawn to thank for the extra beds and blankets. And don't worry, I made sure Brenuin found a warm place to rest his head. I think he's over by the offering altar if you want to see him."

"No. That's fine." Lucia's chin fell. "I'm happy everyone's safe. I...had a lot of time to think on things, out in the wilds."

"You're leaving us, aren't you, dear?"

Lucia took a sharp breath and looked away. "It was a silly idea. I can't just abandon you, can I?"

Danica gently took Lucia's hand and pulled her onto her knee, like a child. "I always knew this day would come, Lucia. You were never destined to spend your entire life in our temple."

"But what if ya need help?" Lucia rested her head against Danica's shoulder. "There's so much work to be done every day."

"The tree you've brought us will attract fresh disciples from all over Skyrim. I doubt the temple will have any shortage of hands in the months to come." Danica stroked Lucia's brown hair. "Kynareth will always remember the work you've done here, my child. Her light will never truly leave your heart."

Miraak looked up at the sound of footsteps to see Sofie watching them. She looked a bit odd wearing clothes instead of armor.

"I'm pleased you survived your endeavor, Miraak." She glanced at Lucia in Danica's lap, and a strange expression crossed her face for a moment before she refocused her attention. "I suppose you're to become my shield-brother after all. Aela wants to speak with you, in Jorrvaskr."

After all this time, Miraak could barely accept her words as reality. The first triumph on my quest to acquire the powers of a werewolf...have I truly made it this far? He stood on numb legs and made for the door, his heart beating so hard he was sure everyone in the temple must have heard it. Miraak hesitated as he passed the young Gildergreen.

"Don't worry yourself," Danica said, regarding him fondly. "We'll make sure the sapling is well taken care of. The goddess could not have chosen a more worthy shepherd, Miraak."

"I am not so sure of that. But thank you, regardless."

Sofie watched with her arms crossed behind her back as Lucia rummaged through the small chest of possessions at the foot of her temple bed.

"I don't understand. You're a priestess of Kynareth. You've been one for as long as I've known you."

Her friend did not look up from her labor. "Danica said the goddess would always be with me. S'pose she's right. I'll still be a healer. Just like you'll always be a killer, right?"

"Is that what this is about?" Sofie felt as if reality was slipping away from her. "I won't apologize for what the world has made me. Would you prefer me to have died in Windhelm? That's what would have happened if I hadn't picked up a dagger to save myself. Not all of us have had the luxury of a bloodless life."

"Well. You made your choices, yeah? Now I'm makin' mine." Lucia yanked her pack closer and shoved some books inside.

"But the Silver Dawn, Lucia? They're an order of hunters, not healers."

"Shows how much ya know. There are different kinds of restoration. This latest storm would have taken dozens if not for the resources the Dawn's poured into the temple. Montrose has taken notice of the work I've been doin'. They've got more than enough fools swingin' swords around, but hardly anyone to take care of their affairs. A new guild has a lotta records to sort through, letters to send, payments to make and receive."

My lovely Lucia, reduced to a recordkeeper for killers. Sofie sank to her knees. For a moment she felt ten years old again, her stomach and flower sack both bitterly empty. "Please. Think about this. What about your work here?"

Lucia finally turned to look at her. There was an ease in her countenance that Sofie had never seen before. "Danica will have plenty of help once word spreads of the new Gildergreen. They don't need me anymore, Sofie."

I need you, Sofie thought, and the words jumped to the tip of her tongue. She tried to force them out, but there was a lump in her throat that defied all her efforts to speak, and after a quiet moment Lucia turned back to her packing and the moment was lost.

"Everything is changing," Sofie said instead, unable to keep a note of despair from her voice. "I'm so scared. I want things to go back to the way they used to be. You'll still be my friend, won't you? The lodge is so far from Jorrvaskr. We won't have our time in the square anymore."

She gasped when Lucia turned and hugged her tightly. Her skin burned where they touched, but it was a pleasant burn, like dipping into a steaming bath after a long day of training. When Lucia pulled back, she took Sofie's hand in her own and pressed a kiss to her callused knuckles.

Sofie took a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. I don't know how to say how I feel. I don't want to be this way anymore." It was as if she was trapped in a suit of armor, looking out at Lucia through narrow iron openings.

"Lady, a part of me will always belong to you." Lucia pulled Sofie into another hug. "Of course we'll still see each other. Change isn't all bad, y'know."

I wish I could believe that. But all Sofie could think of as she felt Lucia's heartbeat against her own was that she still had so much to lose, and that life had never failed to be unkind.

Vilkas opened the door to Athis' quarters, took in the scene within, and immediately closed his eyes. When he opened them again a minute later, he saw Njada standing in the doorway wearing her helmet, her warpaint, and nothing else.

"Harbinger," she greeted him cheerfully, after he'd redirected his focus to some vague point above her right shoulder. Even that wasn't quite safe, with the multitude of bruises and bite marks lingering in his peripheral vision. "Finally done moping your way around Skyrim, huh? Ready to get back in the action?"

Athis' voice reached out from the bedroom. "Was that Vilkas? Ask him if he wants to wrestle with us."

Ysgramor, give me strength. Vilkas stammered for a response before Athis barked a laugh. "Did I get him? Tell me what his face looked like, c'mon."

Njada guffawed. "You nearly knocked him off his feet! Don't feel left out, Vilkas. I'm a jealous one. There's no room in our bed for a third. Unless you really want to fight for it." She raised her fists and boxed with the air for a few seconds. He fought very hard to keep his eyes from darting to the sudden movement.

"I...someone told me Athis went hunting with Hrongar." Vilkas' mouth felt as dry as the winter air outside. "They must have been mistaken."

"Sure he did, but he came running back after the first night. Said the bastards were no fun. Do we gotta talk about this now? I was kinda busy turning him inside out."

"No, no. Um. Well. Don't let me keep you. I'll see you both at the feast tonight." Hopefully less of you, though, for the sake of my heart.

She clapped him on the shoulder and he nearly jumped. "Ha! You could use a good wrestling partner yourself, brother. It'd take some of that weight off your shoulders."

"Thanks for the advice," he replied dryly, but Njada had already turned to shut the door with her foot whilst preparing to leap at the bed. Vilkas walked down the hallway towards his quarters, rubbing his forehead all the while.

"They still goin' at it?" Skjor asked with a grin, rounding the corner. He took one look at Vilkas' face and laughed. "Not sure why you were in such a hurry to check on those two, Vilkas, but I could've told you all you didn't want to know. I'm the poor fool with quarters between them."

"It's good to see you all again." Vilkas forced a weak smile as they walked. "Fresh air did me some good. Cleared my head. Everything's going well, with the feast? I barely got a look at things when I rushed down."

Skjor rubbed the back of his head and shrugged. "Ah, I think so. That's mostly Ria's affair. Girl loves her celebrations. Damn good thing, too, with Tilma getting on in years. Silly woman won't hear a word about slowing down and letting the whelps shoulder the burden for a change."

"Aye. That's always been her way." He wasn't sure he could even picture Tilma sitting down. As far back as his memories stretched, she'd been a constant in Jorrvaskr. Something I will take for granted no longer, in times such as these. As they reached the Harbinger's quarters, Vilkas noticed for the first time how empty the halls were. "I expected more of us here, with the weather like it is."

"Oh, we're near full, don't you worry. Most of them are over at the Mare celebrating with Hugs."

Vilkas had no need to force the smile that came to his face now. "The lad did well, then?"

"We just got back yesterday, ourselves. A whelp left Whiterun with me, but a true Companion returned." Skjor's eyes wandered off in memory. "He was brave to ask me to run his trial. Knew I wouldn't hold back, I guess. Not that any of us would. I've seen Ria reduce grown men to sniveling babes."

"What'd you throw him into? Falmer? A Dwarven ruin, perhaps?" It had to be something that tested Hugs' compassion, Vilkas knew. It was no secret around Jorrvaskr that Hugs-the-Shadow wore his heart on his sleeve.

"You ain't getting it outta me, brother. Not my story to tell. Just gonna have to wait for the feast, like everyone else."

Vilkas scoffed. "He's not regaling the Mare's patrons with tales of his exploits? That's admirable restraint. I remember Farkas telling the tale of his trial so many times that eventually even Vignar told him to shut it." And now they're both dead, with no more tales to tell.

Skjor must have seen the look on his face because he gripped Vilkas' shoulder tightly and spoke in a low voice. "We'll get them back for what they did. Have no doubt about that. Aela and Athis have a lot to share about what the fuckers have been up to."

"Good. Good, I'll be glad to listen. Tomorrow, though. We shouldn't stain this day of celebration with thoughts of those people."

Miraak hovered in the whelps' quarters in Jorvasskr's lower hall, feeling more an intruder than at perhaps any other time in his long life. He'd found the upper level empty except for a kindly old woman who'd directed him to this unfamiliar room of many beds and endless clutter. The smells, too, were alien to his nose: he recognized sweat easily enough, but the unpleasant mixture of oils and many different kinds of candles burned his nostrils. He squeezed his spear shaft again and again. Maybe I should go back and ask Sofie what to do.

He turned to find a ruby-scaled Argonian entering the room. Miraak gasped and froze in place.

"Was he kin to you?" His spear trembled in his grasp. "You have to understand. There was no other way. I did not want to kill him, but-"

"You must have confused me with someone else, friend." The Argonian grinned toothily. He gave Miraak a fair amount of space as he went past to a bed in the farthest corner of the room. "There are not so many of my kind in this city, so this is understandable. You are Miraak? Sofie has told me much about you. Come here, come here."

"She has?" Miraak cautiously approached the corner, where an etching of a wild tree hung on the wall.

"Yes, the old Nord who will become a Companion against all odds. Njada made many bets against your success. It seems I will soon have an excess of gold with which to decorate my new quarters."

Miraak leaned against his spear, feeling utterly lost. "You wagered that I would return in triumph? But we have never even met. Your faith in me was without foundation."

"My father always told me 'Hugs-the-Shadow, you are as naive and trusting as the red-breasted damselfrog. You will never find fortune supporting the little folk.' And he was right. When my parents were my age, they'd already become very successful Saxhleel jewelers. Our estate still towers over the swamp. But here I sit, a world away, wasting away what little gold I have on a silly wager that a weak man I'd never seen before would manage to restore the Gildergreen."

"I still do not understand."

"That is my fault also. Forgive me for filling your head with nonsense at a time like this. I'm sure you're feeling pretty overwhelmed." Hugs patted his bed. "This will be your place, now. Miraak becomes a whelp, and I become a full Companion."

"Congratulations," Miraak offered, though his mind was still a conversation behind. "I will give you time to collect your things."

"Already done, tree-fetcher. Consider this etching to be my first gift to you, in honor of your hard-won entrance into our company."

"Um. Thank you." How did these rituals work, now? He strained his mind to remember anything he might have read about the exchange of gifts between friends. "I will have to find you a suitable token in return."

"No need." Hugs stood and patted Miraak's shoulder. "Just promise me you will look after Sofie. I do worry about her."

He recognized her armor and weapon resting on the bed across from them. So we are to be bunkmates. Swell. "From what I have witnessed of her strength, I doubt there is much I could do to protect her."

Hugs chuckled. "There are different kinds of strength, my brother. And different kinds of weakness. But I'm sure you will learn all of that soon enough. You will sit beside me at the feast, I think. We both have much to celebrate."

"Yes," Miraak replied, uncertain if the words were a question. "I will see you there."

After Hugs left, Miraak collapsed on his new bed still fully dressed and slept like the dead.

He woke later to Sofie's hand on his shoulder. Sleep still tugged at his mind, so he had to ask her to repeat herself several times before her words made any sense.

"The feast," he repeated, sitting up in bed. "Oh, yes. Is formal dress required? I fear these are the only clothes I own."

"Don't worry. You'll still be dressed better than half the mead hall." Sofie sat at the edge of her own cot and studied him. "So here you are. Alive, and a whelp, when so many thought you would die in failure. I admire your persistence, Miraak."

"I appreciate the help you provided getting me here." He stood and made for the door, hoping to avoid resuming the conversation they'd begun at Valtheim. Sofie fell in step behind him and they ascended the steps to the main hall. Miraak hid his trembling hands behind his back. Though the scavenger was long dead, vestiges of its fear remained, like the scars of an old wound. I do not belong here.

They emerged into a storm of boisterous conversation and deafening songs and crackling fires and moving bodies. Smoke rose to the ceiling like the ash plumes of Red Mountain, and the smell of many different foods competed for his nose's attention. Sofie steadied him with a firm hand before he even realized he was drifting back towards the stairs.

"Come on." She was a solid presence in the haze of revelry: an unerring glacier gliding through churning waters. Miraak followed Sofie and fixed his attention solely on the back of her head. By the time they reached one of the long tables surrounding the central hearth, his nerves had settled somewhat. It was nearly a relief to see Hugs-the-Shadow waiting for them next to two empty chairs.

"You can sit between us," Sofie said, and Miraak gratefully took the seat next to Hugs. Though he felt he knew little enough of Sofie and much less of this Argonian, their presence on either side of him felt like a barrier against the chaos of Jorrvaskr.

A tankard appeared before him, filled with a frothy mixture. He only caught a glimpse of an old Nord woman vanishing into the throng of warriors, her movements that of a dancer long acquainted with this particular song.

"That is Tilma," Hugs supplied helpfully. He almost had to shout to be heard over the noise. Two empty tankards rested in front of him already, though he showed little sign of intoxication. "A worker of miracles, by any measure. Take a drink, friend, and loosen up your tired bones. No one expects anything of you. Except that you have a swell time, of course!"

Miraak sighed and took a swig of mead. He would have preferred to revisit Olfina Gray-Mane's mulled spirit, but this drink still warmed his chest and took the edges off his anxious mood. Despite Hugs' assurances, he noticed more than a few curious looks in their direction.

Sofie traced the rim of her own tankard with her finger, her gaze on the distant doors. Miraak nudged her shoulder and asked, "Why are people looking at me?"

"Curious to see the new whelp, I guess. We don't get new shield-siblings very often."

Particularly ones as old as I am, she means. How strange to think that these excitable warriors, most of them quite young, would soon call him brother when that honor had last belonged to the fiercest of Akatosh's children. Through the haze, Miraak caught sight of Ria waving fiercely from the table at the head of the long hearth. He recognized Aela and Vilkas beside her, along with a Dark Elf that could only be Athis and a rough-faced old Nord. The Circle. His heart suddenly swelled with the realization he was now one step closer to one day sitting at that table himself. This jolt of confidence led to the mistake of returning Ria's wave.

She jumped from her seat and dashed around the side of the hall. Far too many eyes followed her for Miraak's comfort.

"You! You sold me that amazing mask!" Ria hovered behind him like an eager puppy. "Why didn't you tell me you were trying to join up? I could have given you some great advice, you know!"

"Must have slipped my mind," Miraak murmured, trying to hide behind his tankard. He glanced up to see dozens of warriors watching them. Nords, mostly, but there were a few Imperials and Redguard among them. A couple of Bretons, he thought. It was no easy task to tell them apart from the other humans. No Khajiit or Wood Elves, and Hugs looked to be the only Argonian. And Ria was still behind him as if expecting their conversation to continue. "Is there something else you need?"

"Tell us how your quest went! I've never heard of someone having to do something like this just to become a whelp. Though I guess it makes sense. You don't look very strong. I'm sure that will change in no time, though! Do you want to train with me tomorrow?"

"I…" Miraak blinked. At least he could blame his lightheadedness on the drink. "My quest. Well...let's see." What was there to say? Surely these glorious fighters would love to hear how he'd collapsed before the halfway mark because a dragon occasionally liked to fill his head with fire. And they'd be enthralled to learn the only warrior he'd killed had been a hungry bandit who still haunted his dreams days later.

Sofie slammed her tankard down. "Hugs! Share your tale of glory. How does a whelp prove themselves to be more?"

Vilkas' voice carried over the clamor of the room: "Aye, let's hear it. I've been waiting all day for this story." The rest of the hall gradually fell silent as Hugs-the-Shadow rose to his feet. A bout of laughter came from the warriors when he stumbled and had to steady himself against his chair. Ria scurried back to her seat to watch attentively.

"So you want to know how I conquered the weakness of my soul?" Hugs-the-Shadow made a show of examining his long fingernails as he spoke. "When Skjor led me from this warm city into the cool tundra, I knew nothing about what to expect. Every hour drew us deeper into the wilds. For days we traveled without sight of mortal construction. The air grew colder, and my heart swelled with trepidation. Little did I know that we were destined to fall on a nest of the most loathsome creatures known to this lovely land...Just when your fair host thought we could walk no farther without stepping off the edge of the world, the first of our adversaries fell on us in the night. Fangs dripping with blood, known only by the shimmer of invisibility in moonlight. A score of them, carrying with them swords of ebony and a lust for the blood of Black Marsh!"

A shiver of excitement ran through the Companions. Even Vilkas leaned forward with a smile on his face. Miraak whispered to Lucia: "I find this hard to believe. That many vampires, with weaponry of that caliber, and Skjor and your friend returned without so much as a missing limb between them?"

She shrugged slightly as Hugs continued his extraordinary story for the enthralled audience. "Embellishing is part of the fun. You should hear Ria tell the one where Skjor and Kodlak White-Mane fought off the Orc berserkers. I think she adds a dozen more Orcs every time."

"It is not dishonorable to lie in this way?" Miraak realized the ridiculousness of the question as soon as he posed it. The Circle was clearly adept at practicing deception underneath a cloak of glory. Perhaps this was a form of training for the younger Companions.

"You're thinking about it too much. Nords have been exaggerating their war stories for thousands of years." She took a swig of mead. Jorvasskr gasped as one when Hugs-the-Shadow reached a dramatic moment in his retelling. "I'm not very good at it either. Try drinking s'more, though. The drunker you are, the better the stories sound."

Might as well give it a try. Every time his tankard emptied, a minute or two later it would be nearly overflowing with amber mead once more. After the first few times he stopped looking after Tilma darting around the hall. About four tankards later, she was a blurry shape holding a pitcher looking across the table at him.

"Our new little pup," the shape said. "I'm Tilma, dear. I keep things in order around here. Or Divines know I try my hardest. Sure you want another? If you stop now, you might still wake up happy."

"Zu'u du pah, joor."

The blurry shape paused in the act of pouring. "Not sure if that was a yes or a no, honey. You'll have to speak ordinary around here. If you want me to know what you're talking about, at least."

Sofie jabbed him in the side with her elbow, and Miraak's vision cleared somewhat. "Oh no. Sorry, Tilma. No more." Not a good idea to drink so much. Very bad idea, yes. He pressed a fist to his forehead and clumsily pushed the dragon back into its corner. It snuck up on him easier in a state like this, but it was equally simple to push the inebriated monster away. Miraak stumbled to his feet and directed his movement in a vaguely outside direction.

Snow against his palms. Miraak looked up at a training dummy and shivered violently just before he was seized by another spasm. Most of the last few tankards ended up in the snow. He noticed the crunch of footsteps far too late.

"The first feast is always the worst." Sofie sat down in the snow beside him. Though her eyes swam slightly, she appeared to be in a far better condition. "Another thing you'll have to learn. I suppose." She handed him a rag.

Miraak cleaned himself as best he could and sat against a training dummy. The freezing air had a definite sobering effect. Still, a few minutes passed before he could trust his ability to speak in the right language.

"Been thinking about Valtheim." He rubbed his eyes. "Familiar things between us."

"Yes?"

"Boethiah. You followed Boethiah. All that nonsense about...murder and proving, and whatnot. But not any longer?"

"No." Sofie drew her knees up and hugged them. "Not for a year. Never would have survived without her. Hard to...let go."

He chuckled darkly. "Certainly sums it up. She's the one took your fingers?"

"I have my own failure to thank for that." She peered at him. "Hermaeus Mora, for you. Too obvious with all the book talk. I didn't know for sure until I saw your eyes up close. There's a little of him in there, you know."

"I did not." Miraak leaned back and chewed his bottom lip. "Troubling. Seems neither of us is hiding very well."

"Hiding better than some." Sofie suddenly seemed completely clear-headed, and she leaned closer. "I think I fit in well here. And...so will you. Don't you agree?"

He realized too late the true purpose of this conversation. Whiterun had scarcely seen a better trap since the days of Numinex and Olaf One-Eye. This is not my secret to tell. But what escape was there?

Miraak swallowed with some difficulty and looked up at the moons. It seemed an eternity passed before he replied: "Yes, Sofie, I think we will."

"Thank you." Sofie took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes. "Thank you, for being honest with me. Now I know where Farkas is."

They returned to Jorrvaskr just in time to catch the end of Hugs-the-Shadow's ceremony. The room was utterly silent, save for Vilkas' voice, and none looked up as Sofie and Miraak rejoined the rest.

"And would you raise a mug in his name?" Vilkas looked to Skjor, who stood with his head bowed.

"I would lead the song in triumph as our mead hall reveled in his stories." Skjor said the words with obvious pride. Hugs waited before the Circle, his chin held high.

"Then this judgment of this Circle is complete. His heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers." At this moment, Vilkas disappeared, and the Harbinger of the Companions looked over the warriors of Jorrvaskr with thousands of years of glory echoing through his voice. "Let it beat with ours, so the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call."

"It shall be so," the Circle said as one, and a shiver unrelated to the chill ran through Miraak's bones.

Skjor grabbed a tankard and raised it high. "To Hugs-the-Shadow, a true Companion!"

Many echoing toasts and cheers rang through the hall as Hugs returned to his seat, but Vilkas held up a hand before the full chaos could resume. "I have another matter to speak of before you all are truly lost in your cups. I'm sure you've all heard that the Silver Dawn has already started recruiting in the city."

A hush fell on the gathered warriors, and every hazy eye in Jorrvaskr turned to the Harbinger.

"It remains to be seen if there is room for more than one adventuring company in Whiterun." Vilkas crossed his arms. "What is undeniable is that Commander Montrose and his band of pretty knights are putting sharpened swords in untrained hands. Every whelp here knows the danger of such a combination. The Dawn do not hold honor and glory close to their hearts. Our freshest member, who sits among you now, restored the Gildergreen just to earn the chance to one day prove his worth. But Montrose will take any beggar that comes knocking at the door of their comfortable new lodge. My advice is simple, brothers and sisters: be careful in your interactions with these so-called warriors. I have little doubt their farce of an order will collapse unto itself once the wise folk of our city realize that no well-armored beggar can compete with a Companion of Jorrvaskr!"

He raised his cup in salute, and a chorus of cheers answered him.

Hugs scratched his head and spoke in a low voice: "Personally, I do not see why we need to be in competition with these silver knights. They seem to be a force for good."

Sofie murmured, "They seem to be popular. That's not always the same thing."

"I have heard many stories of the trouble Whiterun has faced in recent years. People just want to feel safe again, Sofie. They are ready to heal, and perhaps the Dawn can provide this service."

Miraak caught Sofie as she stood up suddenly.

She mumbled, "No. No, Hugs, I'm sorry but you're wrong. You...you and Lucia. Dead wrong. No one is ready to heal. They're all about to explode."

End of Part II