Chapter 13: Arrangements

I woke and rose early, tip-toeing around the dark room, confirming that none of the other Companions in the dormitory had risen. Worrying that I might wake them if I lingered, I gingerly picked up my belongings and crept out.

The lengthy hallway was lit by lanterns, as there were no windows in the lower level, and I briefly prepared for the day there; slipping into my boots and detangling my braid, letting my hair relax freely. It was springier than usual, as I had slept on the plait. I wrinkled my nose at the creases in my dress, determining that as soon as I had access to my money, I would buy some new outfits, even if it meant being swindled by Belethor again. Sigrid's dress was nice, but I had worn it for a whole day, and slept in the under-dress twice now.

I glanced up to the ceiling as I smoothed down the dress as best I could. Would breakfast be laid out yet? What time was it?

There were boots shuffling overhead, so at least I wasn't the first to wake. Even if it was servants, they could tell me when breakfast might be ready.

There was really only one way to find out, so I strapped the lute to the outside of my pack, shouldered it, and ascended to the mead hall level.

I pulled up on the landing, just in time to prevent careening into the last two people I had hoped to cross; the red-headed Aela and the grim-faced Skjor. At this proximity I noticed the scars on his face, heightened rather than hidden by his war-paint.

My eyes widened in alarm, as did theirs. It was clear they had wanted to avoid me, as well.

They must have been out all night; they were still in their armour. Skjor recovered first, straightening his back, training a dangerous scowl on me; hard and judgemental. Aela stilled, and her jaw clenched while her yellow eyes glared through me; guarded and angry.

"Come on," she grasped Skjor's arm; her words hissed through her teeth.

"I'm sorry," the words bumbled out of me.

Aela and Skjor had begun their descent, but turned back slowly, their eyes awash with accusation.

I cursed, wishing I'd said nothing, and lowered my eyes to the flagstones. I searched for the right words, but my talents failed me under their persistent, penetrating glares.

All this for playing music in their presence? What a disagreeable pair! The childishness of their reaction struck me, and my fear shifted into indignant frustration. How dare they be so rude to me? I had entered into an agreement with their leader - had been doing my job.

Caught by indecision, before I could recover or decide if I should put my thoughts into words – for what was the point? – the doors at the bottom of the stairs opened and closed.

I glanced to the doors, surprised but relieved. They had gone. I had been certain they would threaten me, tell me to leave and never show my face in Jorrvaskr again, or accuse me of weakening their colleagues.

"Early riser, hmm?"

I recognised Vilkas' voice before I saw him. He was at the table around the central hearth with a bottle of mead in his hand; his eyes downturned, focussed on an open book before him.

He was pointedly avoiding mentioning the encounter with Aela and Skjor, so I did the same. "I didn't want to risk waking anybody."

He shook his head; his eyes remained on the book, but I could have sworn I saw him smirk.

"You don't need to tiptoe around that lot," he spoke with actual good humour. It had been a smirk. "I doubt they would wake at this hour if a dragon crashed onto our roof," he muttered around a chuckle.

It was the first sign of amusement he'd expressed, and his casual reference to a dragon stilled me. I regarded him carefully; did he know I'd been in Helgen - was he trying to get me to talk about it?

But Vilkas didn't seem to need a response, and showed no signs of continuing our conversation. He took a draught from his mead now and then and bore my speculative stare without incident.

I shook myself - he was not playing games with me, and the dragon at Helgen was not all about me. It was on everybody's minds because it had happened at all. I stepped down to the hearth level of the mead hall, looking over the tables. Breakfast had already been laid out; breads, fruits, poached eggs and sausages. With such ample food prepared, I wondered at the hour again, and why Vilkas was the only Companion at the breakfast table.

I eased my pack down and sat quietly, perpendicular to my unwitting breakfast partner. I glanced between Vilkas and the food. Could I just help myself as I pleased? When he neither reacted nor instructed me, I reached out, took a plate, and assembled a modest fill of fruit, eggs and toast.

The silence became strained as it persisted. With a frown, I peered at Vilkas' book; "What are you reading?"

After a slight hesitation, a flat reply came; "The Accounts."

"Oh?" I sat back, popping a grape into my mouth. He seemed determined not to engage in conversation, and without knowing why, it made me more curious. "I've never heard of that one. Who's it by?"

Vilkas gave me a wary, sidelong look. "I suppose you could call it an anthology."

"Is it good?"

"It's necessary."

I huffed a laugh, perplexed. "Are you not enjoying it?"

Vilkas' mouth twitched as he turned his eyes back to the book. "Enjoy is a subjective term," his tone was droll.

I laughed again, realising that he was teasing me. It mustn't have been a novel, or he wouldn't have bothered, given his penchant for avoiding amusement. Which meant that the book was probably related to work.

Silence fell between us again, but I didn't mind any longer; Vilkas was busy working, and despite his gruffness, I didn't feel threatened by him as I did by some of his colleagues. I ate and let my mind wander, mulling over the day ahead; Lydia and Lucia at the Bannered Mare to discuss the future, and Farengar at Dragonsreach to discuss...the past. Inwardly, I groaned; not only was he going to ask me to relive the events of Helgen, but was also very likely going to insist that I hadn't really heard the dragon speaking that day.

I sighed. It was no good angsting over the particulars of an audience I had not yet attended. Farengar would believe what he chose to believe, and it was not my desire, or duty, to change his mind.

Turning, I unstrapped the lute and pushed my chair back to cradle the instrument without bashing the table. I needed a distraction, and music had always been my go to for one, before my recent hiatus. Playing music distanced my conscious from subconscious, similar to dreaming, allowing me to focus on my music while my mind ticked over my problems.

Four of the strings had slipped overnight; the higher pitched ones, of course. I tuned quietly for a while, resting my ear on the body so I wouldn't disturb Vilkas. Once it was back in tune, I strummed a few chords idly to confirm they would play nicely together.

It would do. Satisfied, I chose a song at random, and plucked out Ode to the Elden Tree. Vilkas stilled, then his attention shifted from his book to me, but only for a moment. When his gaze drifted back to his book, I heard him sigh with resolve.

I wasn't working for him now, so I didn't see any reason to perform, and played the simple tune for myself. It was a favourite; the patterns straightforward and the melody sweet. Sometimes it was nice to play a song I was confident in for the beauty of it, rather than a more complicated or challenging piece that required a particular technique to be tested.

I frowned when my fingers slipped at a changeover, and restarted, playing a little slower to figure out why I had gone wrong. I didn't slip again, so I shrugged it off.

My concerns ebbed as I focused on only that which was in front of me. My fingertips stung, throbbing as I pressed against the neck, and I determined to practise as much as I could over the next few days, to work my calluses back to their former strength. After I'd played Ode through twice without slipping, I switched to an Argonian ballad; A Shallow Pool; picking out the tune and giving my voice a rest.

But once it was done (with no mistakes, I was relieved to note), I put the instrument away. It was time to leave before my idle practise turned into an all consuming session where I lost track of everything but my music. I was not in the Bard's college, but the home of the Companions, and I had only arranged to linger in their halls until I had eaten breakfast.

And there was still much to do today. I picked up my pack and rose, shouldering it with a glance in Vilkas' direction. Should I say good bye, or just tip-toe out?

He glanced up, making the decision for me.

"Time I was going, I think," I cast him a small, courteous smile. "Could you thank Master Whitemane for giving me a chance last night?"

Vilkas sat back and nodded once. "I'll tell him."

"Thank you," I turned away. No tip, then.

I'd taken maybe three steps when Vilkas called out, somewhat hesitantly. "Or, you could tell him yourself?"

I half-turned, confused by his tone, more than his words. "I'm sorry?"

He crossed his arms, swinging back on his chair. "I'm offering you a contract," he said with a dryness that didn't suit what he was saying.

My brows furrowed as I turned properly to regard him. "I'm not sure that would be wise, considering two of your number couldn't bare to sit in the same room with me," I motioned toward the staircase, as though it explained everything.

"Kodlak will speak to Aela and Skjor," Vilkas waved a hand with an air of dismissal.

"Even so," a prickle of uncertainty crept over my skin. "I'm...honoured you would ask, but I'm leaving Whiterun today or tomorrow," I turned again to leave.

"You'll be well paid," chair legs scraped against the flagstones.

"Thank you, but I can't," I spoke over my shoulder as an itch to flee grasped at my control. I felt shut in and stuffy, and a desire to leave Jorrvaskr and feel the morning breeze on my face overwhelmed me, making my words come thick and fast. "I am promised elsewhere. If my situation changes, I shall let you know," I held up my hand in farewell.

I glanced back when I reached the door and caught his response; a hand raised and an expression of begrudging acceptance. But Vilkas' silvery eyes startled me, and I hastily turned away and slipped outside.

In them, I had not seen narrowed frustration, condemnation or disdain as I had expected. I had found only regret, and apology.

–

The fresh breeze did much to brush off the sudden intensity of Jorrvaskr and its surly occupant's parting words.

The sun had barely risen and the sky was a clear, delicate shade of mauve, promising a fine, cold day. Closing my eyes and taking in a renewing breath of crisp morning air, my anxiety scattered, and I smiled.

I had to admit, a contract was tempting, even if it was out of the question for the present time. To be the live-in bard of the legendary Companions of Jorrvaskr! That I had even been asked was a great compliment. A month ago I would have leapt at the opportunity - such an engagement would have secured a level of esteem attained by only a few of my peers.

But now? Something deeper clawed at me, almost panicked at the prospect of being tied them, be it for gold or any other reason. I had to keep moving. A smattering of responsibilities lay between me and the freedom to pursue the way of the thu'um to keep my promise and avenge the havoc Ulfric Stormcloak had wrought on our country; the deaths, the families torn apart, and the sons and daughters pit against one another for his war.

No. Now was not the time to settle down into a cushy contract with a faction of burly mercenaries.

I walked to the Bannered Mare, relieved that given the early hour, I wouldn't have to manoeuvre my way around Mikael.

Within, the tavern was hazy but serene, blushed by the wan hues of the hearth's glowing embers. I asked the publican about Lydia, and she directed me to a room with an arch to her eyebrow.

This is the woman who believes she is showing a child kindness by allowing her to sleep outside, I reminded myself, suppressing the urge to scowl as I thanked her.

I knocked on the door Hulda directed me to, and after a shuffle from within, it was opened by a weary-looking Lydia, dressed in loose, comfortable clothing.

Warmth and gratitude swept through me at the very sight of her, and my smile doubled when I saw the little braids plaited throughout her ebony locks.

"Good morning, Lydia."

She gave me an exasperated look, motioning for me to move back, and then stepped into the hallway with me, closing the door and leaning against it. "Lucia is sleeping," she murmured, covering a wide-mouthed yawn. "And it's no wonder, poor little lass," she added, shaking her head in dismay. She dug around in the pocket of her trousers, and withdrew the Passero seal on its chain. "Here. This is yours."

I accepted, heartened that they had taken to one another. "I'm sorry - I know, it was presumptuous of me to send her to you," I started quietly, as we were in a public hallway. "When she told me she was sleeping outside, I didn't know who to turn to -"

"I know, I know," Lydia waved her hand dissmissively. "It's all right."

"Well," I inclined my head, anyway. "I hope you had a nice evening together."

Her green eyes, suddenly shrewd, found mine. "You really are your father's daughter," she murmured pointedly. "His official duties were delayed frequently as he attempted to meet the needs of every person he crossed paths with."

I quirked a brow at her. "And you went along with him?"

"Of course," Lydia's mouth levelled into a flat line. "I swore an oath when I became a housecarl; to support my Thane's every whim and wish. Regardless of their motive, goal, or outcome."

"That must have been frustrating," I frowned, then shook the topic off, as I had little enough time as it was. "But I will take it as a compliment. Compassion is hardly a sin. What are we to do about Lucia's situation, then?"

Lydia relaxed more comfortably against the door, and sighed. "What do you want for her?"

That was easy. "I want her to be safe, with a bed in a real home, and with someone watching over her and making her feel wanted."

Lydia nodded in agreement, and we fell into discussion, weighing options. Once I had access to my account I could provide a room for her at the Mare, and she or I could check in on her from time to time. Lydia dissuaded me immediately - for it met only one of her needs - and reminded me that the girl would be under the watchful gazes of Hulda and Mikael when neither of us were here.

Scrapping that idea, I asked about the more prominent families in Whiterun - ones who might be able to spare a bed, even to take her in as a serving girl, but Lydia wasn't certain - in the wrong home it would seem as though we had palmed her off to a miserable fate - and again, being some rich family's serving girl would hardly make her feel wanted.

Through another yawn, Lydia then proposed a plan of her own; "I could always adopt her?"

I blinked at her, uncertain. Was she joking? Was she in a position to adopt?

She shrugged and smiled easily, though her cheeks pinked as she clarified. "Unless you intended to adopt her yourself, of course. I'd need your help to make it possible, though."

"Don't you sleep in the barracks at Dragonsreach?" I asked bluntly. "What if you are assigned to another Thane who makes you traipse around Skyrim, carrying their luggage?"

She rolled her eyes, then pushed my shoulder lightly. "Like I said, I would need your help."

I flushed. "Sorry. Of course. If it is a matter of funding, Belethor assured me-"

Lydia shook her head, cutting me off. "No, I have plenty of that saved away. But you can't adopt unless you are a home owner, and I'm not deemed worthy enough to be sold property in town," she rolled her eyes, leaning her head back, glancing to the ceiling. "Proventus Avenicci controls the estates within the Hold. He awards them like prizes," her eyes flickered to me, "and, he suggested that your father purchase a house in town, the last time he was here. Thane Passero laughed it off as a joke."

Well - that was easy, and certainly within my power to attempt; so long as the offer made to father would extend to me. "All right, I'll try."

Lydia smiled, clasping a hand to my shoulder. "Ever your father's daughter, little one."

"Stop saying that," I flashed her an amused sideways glance as I swatted her off. "If it's what you need and it will get Lucia off the streets, I will do all I can to make sure he sells it to me."

Lydia and I discussed the logistics for only as long as was necessary. I would ask Proventus for a house with the Jarl in earshot, since my father had been such an apparent favourite his. The house, if I succeeded, would be in both our names, but it would for all intents and purposes be Lydia's home, as I had no need of a house in Whiterun. Once it had been secured, she would be able to adopt Lucia. And, after a time, it would be a simple matter for me to sign my half of the title over to her.

I left the Mare with a spring to my step. It reassured me that Lydia, a woman I had met less than a day ago, had become such a trusted and reliable comrade in such a short space of time. Knowing her made me feel less alone, and more ready to meet whatever questions, or revelations Farengar had in store for me.

Maybe Lydia can adopt you, too, I joked as I climbed the steps to Dragonsreach and slipped my ring back around my neck.

I shook my head, exasperated - I didn't need to be tied down by a contract, or a family right now.

–

Dragonsreach wasn't nearly as formidable in the early morning light, and I felt quite tranquil as I stepped inside and made my way to the central hearth. Perhaps I felt its impact less because I knew what to expect of it.

The Jarl's throne was empty, but officials and children sat at the tables surrounding the fire, taking their breakfasts. The adults looked like stewards, and given the quality of their clothing, I had to assume the children were the Jarl's own sons and daughter.

No one paid me any mind as I passed by. Proventus Avenicci was among them, in his own world; slurping from a large mug as his eyes roamed over a document before him. I would talk to him later about the house, once the Jarl was in session.

Farengar was chewing on a piece of ham, but noticed my approach and waved me over, collecting his breakfast as he stood. "Ah, good," the lilt to his accent made his words seem more melodious and amicable than they had the previous day. "I had a feeling you were an early bird," he nodded toward his office. "Let's go. There is a lot to discuss."

Saying nothing, I followed him to the open room to the right of the main hall. It seemed to serve as both his office and living quarters, lit by tall, free-standing lanterns with two large, dark, heavy desks in the centre, positioned in an L-shape. A scattering of books littered them, though there was a sense of order about them - purposefully placed; each a piece of a larger puzzle. A map of Skyrim was tacked to a standing board to my right and a scattering of small, red pins were stuck into it at seemingly random points. At the back of the room was a round table carved with rune-like adornments, illuminated by rows of unlit candles, used for enchanting armour and weapons. Either side of this were doors to antechambers, one of which was open. I made out the edge of a bed within.

"Take a seat," he offered, far more animated than the previous day.

I sat gingerly, warily, wondering at the change in him. Yesterday he spoke as though he thought I was lying. What had changed over the course of a few hours?

Offloading my pack, I murmured my thanks. Farengar nodded hastily and placed his breakfast on the enchanting table, then turned back to his desk, dropping into his own chair.

We stared at each other for a moment. The nerves within me built during the silence, and I had to wonder if he was trying to make me uneasy? His hood was raised, so I could make out little of his expression, though today I could make out the shape of his eyes under the shadow of his hood; squared at me.

"Is there any place in particular you would like me to begin?" I asked as serenely as I could manage under such weighty scrutiny.

He shook himself. "Apologies for staring, Miss Passero. I'm afraid I had very little sleep," he leaned forward and picked up a notebook and quill. "Of course, we must begin at the beginning. Tell me how it was that you came to be in Helgen?"

Oh.

"Well," I hesitated, trying to mask my dismay. Remember, you did nothing wrong. You were trying to travel to Cyrodiil.

Farengar's interest in my story would outweigh any desire he might have to hand me over to the Stormcloaks, or the Legion, once he knew the full of it. If Jarl Balgruuf truly was a neutral party in a Skyrim at war, perhaps I would be safe from both, anyway.

Mustering my resolve, I explained how I had been captured, brought before Ulfric, captured again during the Empire's raid, then transported to Helgen, led to what I had thought would be my death.

"You were to be executed?" he interrupted, quieter than before. A hint of uncertainty was squashed by an evident concern.

"I was," I confirmed, meeting his eyes. I hadn't expected him to be agitated by this part of the tale.

"But – your father," he regarded me with some disbelief. "Did you not tell the Legion who you are?"

Dwelling on those final moments before the dragon had attacked made my chest constrict and shoulders tighten. My lips pursed and I replied, "I assure you, I did all within my power to delay my beheading. My efforts were in vain, but mercifully, the Divines sent a dragon to save me."

"Save you?" he uttered.

I lowered my eyes, huffing an ironic laugh. "I'm sorry. I don't truly believe it saved me. I'll continue," I sat straighter, resolved to get this done.

Farengar nodded for me to proceed.

"I saw it from the side, while my cheek lay on the bloodied chopping block. The dragon landed high on a tower, behind the headsman's axe aimed at my neck," I murmured wryly. I felt flat, somehow distanced from the event and the fear. Perhaps I could pretend this was merely an adventure story I had read, and was retelling.

"Shor's balls," Farengar whispered a curse as his quill fell from his hands.

His reaction calmed me somehow, and I pressed on while he recovered it. I went over what I had told him yesterday in as much detail as I could muster; how the dragon had made the molten balls of rock fall from the sky with a scream, and the words I had heard the dragon say during our escape.

"This is what I don't understand, Miss Passero," he had recovered over the course of my tale, and leant forward; quill perched and ready. "You tell me that you understood what the dragon said, as though it spoke in the common tongue? This is impossible."

I frowned and shook my head, unfazed because I knew what I had heard. "Jarl Balgruuf suggested that wasn't entirely the case yesterday," I reminded him. "But perhaps I should clarify. The dragon spoke the words in its own tongue; I merely heard a translation in my mind. Until yesterday, I assumed that everybody had heard it," I lifted my brows pointedly. It was time for him to do some explaining.

"You heard a translation in your mind?" he stared in utter disbelief.

Okay, that's bad? I stilled, watching him cautiously as he raised a shaking hand and drew back his hood. With some agitation, he ran a hand through short, dark hair. It tufted out in a few places in braids, and thick stubble hugged both sides of his face. Finally, I could see his eyes, and they were a piercing shade of light blue.

"I don't understand, Farengar," I managed haltingly. "Why is this impossible? How can you be certain that I was the only one to hear what it said? Dragons have not been seen for eras; in ancient times it may well have been commonplace-"

"I assure you, it was not," Farengar cut me off, lifting his dark eyebrows pointedly. He glanced from his journal to a pile of books beside it, exhaling with a shudder, then raised his eyes to me again, more composed.

"As for my reaction, I can't attest at this time. We need to find out more about this," he searched for a word, motioning toward me with a wave of his hand, "aptitude of yours."

I huffed. "It's not as though I took lessons in dragon speech-"

"Indeed, you did not," he widened his eyes; his words too knowing for my liking. He was keeping the truth from me. "There's an errand you can run for me, which will help to...untangle this riddle."

I quirked an eyebrow at him.

He glanced toward the map pinned to the sideboard. "A colleague of mine, invested as I in the untimely appearance of a dragon, has alerted me to the whereabouts of an ancient relic, called the Dragonstone," he revealed in his enigmatic lilt.

Subconsciously, I shivered in anticipation.

"Should your journey to retrieve it prove successful, I will be able to use it to answer our questions."

"Wait – my journey...? You wish me to retrieve this Dragonstone?" I asked hurriedly, skeptically. "I'm a bard, not a mercenary. Or a mage," I motioned toward him. "Why haven't you retrieved it if you need it?"

"I'm afraid that it doesn't work that way," Farengar answered just as swiftly. An edgy restraint filled his tone as he looked away and held up a hand. "If you wish me to answer your questions, you must personally retrieve the stone. And, I will know," condescendingly, he arched an eyebrow, "if you utilise your family's impressive fortune to hire someone to complete the task for you."

I sat back, defeated. What was going on?

"I understand," I heard myself say, even though that was far from the truth. "Tell me where this Dragonstone is being kept."

Farengar rose and spoke in a more obliging tone. "Not far. We think it's in a crypt just north of Riverwood," he stopped before the large map of Skyrim, and motioned for me to join him before he rested a long, slim finger on the screen. "Here it is."

I squinted; a small depiction of a ruin on a mountain side stared back at me. "Bleak Falls Barrow," I read. "Oh," I stood straight. "I saw it from the road into Riverwood."

Farengar nodded and withdrew. "That's right. It should be easy to find."

Then he turned to me, his eyes suddenly blazing with excited, almost prophetic zeal. "Hasten to Bleak Falls Barrow, Miss Passero. Retrieve the Dragonstone, and we will be closer to overcoming this dragon problem for good."

I stared at him; that's what this was about?

He turned back to his desk. I collected my thoughts and drifted after him, dizzy from the strangeness of our discussion. I had just travelled to Whiterun to deliver a message, and now I had been drawn into a quest to save Skyrim from the dragon? This was all getting very complicated.

I stood behind a chair, resting my hands on the back as my clouded thoughts finally formed coherent questions. "I don't understand why it must be me who retrieves this Dragonstone. You must explain at least that," I insisted.

Farengar's keen blue gaze fell on me at once. "I thought that would have been obvious, but, perhaps not," he quipped with an impatient sigh. "All right, then. The Dragonstone may only be retrieved by one who can speak to dragons. I am not sure why," he held up his hand quickly when I opened my mouth; it wasn't as though I was carrying out conversations with dragons in my spare time!

"But, you might find the reason for this is a moot point," his eyes lowered, hooded by his lashes.

I withdrew at the menace behind his look and glanced him up and down. Was he trying to frighten me? Indignation threatened to boil out of me, but was tempered by a chasm of unknown that what Farengar hadn't told me had opened.

"Either you can understand the language of the dragons, intrinsically as you claim, or you cannot," he posed flatly. "So, either you will retrieve the Dragonstone, or you will not."

If he wasn't threatening me, he was certainly testing me. I retrieved my pack, shouldering it as I nodded. I rose to Farengar's challenge, despite the racing of my heart and the small voice in my mind begging me to refuse; retrieval of an artefact from an ancient ruin might be incredibly dangerous.

"All right, Farengar," my words were cool and flat to my own ears. "I will find you this Dragonstone, but then you will explain," I bargained.

Farengar bowed his assent with a muted smile arching his thin lips. "Agreed. I look forward to our next conversation, Miss Passero."

I hmphed as I turned on my heel and walked out of his office.

A/n: thanks so much for the reviews last chapter, everyone! Really made my week and motivated me to keep going!