A Bard's Tale

by gabbicav

Bards spin words to win the hearts of men and mer, and Celeste Passero studies with the best at the College in Solitude. But when Ulfric Stormcloak uses his voice to murder the High King, forcing Skyrim into war with the Empire, Celeste finds herself the subject of a legend to inspire the greatest bard's tale ever told; if only she could find her voice to sing it. A Skyrim story.

27. The Lowest of Blows

Chapter 27: The Lowest of Blows

I did play for the Companions that night. Kodlak bade me sit by him when I returned to the mead hall, so I gathered my lute from where I had left it beside Ria, and joined the Harbinger, setting myself down on the seat that Aela had occupied.

Without being asked to, I swiftly tuned, then commenced, opting for instrumental numbers that might drift behind the threads of private conversations and condolences, and peacefully fill the gaps when talk ebbed.

Kodlak listened, song after song, sitting back in his chair with his eyes turned to the ceiling. They flit over the beams and high, red flags of the arching roof. Occasionally, he took a draught from his tankard.

"Won't you sing for us tonight?" Farkas leaned forward on his chair to ask from the other side of the Harbinger.

I cast him a small smile and declined. "You don't need my voice invading your thoughts tonight," I explained.

Kodlak turned toward me slowly, curiously, as Farkas replied, "What do you mean? I love your voice. I missed it, while I was away."

Another small smile was returned to him. He said exactly as he thought, didn't he? "Thank you, shield-brother," I continued plucking out my choice of song, a hint of gratified amusement in my reply. "But when grief is fresh, I do not wish to sing, for fear of unleashing torrents of emotions."

Kodlak spoke up then; the first I had heard from him since he had asked me to join him; his voice thick. "There is no shame in mourning the loss of those we love."

I agreed with a cordial nod. "I don't cast shame upon expressing one's feelings. I only mean, I have found the grief at one's core to be of a more personal, private nature, and would not wish to impinge on my shield-siblings by calling it up without their leave."

I shuddered at my counter, remembering how I shied away from my grief, even when alone, and put off enduring it with endless distractions and internal reprimands. I had still not cried about my parents' deaths; tears had certainly surfaced over the horror of that night, or over other matters since, but I had always been too busy to allow myself to give in to it, and had suppressed it.

Kodlak shook his head sadly. "Why is it that these young one's insist on such lonesome paths?" he asked himself, it seemed. "Hardship is better suffered with those who remain, who might comfort you, than in a remorseful, self-inflicted solitude with only your own cruel thoughts for company," he replied resignedly. I knew that he was thinking of Aela, and Vilkas, and not only of what I had said.

"Perhaps it depends on the nature of the individual," I responded gently. "Sorrow can cloud a person's judgement, and make them say and do things they would not ordinarily do. Some people don't like to be so exposed in the company of others, particularly to those who might be pained by a more open display of their remorse."

"True enough, I suppose," Kodlak admitted in a soft undertone, turning his eyes to his mead. "We each manage our grievances in our own way."

Our brief talk concluded there. I played on long into the night, until the mead hall was empty of all but Kodlak and Farkas.

During my next break between songs, Kodlak spoke, sounding less defeated than before. "You look tired, little dove. You should get some rest."

I blinked up at him, considering myself. "I am weary," I realised. "But I would play another, if you would hear it?"

Kodlak nodded for me to proceed; Farkas, who had for a time been sitting forward with his elbow leaning on the table and his chin on his hand, huffed a laugh. "We would hear it."

For this last song, as only Kodlak and Farkas remained to listen, I sang for them. I chose a song that I had not sung for them before, but that I thought might reach them, to both soothe and allow them to examine their grief, should they wish it amongst friends, as Kodlak had implied earlier. It was called Wergital the Wolf-Boy.

"Kynareth watched from the rain, clouds, and skies,
A Breton child cloaked in a furry disguise-" I sang.

"No, please," Kodlak reached for me, touching my arm lightly with some sense of urgency to his grave tones. "Not that."

I stilled and raised my eyes to his. Beyond Kodlak, Farkas seemed confused, but the pleading gravity I saw in the Harbinger's face made me flush for attempting to sing that, tonight of all nights. How could I have been so stupid? The song ended with villagers killing the wolf-boy and his soul ascending to Kynareth; a fate which Kodlak would welcome should it be within his power to choose it! But unlike the wolf-boy, who had merely been adopted by a pack of wolves, werewolves were bound to serve Hircine eternally; by taking on the beast blood, they had committed their souls to a Daedric Prince.

That's who Skjor is serving, right now, I realised in horror. But then, from accounts of his take on their affliction, he would have verily welcomed his ascension to Hircine's hunting ground.

"Oh, Gods. I'm so sorry," I turned my eyes down, unable to hold Kodlak's sombre gaze as the guilt took hold of me. "I wasn't thinking. Let me try another," I said in a rush.

Before either replied I commenced playing; choosing The Lost Islands of Old Yokuda, which told of the ancestral home of the Redguards that had sunk into the sea in the First Era; perfectly safe subject matter.

"I remember Lost Yokuda. I remember all her great islands,
I remember Samara. Indeed, I had a husband there," I crooned.

Kodlak sat back again, watchful and breathing in long, drawn out sighs now and then. I focused on my music; pouring the last of my energy into it, willing it to ease the Harbinger's torment, and make up for my blunder.

As I brought the song to its close, I looked up, and was relieved to see that he seemed more serene.

"That was great," Farkas commented easily. "It works so much better, when you sing."

"I am glad I was able to help," I smiled, giving him an obliging nod, interested in what he had said, but too tired to examine his statement further. I regarded Kodlak once more. "Now, I think I might take up your suggestion that I retire," I rose, looking for my coat.

"Sleep well, Celeste," Kodlak bade, casting me a small, somewhat distracted smile.

Farkas got to his feet, suddenly as though he had just recalled something. "Do you want me to walk you home?" he burst out.

At that moment I remembered, with a pang, that in my haste to leave Breezehome to complete the intimidation job, I had left my coat and scarf in the entryway. I hadn't even noticed when I had set out! It was far too cold in the dead of night to venture home without it.

I shook my head, meeting his silvery gaze, and half-smiled. "I would stay in Jorrvaskr tonight, if I am welcome?"

"Always," Kodlak smiled more steadily, as Farkas took his seat again.

Both men seemed pleased by my decision to stay, and with a few final good nights, I made for the living quarters, and fell into my bed.

It had been a long day, and not only that; it had engaged all of my sentiments at one point or another. In the warmth of the dormitory, not even the snores of my shield-siblings or scratchiness of the furs were enough to keep me awake for more than a fleeting couple of minutes.

–

When I woke, later than I usually did, I raced home to change (remembering to pick up my coat) and then rushed back to Jorrvaskr, hoping that Farkas would excuse my tardiness on account of the previous stressful day.

But when I arrived at the training yard, I found it empty. Crossing my brows and wondering if Farkas had simply forgotten that he had been assigned to train me, I entered Jorrvaskr by the back doors to retrieve the accounts book and box of gold. I'd secured the key Vilkas had entrusted me with on the same chain that the Passero seal rested, so I might not lose it.

I glanced around the mead hall; it was empty but for Tilma and Brill, who were silently cleaning the main room of the breakfast things.

"Tilma, have you seen Farkas?" I called out.

The elderly housekeeper glanced up blearily. "Not this morning, dear. I could check his room for you?"

I said that wouldn't be necessary; thanked her and returned to the yard, biting my bottom lip and wondering if he was suffering the loss of Skjor alone, as well? He, like the other members of the Circle, weren't able to sleep, so if he was within, it was all I could attribute his not being here to.

I let him be. But, within five minutes of picking up my practise sword and beginning my forms, the riddle unravelled. The not-too-distant sound of stone scraping against stone caught my attention, and when I turned toward automatically, I froze when I confirmed that it was the underforge opening.

Farkas and Aela stepped out, mid-conversation, and as the rocks scraped closed behind them, I caught a snatch of it.

"-won't approve," Farkas was saying uncertainly.

"It is better that Kodlak doesn't know," Aela sighed, as though the prospect did vex her. "But I will not stand by pleading the moral high ground while the Silver Hand go unpunished."

"I know," Farkas said in a low, consoling manner. "I won't forget what I saw any time soon."

"Regardless of-" Aela continued.

A breeze swept over the wall, rustling my clothes and hair.

Aela stopped speaking at the same moment. Both turned to regard me, stilling in their tracks; both, for an instant, looking guilty.

I hadn't made a sound or movement since they had emerged, so I had to assume that the wind had carried my scent to them.

Aela's expression immediately flattened. "See you tonight," she grumbled to her companion.

"You can count on it," Farkas replied, his face also losing its momentary regret as Aela made for Jorrvaskr.

She said nothing to me; not even minding to cast me a second glance. Once she was gone and the doors were closed behind her, I turned to face Farkas, unable to hide my concern.

"Are you all right?" I asked him, glancing briefly beyond to the closed underforge. Had they been out all night, exacting revenge on the Silver Hand who had, from the thread of their conversation, murdered Skjor?

Farkas saw my attention flicker. "Everything's fine. Sorry I'm late," he strode to me, nodding to my short sword. "Vilkas has you using that with two hands?"

I blinked down to the blade in my grasp; of course he didn't wish to discuss what they had been doing. "He taught me to listen to my needs, and I felt too weak only using one," I shrugged.

Farkas 'hmmed', but it was good-natured enough. He collected another training sword from the verandah, then stepped down to join me on the earthen yard. "All right. Let's see what we're dealing with here," he swung the blade a few times, flexing his fingers around the handle and then tightened his grasp, lowering his stance.

"Right," I fell into my own; the one I had assumed time and time again to spar against Vilkas over the past week, trying to push what I had witnessed a moment ago from my mind. Though Farkas was the most easygoing of the Circle, I had seen him training Ria, and he had always seemed to throw himself into their fights, despite their difference in stature. I would need all my wits about me, lest I disappoint him from the start, and end up face-first in the dirt.

A rush of determination to do well before him swept through me, and I raised my training sword out to meet Farkas', saying nothing. I squared his silvery eyes, cast him a brief nod, shuffled forward, and swung.

–

Another week passed, and the mead hall gradually recovered from the news of Skjor's death. I continued training with the bow and short sword, and on the second day, Farkas had introduced daggers.

He'd passed me one for each hand, and said that they might suit me better than a sword or axe, as I shouldn't have any trouble bearing their weight.

"And, by all reports, you're already a little familiar with a dagger as it is," he'd added with evident, smug amusement.

It had taken me a moment to realise that he referred to the intimidation job on Mikael, for of course, news of my warning (and subsequent threat) had spread throughout the town swiftly.

I had flushed but covered my mouth to hide my burst of laughter; Farkas had chuckled in response and pat me on the back gleefully, insisting that it had been the best story he'd heard come out of the Mare in years, but that if I had a need to follow through, he'd better get on with teaching me how to use them.

My routine continued similar to the previous weeks, though less regimented. I would arrive at the yard at dawn; set up the accounts table, and begin practising for myself. Farkas would join me an hour or two later, usually emerging from the underforge with Aela, as the pair had the first day. I learned to ignore their appearance, often turning away from them entirely to focus on a training dummy or target, until I heard the doors to Jorrvaskr click closed behind me, and Farkas' footfalls draw nearer.

Farkas was a more relaxed teacher than Vilkas, owing to his nature, but the sheer additional weight behind his blows made training against him a challenge. He didn't talk as much as his brother, either. After showing me a stance or a form, he would have me practise it against him, and for hours at a time 'good' and 'not quite' and 'put your arm into it' were the only snatches of words I was offered by the enormous Nord.

Not that I didn't try, occasionally, to determine exactly what he and Aela were doing of a night, when an opportunity presented itself. I knew that they were seeking retribution for Skjor's death, but wasn't certain how long they might continue their late night journeys until they considered the debt paid. Were they using the tunnels to exit Whiterun, and hunting the Silver Hand down? It seemed likely, but knowing that Kodlak would not approve of their activities made me want to know the full of it, so that I might derive some form of understanding between the members of the Circle.

One such opportunity to caution toward the topic arose five days into his training me. We had paused our session so that I could accept a contract from a courier, and while I had been jotting down the details and securing the gold, Farkas had taken a seat beside me.

I glanced at him as I saw him shuffle; he rolled his shoulders, reaching back and rubbing at the muscles in his neck as he tilted his head and grimaced.

I turned my eyes back down to the accounts book, scribing '800 gold' in the paid column carefully. "Rough night?" I asked him lightly.

Farkas huffed, then after a pause replied with, "You could say that."

Replacing the pen and closing the book before me with a snap, I rose and turned my full attention back to my teacher. "Anything I can do to help?"

He stood as well, easing himself up onto his feet, and shook his head. "Nah. This is Circle business. C'mon, you still haven't managed to hit the centre of the target when you're moving," he changed the subject. "We'll work on that this afternoon."

I frowned, but made sure I didn't sigh as I gathered my bow and ventured out to collect the arrows. "I wish I knew how to help," I mumbled, loud enough for him to hear, in the hope of pressing him a little.

Farkas didn't answer and merely watched me with his eyebrow raised, holding out a quiver that I had forgotten to take with me from the verandah when I had set out. I did sigh then, as I placed the handful of arrows in it with a clatter, then slung it over my shoulder and turned toward the targets.

There was no more opportunity for talk that day, but gratefully, with Farkas' assistance, I managed to hit the centre target a few times before the sun had set.

Early on the eighth day of our training together there was a minor break to our regime; one that made me forget all about Farkas and Aela's quest for revenge.

A courier approached Jorrvaskr. Farkas and I stopped training so that I could collect the job, but there was no accompanying bag of gold, and no explanation from the courier. He simply confirmed who I was, before palming me a thin letter and leaving.

I frowned after the man's departing form, then shrugged, turning the letter over and assuming that account details for payment must have been written within.

My eyes widened when I saw my name written on the front of the letter in Hadvar's neat, officious handwriting.

My heart skipped a beat. Dropping my training daggers, I grasped the letter in both hands and let out a shriek of surprise.

"What's the matter?" Farkas called out.

I glanced to him briefly, turning my eyes back down to the letter almost at once as I grinned. "Nothing's wrong!" I replied, sauntering toward the verandah as calmly as I could manage, and crashing down into the chair before the accounts book. "I just need a minute, to read this," I added, distracted.

"Suit yourself," Farkas droned, then trudged back to the verandah, sitting in the seat he liked to occupy whenever we rested.

Grateful for Farkas' relaxed manner – his brother would never have allowed me to stop training to read a letter – I broke the seal and unfolded the paper. Nervous excitement swelled within me that only fuelled my goofy grin.

At that moment, I didn't care if I was being observed, or what anyone else thought of me. I read:

Dearest Celeste,

I have been replying to your other letter but a rumour reached our camp an hour ago, and I must write you immediately of it. I will send this letter via the fastest courier money can buy, and pray to the Divines that it reaches you before other whisperings do.

My smile fell; the glowing anticipation in my chest dulled and grew heavy. What? I must have paled, for Farkas asked me if I was all right. I think I nodded to him, as I scanned the page for more.

I should make clear that I, and the Legion, know it to be a false rumour. I write to prepare you, for I have no doubts it will spread like wildfire, as is its intention, injuring you in the process, and I would do anything to ease that blow, even if it means I am the bearer of one now.

To put it simply – I can't bear to put the words to the page but I must – the Stormcloaks are claiming that the Dragonborn has joined them.

What he wrote was absurd. I read Hadvar's words over, my eyes burning as I raked across the sentence again and again. Still, together the words made no sense. How could such a rumour have begun? I would never join the Stormcloaks; they were responsible for killing my parents – they had nearly killed me!

This is not a rumour intended to affect you. Please trust me on that account. It was doubtless created by some Stormcloak recruiter, intended to swell their ranks and owe credibility to Ulfric's claim. If the people might believe that Akatosh's chosen and Skyrim's hope has aligned with Stormcloak, it may rally those sitting on the fence to his side.

Remember that we know this rumour to be a lie. Arm yourself, my precious girl; forewarned, you can prepare and respond to those who would question your allegiance as you see fit.

I closed my eyes and took deep breaths to soothe my galloping heart. I had to think, not panic. Prepare myself, as Hadvar had urged.

Hadvar knew it was a lie, as did the Legion, but still I felt a need to squash the rumour before it gained ground and recruited the Stormcloaks any extra men or women for the wrong reasons.

I could think of no way forward at that moment. My mind reeled, desperately afraid and screaming at the injustice of it. How dare they use my name in this way after what they had done?

I made myself read on, for the letter was nearly at its end:

I do not doubt the General will write to you soon, insisting that the only way to thwart the rumour will be to join the Legion and to be seen supporting the Empire, both in the cities and in the field.

I wish I could give you useful advice on how to manage this request when it comes. My heart insists I urge you against joining the Legion, at all costs, for they will parade you about for the whole of Skyrim to look upon, uncaring of the danger they will bring you by doing so. By openly defying the Stormcloaks, they will make a target of you, while at present, to Ulfric's strategists you are, by name alone, a useful tool to further their cause. My head counters my heart, conceding that should no definitive action be taken against this rumour, there will be people who believe it on both sides.

However you choose to act, my darling Celeste, please know that you have my full support.

All my love,
Hadvar

I sat up, folding the letter and hastily shoved it into my pocket. Staring at the closed accounts book, my eyes brimmed with tears and my cheeks burned hot. Thoughts flitted through my mind; a jumble of reactions and arguments that blurred into a turbulent, deafening chaos.

I must have remained staring for some time. A large hand on my shoulder startled me back to the now, and I glanced up to see Farkas looking at me.

He dropped his hand, and gave me a kind, somehow understanding half-smile. "Want to go beat the crap out of something?"

"Yes," I stood; the chair legs scraping loudly against the floorboards of the verandah. I grabbed for the nearest weapon; a training sword, and grasped the handle tightly. My knuckles turned white as I charged across the yard, my eyes on a hapless training dummy, as I imagined the head of Ulfric Stormcloak set on its wooden shoulders.

I swung the blade over my head as I closed in on my target, heedless of Farkas' call behind me; I didn't even hear what it was he said.

A loud, undignified roar, the likes of which I had never uttered in my life, clawed its way out of my throat and echoed around the yard. It was not a thu'um; this sound was entirely primal, and belonged to me, not the dragons.

Arcing the blade sideways and striking the dummy's neck with all the anger, panic and affront I felt, I felt the resounding jar as steel hit wood vibrate through my arms, shudder down my back and legs, and depart through the tips of my toes.

CRACK.

I startled at the sound, and stepped back.

Thump.

Temporarily mollified, I stared at what I had done, my breaths coming slow, and sharp. The training dummy's neck, a wooden stake, had snapped under the force of my blow.

"Wow," Farkas jogged to my side with a bark of a laugh, throwing his arm around my shoulder as he observed the dummy's head, which had thudded down onto the dirt beside it, and was now rolling back and forth pathetically beside one of the targets.

I jumped when he touched me, glancing up to him fearfully; my eyes wide. "I didn't mean-"

"Don't apologise," Farkas cut me off, grinning down to me. "Just, remind me never to make you angry."

I wasn't sure of how to reply, so turned back to look at the beheaded dummy again. My fury expelled; my mind had started already to tick over the possible ways that I might attempt to kill the rumour that I knew might arrive in Whiterun at any moment.

"Hey," Farkas got my attention again, jostling me under his arm. I glanced back up to him, though my mind was only partially on where I was. He gave me appraising look. "You should go to Kodlak."

I was about to dismiss the idea, for it was not Kodlak's problem, when I hesitated, and thought before I reacted instinctively and closed my thoughts in on themselves. What he had said the previous night, about condemning oneself to solitude during hardship, nudged at me pointedly.

I found myself nodding, then detangled myself from Farkas. "You're right," I murmured. "Kodlak will see a way through this."

–

It didn't take the Harbinger's superior senses to notice that I was upset. As soon as I entered the living quarters I saw movement from his table, and he called out, clear and cautious; "What has happened?"

I reached his side quickly, staring at him with wide, blazing eyes, and wondered where to begin? I gave up on threading together a coherent sentence entirely. Rather than try to explain, I simply gave Kodlak the letter, and took my usual seat across from him.

"Please," I implored in a muttered moan, as Kodlak's sharp, silvery gaze flickered from me, concerned but hard, to the letter. I couldn't find any words to add to my 'please', so left it at that while he read. He would understand.

To begin with, I watched him closely for reaction. The moment his eyes widened and his expression went from sad to startled, I couldn't bare any more, and I closed my eyes, thunking my head down on the tabletop between us. Tears rose, shimmering behind my closed lids, threatening to spill forward, and I grit my teeth, willing them away.

A rustle of paper and a large hand resting on my back signalled that he had finished it.

"You trust this Hadvar?" was the first gentle question he asked.

I raised my head and nodded, sitting up straight and fixing him with a woeful look.

"You have mentioned him before," he noted gravely.

Again, I nodded. "He saved me, during the Helgen incident," I supplied morosely; some colour rushing to my cheeks.

"Ah, yes," he recalled, sitting back and placing the letter on the table between us; offering it to me, if I would take it back. "The Legion soldier, from Riverwood. I remember now."

I took it and stared down at Hadvar's handwriting, noting how his script was more rushed than his previous letters; there was a sharper angle on the whole, and more of his letters were joined. Hastier, and with unashamed endearments throughout, as though he had been too upset about the news to reign in his feelings. He had even signed it with all my love.

"I care for him, a great deal," I admitted to Kodlak quietly, staring at those three beloved words scrawled above his name.

Kodlak 'hmmed' an assent, and reached out touch my chin; easing my focus up, and off the dreaded, yet precious letter. I gazed at the Harbinger.

In his face, I saw compassion; he smiled sadly as his hand fell back to his own knee. "And, little dove, he clearly cares for you. He risks much in writing this warning."

I agreed, but frowned, because this was not why I had come to him. "Kodlak, how can I stop the rumour?"

The Harbinger hesitated, before admitting; "You can't."

"I must. More people will join the war because of it."

"People of sense will not readily sign their lives away over a rumour," he continued heavily. "They will do it for power, or money. Something tangible. If the Stormcloaks say you are with them, then people will naturally demand that you appear," he shrugged. "When they cannot produce you, then, after a time, the rumour will die off on its own."

"You really think so?" I asked, my eyes wide and my voice shaky and small as this small hope wound its way through my aching head.

He nodded. "Your Hadvar has told you of the Legion's position. If the rumour poses a risk to their war effort, I would wager that they will endeavour to squash it, to their own end."

I glanced to the letter again, duly reminded. "He believes General Tullius will write to recruit me."

"I agree with his assumption," Kodlak replied easily. "You would be a prize for either side to obtain, and your open allegiance to one or the other would settle this and all other like rumours indefinitely."

My head snapped back up to him; I was a little surprised by his admission. "You think I should join the Legion?"

"I think you should do what you believe is right," Kodlak smiled cordially.

I glanced to the roof. "Please, Kodlak. I don't know what to do," I repeated. "I would welcome your counsel. What would you do?" my tone lowered as I regarded the old warrior again. "I don't want people to join the Stormcloaks because of me. If I must join anyone, then I am with the Empire. But I don't want to go to war."

"Then, there is your answer," Kodlak advised. "And, since you asked, if I were in your position, I would do the same. I would remind Tullius, when his recommendation arrives, that you are the Dragonborn, and as such, the resolution of the dragon issue that Skyrim finds itself in," he gave me a pointed, sideways glance, "must be your priority."

"A refusal?"

"A deference, if you wish," he corrected. "If a time arrives that your Dragonborn duties are completed and the war is not, perhaps you may then choose to openly ally yourself with the Legion?"

"Yes," I nodded swiftly, pleased with this organising of thoughts Kodlak had managed for me. "Yes, I can live with that."

After the Greybeards; after everything that they asked me to complete; after I became the warrior that the legends told Dragonborns were, I could envisage joining the Legion, if it would help end the war sooner, and allow me to get close enough to Ulfric Stormcloak to make good on my vow to use his words against him. I already knew FUS. Perhaps the Greybeards would teach me the rest.

Relief swam through me as I leaned forward and hugged the Harbinger. "Thank you, so much," I squeezed him, laughing a little at his typical leap and then subsequent relaxation into my embrace. "I could not see a path through my fog of rage and panic."

"Any time," he patted my back, then squeezed my shoulders very lightly as though he thought any more pressure might break me.

After I retreated and sat back again, we spoke only a little longer.

Kodlak advised a strategy of openness, which meant I would need to tell anyone who would hear me about the rumour, and its falseness, before it arrived in Whiterun.

It was a brilliant plan, and with a lighter heart I pleaded that I be excused from my Companion duties for a few hours. He allowed it with a chuckle, reminding me again that he wasn't my master. I grinned at him and leapt to my feet, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek and another thank you before I ran off, much to his bemusement.

When I returned to the training yard, Farkas was talking to a client. I winced, hurrying to my post, opening the account book and mumbling my apologies. Once their job was recorded and paid for, Farkas set his silvery eyes on me.

"Feeling better, shield-sister?" he asked carefully.

I nodded, closing the book and rising; unthreading the key to the Companions money box from my necklace. "I am, for now. Would you be able to manage the accounts for an hour or two?" I asked, holding out the key on my palm and meeting his gaze flatly. "I must speak to the Jarl. I'll come back as soon as I've made my report."

I would tell Farkas of the rumour when I returned, but I had determined that it would be prudent to tell Jarl Balgruuf before anyone else.

Farkas looked uneasily from the key, to me. "You sure? Vilkas doesn't trust me with-"

"He trusts you more than anyone," I cut him off with a compassionate smile, and reached for his hand, palming him the key and closing his large fingers around it. Regardless of whether his smaller twin had told him or me as much didn't matter; it was clear that their familial ties were strong enough for it to be so, and I was certain that Vilkas had been joking when he had advised me that Farkas made a mess of his accounts.

I left Farkas on the verandah with brief instructions soon after, with both Kodlak's supportive advice and Farkas' contented smile fortifying me.

As I hiked the stairs to Dragonsreach, it came upon me how much I truly seemed to trust my shield-siblings. I could never have imagined when I entered their ranks intent on joining them for my own benefit how intently their acquaintance would impress on my soul.

I drew myself out of my musings when I was let into Dragonsreach by a Whiterun guard who held the door open for me and bade me good morning. Within the expansive entryway, I spied Lydia, lounging on the seat I had first seen her at in the entry.

She saw me at the same moment. Her eyes widened briefly, then she put down the sword she had been sharpening with a clatter, rising to meet me with her arms extended.

"What's happened?" she asked me swiftly, drawing me to the side of the entry with a hasty glance toward the Jarl's throne, perhaps making sure that I hadn't been spotted yet. "Were you summoned?"

I shook my head; my shoulders drooping as I realised how angry my news would make my housecarl, on my behalf.

"Can we talk somewhere?" I asked her quietly, changing my mind about who I should tell first at once. It wouldn't be fair on her if I didn't give her some warning of what I was about to announce.

She nodded swiftly and led me further away from the main thoroughfare, to a bench seat along the side wall. "Nobody ever comes here," she told me. I sat, and she sat, turning her knees toward me and fixing me with her expectant green gaze. "Well?" she prompted, grasping my hands.

I squeezed them; a reassurance measure, for both of our sakes. I could have given her the letter to read, too, but something stopped me; perhaps the realisation that I could not let Hadvar's words speak for me each time I told this tale. "It may come to nothing. I have just received word from the Legion-"

"From Hadvar?" her brows furrowed; probably wondering why such a thing could be cause for alarm.

I nodded. "Yes. He sent me a rushed note, warning me of a rumour circulating the armies, that found its way to his camp."

Lydia arched her eyebrow, but didn't interrupt me again.

I sighed. "The Stormcloaks are saying that the Dragonborn has joined Ulfric's cause."

"What?" she leapt up.

"Shh," I urged, casting my own glance in the direction of the Jarl's throne, even though I couldn't see it from our darkened corner. I drew her back down to the bench, giving her hands another squeeze. "It's not true."

Lydia tilted her head, her brows crossing even more as she looked me up and down. "Of course it's not. I'm surprised that you're not more angry about it, though."

"I was furious," I conceded. "I took the head off a training dummy," I murmured.

Lydia huffed, though given what I had just told her, there was no amusement in it. "What is your plan?" she directed me back to the present.

I nodded appreciatively. "To spread the word throughout Whiterun, before the rumour reaches here."

"I see," Lydia considered, and I felt the tension in her arms ease a little. "Circulate the falsity of the claim now, so there is no surprise or doubt when it arrives. Good," she nodded. "And abroad?"

I shrugged, half-smiling helplessly. "I'm not sure I can make people outside of Whiterun believe anything. They don't even know me; only that I exist, and possibly my name. But, Kodlak believes that if the rumour threatens the Legion's efforts, they will act upon it."

Lydia nodded again, this time more speculatively as her eyes drifted to the flagstones; her mind ticking over the task ahead. "True enough. But it is a shame that we can't do more," she bit her bottom lip, still deep in thought.

"I mean to speak to the Jarl about it now," I let go of her hands, and rose. "Will you come?"

Her eye turned up; focusing on me, drawing her out of her reverie. "Always," she spoke steadily, standing as well. "Perhaps together, we can devise a plan that might squash the rumour outside of Whiterun," she was still fixed on this point.

We commenced our walk to the Jarl's throne, though continued our discussion in low voices.

"Kodlak believes that the rumour will die out naturally," I explained. "He says that men and women don't sign their lives away for an idea, and will want to see proof that I am with Stormcloak."

Lydia chewed on this idea, but didn't seem satisfied. "I don't know," she shook her head. "As you said, most of Skyrim knows only of your existence, and nothing of who you are," she posed. "This may be the push that many of the Nords need to choose their side."

I cursed in an undertone. "And when they can't parade me to their armies?"

"They may find another," Lydia supplied. "Any woman meeting your description, who can speak with conviction."

My heart plummeted; of course, they could dress anybody up to be their Dragonborn, to give credibility to their claim, so long as I was buried away with the Companions in Whiterun.

"They won't be able to shout, or understand the language of the dragons," I reached. "The soldiers will demand proof that she is the Dragonborn."

"Will they?" Lydia queried. "I believe that you are Dragonborn on your word alone."

"Yes, but you know me," I insisted.

"Most of Whiterun believe it with your word, and that of the few guards who were witness to your shout at the Western watchtower," she continued reasonably. "Your story has been met with nothing short of astonished reverence, everywhere it's been told, because people want to believe in you," she pointed out. "Just as those who sign their lives over to the Stormcloaks will want to believe you are with them."

I closed my eyes a moment as her crushing point made me shudder. We had just reached the great, long hearth before the Jarl's throne, so we didn't speak again, and I used what remained of our walk to compose myself, though my heart continued to thud madly in my chest.

Lydia was right. It would be a very simple thing for the Stormcloaks to dress any slight, dark-haired woman as the Dragonborn. They could talk amongst themselves of her thu'um and prowess, and she could stand and deliver songs and motivational stories whenever necessary. Sure, there would be questions from those who heard the truth; that I was a Companion, training in Whiterun, but the Stormcloaks could just as easily call me a fabrication of the Legion's, as I could any false Dragonborn they produced.

The Jarl had two townspeople before him, so Lydia and I moved to one of the long tables, waiting our turn. I stared at the fine, polished oaken beams and rich tapestry runner, noting their quality but not really taking anything beyond my own worries in, as my mind spiralled around the problem, coming to no workable solution beyond joining the Legion to settle the matter, once and for all.

"Thane Passero?" Proventus leaned down, invading my line of sight, saying my name in a tone that suggested it wasn't the first time he had called for me.

"Yes?" I glanced up hurriedly.

"The Jarl will see you now."

I nodded my thanks and rose, smoothing down my training tunic, and belatedly regretted that I had not made some effort to change before I had approached Dragonsreach. There was nothing for it now, and he would excuse my appearance, and appreciate my haste in coming to him, when he heard my news.

Lydia fell into step behind me; a warm presence at my back, at once lending me some much-needed confidence. I was very grateful that I had come upon her in the entryway, despite the thread of our discussion since.

Keeping my eyes respectfully lowered, once I had reached the centre point of the audience chamber, I knelt before the Jarl.

"Celeste," he acknowledged; his warm tones filled with a contented surprise. "The Companions have given you a moment's breath to visit your Jarl?"

I raised my eyes to him, wishing that I could meet his easy satisfaction in kind, but my chest was still too constricted by the weight of the rumour to even smile as I replied. "I apologise for staying away for so long."

"You may rise," he said blithely, then shook his head. "You do not need to justify your actions to me, on this account, young one," he continued. "Your display of single-mindedness when a goal has been set before you is to be commended. I have been kept well informed of your success, by your Harbinger," he added amiably.

This was news to me; I stood a little taller, blinking as I took in what he had said, finding it a place in my thoughts amongst the reeling mess that concerned the rumour and what must be done. Kodlak was speaking to the Jarl about me? "I am grateful that my efforts please you," I managed. A shuffle to my side; Lydia shifted into my peripheral, and reminded me why I was there.

The Jarl must have realised that I was not on a social call. "What pleases me is conviction, Thane Passero. Now," he motioned for me to approach him. "Speak of whatever it is that you are here to tell me."

"Thank you," I ascended the stairs and stood on the landing before him, clasping my hands together. Without further ceremony – recollecting that Jarl Balgruuf grew impatient when matters were unnecessarily drawn out – I explained what I had related to Lydia moments ago.

He listened all the while, never interrupting me; his chin resting thoughtfully on his hand and his eyes narrowed and watchful.

I told him everything; not only the relevant contents of Hadvar's letter, but also of Kodlak's advice, and of Lydia's probable assumption.

When I came to the end, I offered him an apology, lowering my eyes. "I'm sorry, Jarl Balgruuf," I concluded. "I am uncertain of when this rumour will reach Whiterun; I only know that it will, and I endeavour now to precede it. I would be guided by your experience and wisdom, should you wish to assist me in my plight."

There was a pregnant pause. I heard the rich material of the Jarl's robes shuffling and the muted steps of Farengar walking about his office within it. I closed my lowered eyes, modulating my breaths, both eager and terrified to know what the Jarl would make of this, and what he might order me to do, to squash it.

"Celeste," he intoned eventually. I raised my eyes at once. There was a little sympathy there, but for the most part, his eyes were indignant; his nostrils flared.

"Do you wish to go to war?" he asked directly.

I shook my head. "As you do, I wish to remain neutral," I replied at once.

"But should the time come to choose a side, with no third option available to you, you would side with the Legion?" he continued.

I wondered where he was headed with this line of questioning, because he undoubtedly already knew the answer. I nodded anyway.

He lapsed into silence again, turning to Irileth with a grim turn of his mouth. The Dunmer's startlingly red eyes were like pools of fire; blazing furiously, though she had remained silent all the while. Some unspoken message passed between them.

"You have heard nothing of this rumour?" he asked her finally.

"No, my Jarl."

"You have heard nothing of the Dragonborn's activities at all, in the whispers that reach your ears?" he added.

"No, my Jarl," Irileth repeated firmly.

"Her allegiance?" the Jarl fired. "Her whereabouts? Nothing?"

"Only that which I witnessed myself, repeated," her eyes fell to me; still hard. "And word of a situation that occurred at the Bannered Mare several nights passed, irrelevant to the war."

In turn, he asked all of his attending housecarls and stewards what they had heard of the Dragonborn. I glanced at each, feeling numbed, and removed from the situation, as they replied similarly to Irileth.

Finally, after calling a perplexed Farengar out of his office to ask him the same, the Jarl sat back on his throne and grumbled, "We have done this to you."

"My Jarl?" I crossed my brows. "You have protected me. The Stormcloaks are responsible-"

He held out his hand for me to stop, then fixed me with his icy-blue stare. "The Stormcloaks are taking advantage of a situation; one created by my desire to protect you while you have been unable to defend yourself. I allowed you to remain obscure under Kodlak Whitemane's wing, and Skyrim, left wanting for their Dragonborn, has begun to make up its own stories of your exploits."

I flushed, lowering my head; his speech notifying me that he had, at least in part, promoted me to Thane out of respect for my father, for he had no need or duty to safeguard me otherwise. But for this, I was grateful. "I begged you to allow me to remain in Whiterun. Do not cast blame where it doesn't lie, my Jarl; if anyone is responsible for my concealment, it is I."

"I will summon couriers and criers at once," he concluded, moving on from his summation. I was uncertain if he had taken my words on board or not. The Jarl sat up straighter in his seat, his eyes falling to Proventus, by his right arm.

"I charge you with the details, Proventus. Have a missive prepared, for immediate circulation, that the Dragonborn, Celeste Passero, was elevated to the position of Thane of Whiterun, for services rendered to the people of our Hold, including her instrumental role in the dragon incident at the Western watchtower. We should have made it known weeks ago," his eyes settled on me again; narrowed, but it was clear that his irritation was not aimed at me.

"At once, my Jarl," Proventus bowed and made to retreat.

"Add that any citizen of Skyrim being tormented by a dragon might direct their pleas for assistance to Dragonsreach directly, where Thane Passero is abiding."

I gaped, shooting Lydia a quick glance; she was wearing a schooled mask and betrayed no reaction. "Jarl Balgruuf, thank you, but I have a home," I stammered, vaguely aware that Proventus Avenicci had completed his bow and had now left to fulfil his task.

"Yes. And now you have another place where you may rest your head should you wish it," he finished for me swiftly. "You are the Dragonborn, and my Thane," he added, somewhat roughly. "Rooms shall be prepared for you, your housecarl and her daughter, to accommodate when you see fit, and all letters of enquiry shall be delivered to these rooms for you to reply as you see fit."

I nodded, closing my mouth, unwilling to contradict the Jarl. He was taking charge of the rumour; grabbing onto it firmly in his efforts to help me. With an odd sense of irony, I recalled how I had wished for the Jarl to accommodate me in Dragonsreach, all those weeks ago when I had first arrived in Whiterun and had no bed. Almost month had passed since then, and I was suddenly spoilt for choice.

"You honour me beyond that which I deserve," I insisted quietly. "But I am ever grateful for your patronage, my Jarl."

"It is time for Skyrim to know you. Know where you are," the Jarl concluded in a still aggravated grumble, "and who you have sworn allegiance to."

I lowered my head respectfully, realising finally that his anger, or at least some of it, could be attributed to jealousy. He was jealous that the Stormcloaks had laid this claim on me, when he, and the Companions, were the only with a right to do so.

This awareness of my position somewhat pressed and pulled at me, making me feel like a pawn; a rag-doll being tugged hither and thither. I clenched my eyes closed and sternly told myself to stop being so feeble-minded. Jarl Balgruuf and Kodlak had sheltered me, at my own request, not demanded that I serve them! They did have claim on me, and not only through a myriad of titles and hierarchies. Both had a firm claim on my loyalty, which I gave to them freely; a claim that I would have told to the far reaches of Skyrim and beyond; one that I would unfalteringly stand up to protect, and defend against whatever met me in the future.

I raised my head; the extent of my troth overwhelming me with a bright, heady emotion akin to pride. "Thank you," I said quietly, truthfully.

The Jarl lost some of the militance to his manner as he glanced over me, and then he half-smiled, briefly, in reply.

"You shall have the pick of my finest guest rooms, Celeste," he determined. "Go now with my daughter, and make your decision known to her," he motioned to someone beyond, and after a moment a tall, slightly pudgy, pretty girl of about twelve years joined us. She had chestnut-blonde hair, twisted into two braids nestled at the back of her neck, and wore a fine, straight dress of burgundy velvet with white lace sleeves encasing her arms to the wrist.

"Father?" she curtsied. I detected a hint of boredom to her tone.

I stared at the girl-child; I had never seen, or heard of the Jarl's daughter before this moment. Where had she been hiding? Where was her mother? Did he have more children?

"Dagny, take Thane Passero to the upper levels and show her the guest rooms. She is to take residence of whichever room she deems meets her need. Return to me with her decision at once," he decreed.

"As you like, Father," she sighed this time, somewhat sullenly I thought, then turned her canny, hazel eyes on me. "This way," she motioned toward the staircase that I knew lead to the war room, then started toward it, not minding to look back and see if I was following.

I hastened after the girl; Lydia a step behind me, as ever. Dagny lead us across the war room and up another flight of stairs. She spoke frequently, and haughtily, and I didn't miss how her assessing eyes glanced over my inexpensive training garb, openly judgemental, nor how her lips curled into a grimace when she glanced to my Legion boots.

"You're the Dragonborn?" she asked me at once point with extreme doubt, punctuated by a raising of her thin eyebrow.

"Yes, that's right," I managed with as much air as I could muster under the circumstances.

"And what exactly were you, before that?" she all but sneered.

I felt Lydia tense behind me, but knew she would not dare reprimand a Jarl's daughter. I was on my own, in fielding this little sabrecat.

Placing a consoling hand on Lydia's arm for a moment, I smiled warmly at Dagny, reasoning that I could befriend her, if I chose my words carefully. "Of course. We haven't been properly introduced, have we?" I curtsied to the girl, in the respectful manner I had given her more deserving father. "I am Celeste Passero, daughter of Samuel Passero, who was Thane to the High King of Skyrim. Before I was Dragonborn, I lived in Solitude," I smiled.

The disdain in her hazel eyes flashed with a hint of longing, but she blinked and it was gone. She turned and 'hmphed', leading Lydia and I on, up another flight of stairs.

I cast Lydia a smile, knowing that the girl had been somewhat shamed into a temporary silence, though I knew her type from my former life. It wouldn't last.

When next she spoke, Dagny sounded bored, indicating rooms behind closed doors. "Over there are my rooms, and my brothers' own the next two. That's father's wing," she indicated an open, arched doorway which showed a richly-furnished sitting room, "which you may not have, no matter how he bestows favours on you," she cast me a suspicious glare.

I nodded soberly to the girl, though I wanted to laugh at her apparent reason for disliking me! "I would never presume-"

"Of course you wouldn't," she muttered dismissively, with some sarcasm behind her response. She led us on to another set of double-doors, which revealed a furnished hallway containing doors on both walls. "If you are to have any room, you may choose from those on the right of this hallway. Those on the left are already occupied, by father's housecarls and stewards."

With that, Dagny flounced onto one of the carved bench seats littering the hallway, evidently determining that her duty to me was done for now, and she only had to await my decision before she could be free of me.

Lydia and I continued alone. The moment we were inside of the first room, which was a drawing room before a single bedroom, she rounded on me.

"You are not serious about living here?" she asked, a pleading note to her otherwise straight question. "The Jarl does not ask his Thanes to live with him – this appointment will fuel rumours-"

"Please," I took her hands, giving her an imploring glance. "I didn't ask for this," I looked around the room we were in. "I just...couldn't see any reason to refuse him. I am very grateful for all the Jarl has done for me," I told her honestly. "And I will not insult him."

Lydia turned her eyes down, considering. "I suppose it would be useful to have somewhere for the people of Skyrim to address letters, so that Breezehome isn't overcome."

I nodded, releasing her. "We don't have to use it. And poor little Lucia would get lost in the labyrinth of hallways we just traversed," I walked forward, glancing about and wincing at the room's bright, somewhat offensive décor. I pressed on to check the bedroom, though I had already made up my mind to not take this one. "I would never quit Breezehome," I shuddered at the equally-lavish bedroom, turning back to Lydia, who was the only inoffensive thing in the room, and still by my side. "Not for all the castles of all the Lords in all of Tamriel."

She smiled, genuinely, chucking her arm over my shoulder. "Me either. Come on," she turned me away from the bright bedroom with a dramatic sigh. "We must endeavour to complete this solemn quest before us forthwith, lest the Princess be left to idle in the hallway with none to lavish attention on her."

I snorted a laugh as Lydia dropped her arm, and we left the bright room to step back into the dull hallway, proceeding to each room until we located one that we could comfortably sit and sleep in, should a time come that it be required I remain in Dragonsreach.

It was at the very end of the hallway, and made smaller than the other rooms by the roundness of the far wall, clearly in sympathy to the outer wall's architecture. Like all other rooms, the inner walls were a combination of plastered white, and carved wooden panels, as was the traditional Nord fashion for homes of antiquity. There were high ceilings crossed with thick wooden beams, from which a series of hanging lanterns drooped; all cold and unlit. The room was aired and dust-free, so it was clear that it was being managed by Dragonsreach's staff, but it must have been seldom used, given its small aspect and general feeling of abandonment.

It was this feeling that drew me to take it, ultimately, for I felt its potential had been overlooked. The drawing room, furnished in a natural maple wood with cream, dove-grey and ivory linens draped throughout, led to two separate bedrooms. The maple furniture and muted colours continued, giving the chambers an airy feeling. The master bedroom contained an enormous, double-glazed window behind the bed, portraying a beautiful midday vista of the vast, rich green and golden plains beyond the city walls, and the purpled mountain ranges beyond that. The sky was azure, creased with thin, straight lines of pure white clouds close to the horizon. The brilliant scene contrasted exquisitely with the soft tone of the chamber.

This felt like a room that a version of myself could live in; reminiscent of my life in Solitude, when everything had been fine polished woodwork and elegant fabrics, where I had spent my days absorbed in music and the arts. What a privileged life I had led, without even realising it to be so. Had I once been perceived as spoilt, like Dagny?

These thoughts were still in my mind when Lydia and I, having made our mutual decision to take the end room, returned to the petulant girl. She had, in our prolonged absence, plucked the flowers from a nearby potted dragon's tongue plant, and had been weaving a wreath from the orange blooms, which looked like a ball of stilled fire against the deep, shifting reds of her dress.

"Finally," she muttered as we joined her, rising with her flower wreath clutched before her, almost defensively. "Did you check every room?" she asked with some annoyance.

"We did," I inclined my head toward her, suddenly feeling a little sorry for her; or rather, for our making fun of her earlier. She was a product of her upbringing, but still just a child. And I was certainly in no position to judge her. "Thank you for your patience," I decided to be kind in the face of her snapping, for I doubted that aside from her father, the girl saw much true kindness from anybody.

"And?" she prompted, turning to face me fully; her eyes expectant.

I smiled easily in reply, and told her which room we had decided to take.

She seemed confused, for an instant, and then her trademark sneer returned. "But of course, somebody who lived in Solitude would be used to living in small spaces," she scorned, and turned to lead us back to the throne room.

"On the contrary," I fell into step beside her, determined to not be fazed by her attempt at snobbery. "Proudspire Manor, my father's house – now mine –" cast her a pointed glance, "contains three levels of rooms, made from the very same slate, granite and mortar that the Blue Palace is wrought from. It overlooks the Sea of Ghosts and the Palace itself of course," I sighed, calling back on what I could for the sake of this challenge Dagny had awakened in me, though my amusement swiftly quailed as my heart took hold of my recollections. "At the college festivals, of which there are many, you could sit on one of the third floor balconies, and watch the fire sprites as they were carried away below you, like a glittering, living stream that rushed to join the sea, and the music and dancing would carry on until sunrise..." I sighed, determining that I had said enough, for I did not wish to be reminded further of that fanciful life now behind me.

Dagny didn't respond at once, though I felt her eyes on me. I didn't meet her questing glances with my own for a time.

"Why would anybody choose to leave such a place?" she asked eventually; her tone still mocking.

Perhaps it was merely her usual tone, I told myself with an internal sigh. "I meant to go to my grandparents in the Imperial City," I suddenly wondered why I had allowed myself be roused and exposed by a peevish twelve-year-old. "But then – this Dragonborn business happened. So I must remain, whether I am wanted, or not," I gave her a sideways glance finally.

Her hazel gaze was still observing me, also sideways, but when I met her eye this time, she looked away hastily. She turned us down a staircase, but she chose not to reply to me. We were in the war room suddenly and it came upon me that there was no way I would remember how to find our room. I hoped that Lydia had been paying attention.

Once I had taken my leave of Dragonsreach, and Lydia, I made my way back to Jorrvaskr alone, feeling more subdued than I had when I had left Kodlak and Farkas. The reminder of the life I had once led was not as shocking to me as it might have been had I recalled it prior, but it was still a cause for melancholy and regret, in what I had taken for granted, and what I could never have, in its whole, ever again. Returning to the Bard's college and completing my final year seemed as out of reach as becoming a legendary warrior, somehow.

Farkas had not been overly busy while I had been away, though the large Nord seemed flustered enough by the two jobs he had taken down. He thrust the key back into my hand, explaining the details of the jobs that had come in. I didn't want to offend him by checking his work, so I merely thanked him quietly and threaded the key back onto my chain.

"Also, I fixed the training dummy," he swung his hand out to indicate the figure I had decapitated earlier.

The sight of the wooden dummy, its head secured lower to its neck pole than any of its brothers with strips of leather, lightened the mood a little, making me smile.

I placed my hand on Farkas' forearm in thanks. "That was my job," I raised an eyebrow to him.

"You would have just bungled it," he flashed me a half-smirk. "Ready to get back to work after all your slacking off?"

"Soon, but first," I sighed, lowering my hand. "I must tell you about a letter I received this morning."

–

The rumour arrived in Whiterun three days later, but as the Jarl had seen to circulating my whereabouts and activities prior, and as I had been telling all who would hear me of the approaching rumour's falsity, it was snuffed out as swiftly as it had blown in. Not even the Grey-Manes, for all their open Stormcloak support, seemed to hold any hope in its accuracy; their glares grew somewhat more spiteful toward me when we happened to pass each other in the street. Within Jorrvaskr, Vignar avoided me entirely.

Yet still, two days later, another rumour reached the town to cast doubt on all we had striven to repair, and rally the confidence of the people who wished to believe I had secretly sided with the usurper. Word had it that the Dragonborn had been part of a raid of the ancient Nordic ruin, Korvanjund, which was only a day's march north of Whiterun. It was said that I had led the Stormcloaks to seize the Jagged Crown, only to have it stolen by the Imperials once we had emerged victorious.

On the edge of my awareness, as Kodlak related this latest rumour to me one morning, I realised this must have been the artefact Hadvar's platoon had been searching for; had he not mentioned it to be a crown? Had he been present – had he seen who the Stormcloaks had created in my place for himself?

With Lydia's fears confirmed – the Stormcloaks did have an analogue female playing the part of Dragonborn for their own machinations – I felt a keen sense of disgust in the woman who had sold her soul, and her name, to adopt mine so blithely and do Ulfric's work.

"Calm yourself, little dove," Kodlak schooled kindly. "As with the preceding rumour, this one will disperse within these walls."

I drew my gaze toward him, from the nothings I had been staring at while I had simmered silently. "I am calm," I assured him steadily.

The old warrior gave me a crooked smile. "Your eyes, and heart, tell a different story."

I bristled at this reminder that I was always to be exposed to the Circle, but there was no point in denying his superior senses. He did not want to know my feelings, I reminded myself. It was not Kodlak's fault. I leaned back in my seat, staring to the ceiling, and took some deep, calming breaths; the first of which was exhaled as a furious rush of hot air.

"I wish to meet this woman they have acting my part," I told Kodlak, though I felt more calm than I had for my momentary pause. I turned back to the Harbinger, and stared straight into those knowing, silvery depths as I continued. "I wish to look her in the eye, and ask her if Ulfric killed her parents. When I have my answer from her, I will FUS her across the room."

Kodlak chuckled, placing a hand on my shoulder. "As would be your right, I expect. But beware seeking vengeance for vengeance's sake, little dove, for it builds a tower of retribution on precarious foundations. Built it too high, and it will topple down on those who constructed it."

As always with Kodlak, I felt that there was something more to what he was relating; perhaps he intended a lesson for me behind his words, or perhaps not. Did he know of Aela and Farkas' midnight journeys to continue seeking their justice for what had happened to Skjor? He must have, by now, yet still they ventured forth. Or did he know of, and warn me of my ultimate, personal quest, to hunt down Ulfric Stormcloak and use his thu'um against him once I had mastered it?

Kodlak was my superior, in experience and situation, so I clamped down on my pique and merely nodded, thanking him for advising me of this latest rumour. I returned to the yard, where Farkas was waiting for me.

Farkas and I spoke little for the rest of the day, and instead put all of our efforts into our training. He seemed as absorbed by his thoughts as I was, though I doubted that the man was vexed over the same piece of information that I was.

During one of our breaks, late in the afternoon, where I marked a job of Njada's complete and gave the woman her money, I closed the book and caught sight of Farkas in the failing light.

I frowned. His shoulders were slumped; his face was turned up, searching the horizon. In regarding his tired-looking, grim face, I berated myself for internalising yet again, when I had promised to notice, and assist my shield-siblings where I might.

I stood, moving to join him in the centre of the yard, and readied my stance to resume our short sword session. Through his guidance, or perhaps through my gaining some small strength of muscle, I was now able to wield it for periods of time with one hand.

"Are you worried about him?" I asked Farkas, assuming that his thoughts were on his brother. Vilkas had been gone for almost two weeks now, though Kodlak had assured me that there was no reason for concern when I had mentioned it to him. He had said that Vilkas was the sort of man who took his time with a task; who scouted his target from a distance, and waited for the right moment to strike.

I had shuddered at the darkness Kodlak had invoked with this picture he had painted of Vilkas, and I shuddered now as Farkas' eyes turned down to me sadly; the usually open, merry face one of tormented guilt.

He raised his sword to meet mine. "I don't know," he admitted. "I worry about a lot of things."

The touch of his sword was his unspoken direction to commence my attack. I swung high, restarting the form I had first been taught by my current teacher's brother.

"It's only natural," I continued, managing not to startle for once as Farkas' block met my arcing swing with practised ease. "I have a twin, too," I grit my teeth, pushing against his sword to gain some strength from the pressure for my next movement.

Farkas met it, propelling my sword out of my hand with barely a flick of his wrist.

I cursed, my shoulders slumping as I bent to retrieve it. I met Farkas' eyes when I rose.

"You have a twin?" he looked perplexed. "Brother or sister?"

"Sister," I replied, returning to my previous stance and beginning the form again, now silent. If Farkas wished to speak of an anxiety he felt over his brother's journey, I had laid enough ground for him to do so, but I would not squeeze it out of him.

After a few minutes of sparring, Farkas parried my attack and with a swift turn of his wrist, pushed me back from him with his forearm.

I staggered, fighting to correct my balance before I fell on my behind.

"Where is she?" Farkas asked directly as he watched me righting my position. "She wasn't-?"

"Wayrest," I sighed, holding my sword out before me again, then flushed when I realised how far from him I was; shuffling forward so that I was within attack range. "She's with my mother's parents."

"Do you miss her?" Farkas asked at once.

"Sometimes," I shrugged, touching my blade to his that I would continue. In truth, I felt it nearly impossible to miss Giselle; we had been of separate hearts and minds for so long as to be strangers to one another, but for our common blood.

I attacked, spurred on by my resentment over her ambivalence toward me, when Farkas and Vilkas had, through all of their adversity, remained close. I had found more love amongst the people I had met over the past month than my sister had exhibited toward me over the course of several years.

Farkas blocked my blow with what looked like no effort, then said in a lowered voice. "I hate it when Vilkas is away."

I pushed off him and swept my blade lower. "I can see that. I am quite envious of your devotion to one other."

Farkas mistook my meaning, it seemed. "You think we're too single-minded, don't you?"

"What?" I couldn't hide my confused smile at his odd reply, though it felt as though Farkas had used my flippant statement as an excuse to speak something that was plaguing him. Now we were getting somewhere.

I lowered my sword, holding my hand up for a break, realising that I was panting from exertion. Holding conversation and sparring was strangely exhausting. "I meant that I wish my sister loved me," I gasped, putting my hands on my hips as I leaned over slightly to capture my breath.

"Oh," Farkas replied, his cheeks adopting a redness that I realised, with a start, was embarrassment. Warning bells sounded in my mind at the sight; something was very wrong.

"Farkas, what is the matter?" I let my sword fall to the ground, closing the space between him and embracing him in a firm hug; never hesitating and knowing that the gesture would be wanted, and accepted by him. He was too good natured to rebuke it, and at that moment seemed more like a kicked puppy than a fearsome predator.

After his startle at being touched, which I had expected and accounted for, Farkas sank into my arms, resting his chin on the top of my head. "Celeste, I've done wrong," he grumbled simply. "I couldn't see it before. But last night we – Aela and I, I mean..." he stopped short. I felt all of the muscles in his body suddenly tense.

"It's all right," I encouraged, pulling back from him. "Go to Kodlak, and tell him all. He'll know-"

"Quiet!" he hissed hurriedly.

Startled by his sudden ferocity, I lowered my hands and looked to him properly. His whole body seemed taut; his eyes were narrowed and coloured on that dangerous brink between silver and gold. He was staring above me; at some point beyond me, and completely still.

I spun around, seeing nothing but the curls of smoke rising from the Skyforge, and Dragonsreach behind that.

Hesitantly, I turned back to Farkas, raising an eyebrow. "What-?" I whispered.

"Run," he growled, sounding more beast than man, stepping forward and pushing me toward Jorrvaskr.

I stumbled and landed on my hands and knees, turning back to him at once as acute fear leapt into my throat, choking my words. "Farkas, what is happening?"

He leaned down to grab my cast off training short sword in his free hand, wielding both his and mine now, as the doors to Jorrvaskr burst open. I whirled around in the dust like a startled doe, and saw both Kodlak and Aela hurtle out of the building. Their eyes were livid; their expressions blazing with ire. On Aela's face it made the fierce warrior look as imposing as I had ever seen her, but seeing it on Kodlak's features twisted my heart and made me scramble back in horror. Other Companions not of the Circle filed out after the pair, their weapons at the ready, but they seemed as confused as I felt.

Aela paid me no mind as usual, but Kodlak's eyes burned a savage gold as they noticed me.

"Go home!" he commanded, effortlessly dragging me to my feet then pushing past me with his battleaxe raised.

"I am home!" spun around, grabbing his arm and meeting his enraged eyes with pleading ones.

"Then get inside!" he ordered in a growl, shaking off my hold, but the contact, or perhaps my fear, seemed to have mollified him a little. He glanced toward the Skyforge hastily, then turned back to me. "If you will not leave us, you must hurry inside. They are coming. Lock yourself in my room," he said in a lower, rushed voice, handing me a key from some recess in his armour.

He placed the key in my palm, and then met my eyes again, pleading; no trace of gold remaining.

I hesitated still, biting my bottom lip as an awareness as sharp and painful to my heart as a spear told me that if I ran and hid, like a coward, I would never see him again.

Overwhelmed by the notion, I shook my head, but Kodlak had already left me to join Aela, Farkas, and the other Companions.

I am a Companion, I insisted. I will not leave them.

I raced to grab my bow and what arrows I had left in the quiver from target practise. The sound of stone scraping against stone cracked through the charged afternoon air like a whip, and I turned, raising my bow, arrow at the ready to defend those I cared for with my life against whatever emerged from the underforge.