Chapter 31: The Dragonborn's Nemesis

"Let me face her," I muttered, storming to the window.

"Wait, and think," Vilkas hissed, throwing his arms around me to keep me from crashing out of the building and alerting the Stormcloaks immediately. "You can't," he leant down, an urgent whisper. "They're here to take you to Windhelm. Think, Celeste," he repeated with a small shake. "The Stormcloaks have their Dragonborn. Why would they want you?"

A silent heartbeat passed and I forced myself to see past anger and question the move. If they were here to take me to Windhelm, they were here to take me to Ulfric.

"To silence me," I acknowledged through my teeth. I glanced to the lifeless, insubstantial stable yard, barely visible through the dark fog accumulated over the lake, its spectral tendrils reaching out to embrace the structure.

My blood boiled; I was so close to the woman pretending to be me and I couldn't face her. I tried to throw off my fury again, replace it with reason. "This goes against everything we know of their plans. They shouldn't care that I'm here, or anywhere, so long as I'm not in their way."

"Peace," Vilkas murmured, releasing me. "We made assumptions. We don't know enough for certain, and there's no time left to piece it together. We must go!"

With a glower, I agreed and finally climbed out the window, dropping behind the shrubby garden planted around the inn. I peered through the branches, but it was in vain; I could see and hear nothing unusual. There was only ghostly fog and shadows and still, black night.

Vilkas landed beside me with a faint crunch of boots on old snow, though remained standing to slide the window closed behind us. Then he was crouched down beside me, hand signals indicating we were to go underneath the building.

I stared at the grimy gap between the base of the inn and the dirt. The inn stood on stubbly stumps, lifted far enough from the frozen ground to create a buffer of air; if the floor were pressed to the earth directly, they would have needed more carpets and insulation within. I had to concede there was a space wide enough to crawl, but it would be cold, dirty, uncomfortable work, and I was already grumpy.

Vilkas turned without waiting for me to respond, then backed underneath the inn, feet first.

Sighing, I shuffled back and under, boots first as well. Once we were both underneath, Vilkas picked up tufts of stiff, dead grass and frozen leaf litter and used it to cover our boot impressions under the window and the tracks out hands and bodies made when we shuffled under the inn. Finally he scooped up a handful of fresh snow and scattered it over his work. At first glance – at second, even – all traces of our jump into the garden was gone.

But if they were searching for us – and, they were – it would not take long to realise we had barred the door and climbed out the window. I had to hope they wouldn't immediately figure out which way we'd gone.

"No. Remain here and question the boy further. He can't be as stupid as he's pretending to be," a commanding female voice cut through the night.

I froze. Booted footfalls marching across the ground followed her order. They were too frequent and out of time to determine numbers, but Vilkas had said there were eleven of them in total.

"I will do this myself," the voice added, clearer this time.

My heart leapt as I recognised the voice.

The footfalls drew closer. She was walking toward the inn, the one they were all calling Dragonborn.

And I knew her. I had known those tones for most of my life, but they were the last I expected to hear. The cadence was so similar to mine it might have been my very voice, but for a distinctive edge, too familiar for my ears, or heart, to ignore.

Impossible.

Vilkas' hand rest over mine and squeezed; encouragement, and a swift reminder, to stay on task.

But there was no force in all of Tamriel to dissuade my fierce need to hear her speak again, to confirm the worst. I tugged my hand away and stared from the edge of the inn's underbelly, waiting. I spied flashes of blue fabric, tanned armour and fur-lined boots between the lowest branches of the too-dense shrubs.

I couldn't see her, but she was right there, steps away from me! It took all of my willpower to stay where I was, to catch a glimpse of the woman who I feared would look, not just similar to me, but exactly like me.

"Secure the perimeter," her voice came again, a horrid sort of relief to my ears. The footsteps were sharper, more clipped; they'd reached the staircase leading to the inn's front door.

"There will be no excuse to save you if Giselle evades us," she added.

If Giselle...?! What?!

"At once, ma'am," a Stormcloak replied in a thick, drawling accent. The rest of his orders were obscured by the uneven beat of boots as the soldier's dispersed.

Vilkas' hand was on my back and he closed his hand, gripped my coat, trembling with unspoken desperation and repressed anger of his own; we were by no means safe here.

I turned on my hands and knees and crawled after him, as though there was a fire on our tails.

In a sense, there was.

I needed to focus, to escape with Vilkas, but my mind picked and prodded, panicking, working to dissuade me from believing what, who I'd heard. The hard-packed earth over what had to be the cold heart of Skyrim under my hands was my only distraction, and for now, it would have to be enough.

When we reached the opposite side of the building, we stopped, paused and observed.

My curiosity had ruined us – there wasn't enough time to crawl away. No sooner had we paused than a pair of footfalls drifted to me. Two pairs of legs, the blue of Stormcloak's colours fluttering about their knees, marched past our hiding place, inches from our faces.

They passed by, hesitating at the corner of the building, speaking for a moment in low murmurs unintelligible to me. Then they split up. One pair of legs disappeared from view, around the building, and the other turned and began to march back.

One, I thought, desperately. Only one. We can take one.

Vilkas evidently thought the same, though no words passed between us. The Stormcloak's boot landed in front of my nose, and his weight shifted, to continue on. He might have done so, had Vilkas not punched the nearest support pillar, creating a muted, but obvious, thump.

The Stormcloak paused. I froze, no idea of what was expected of me. Vilkas' hand fell to my shoulder, pushing backward - urging me to crawl back under the inn.

I scuttled back as the Stormcloak leaned down. He peered into our hiding spot, his brows furrowed.

Vilkas let out a low, beastly growl that froze me to the core. With a weighty sense of dread, I knew if I could see his eyes, they would be gold.

The Stormcloak had frozen to the spot as well, and it was his undoing; Vilkas' hand lashed out and his fingers closed around the soldier's neck. The man tried to pull back – to scream, but Vilkas was stronger and faster, and his expertly-placed hold prevented any noises from snaking out of the man's throat.

With a lurch and a painful crack as bone splintered against floor beams, Vilkas tugged the man under the building. I averted my eyes as my shield-brother swiftly twisted his grasp, but nothing could prevent me from hearing the man's neck snap under the force.

Stormcloak, I reminded myself.

Yes, a cruel inner-voice added. Who probably joined the war because he believed in you.

Not me. It would be impossible to continue under such a notion, so I made myself fling it aside. It didn't matter how the man had come to serve under Ulfric's banner! All that mattered was that he had.

Vilkas hastily shuffled and prodded the body, movements I took to mean he was relieving the soldier of some objects. I couldn't see anything, but with all his senses heightened, I had to trust him, and this time, I had to do what he asked, when he asked it.

His hand landed on my arm and he urged me closer; I complied, groping against the ground for the next landing for my hand. Vilkas led me back to the side of the building, and I could see again. The night was still dark, but our hiding place was darker, so my eyes had adjusted and everything not under the Nightgate seemed a little brighter.

Vilkas passed me something; I glanced down. A large, wooden shield. The soldier's, even though I could hardly make out the white bear painted onto its blue backing. He passed more to me: the soldier's arrows, my backpack, then his.

My eyes widened in horror; I understood why he was passing all our belongings to me. He was about to be rendered incapable of carrying anything.

His lips were on my ear before I could tell him no.

"Remember what you promised in Jorrvaskr, sister," he whispered. "When I tell you to run, you run."

My eyes widened; he was suggesting I go on alone. I shook my head in earnest, but he held me still so he could continue.

"Do not stop running for anything or anyone. I will find you. I swear on Kodlak's soul, I will find you," he finished fervently, then released me.

I met his eyes with a start; they were already a vivid, liquid amber. I had only ever seen them this bright when he'd been in his wolf form before me in the underforge. I had promised him I would not let him turn.

Vilkas turned away from me at once, glaring into the night. There was nothing I could say or do, and certainly no way to sing and bring him back down that might not draw the Stormcloaks to us also. There was nothing I could do to prevent him from turning. He'd worked out a means of escape, but I was horrified it meant he would have to expose himself. All I could do was loop the two backpacks over my shoulders, and wait for his signal.

He nodded once, without looking at me. "Go," he hissed, his voice absorbed by the night.

I scuttled out, bolted across the snow, skidded down an embankment, and gracelessly collapsed in a snowdrift.

Tears welled in my eyes and I forced myself up, clutching the shield Vilkas had thrust into my hands. I bit my lip to suppress a sob and agonised over whether I'd just abandoned Vilkas to his death, or worse.

A furious, beastly roar cut the night in half. Had I not bit my lip I would have screamed. The sound broke through my remorse, spurred me on, forcing me into a lumbering run through the snow. Vilkas would lead them away from me. He was faster, stronger in this form. He would lose them.

Don't shoot him, I begged, hazarding a glance behind me. I could see nothing but blurs and shadows through the fog, though shouts and orders came thick and fast from all directions, and the screams of fearful horses pierced the unfolding confusion.

Hoofbeats thundered while Stormcloaks shouted and Vilkas' wolf form raged while I ran, my muscles aching and lungs already burning. Whether Vilkas was aware of it or not – and I had to believe he was – by scattering the horses, he had brought us more time. Even with his wolf in control, Vilkas' strength of mind worked for us. The Stormcloaks, mounted, might have pursued me in a matter of minutes. The Stormcloaks on foot, without a clue of which direction I'd taken, might not. The scattered hoof prints would confuse the ground, and make it less likely they would find the path I was weaving through the snowy pines.

And what of Giselle, my mind forced me to ask?

As I ascended a hillside, I acknowledged who I had heard, back at the Nightgate inn. The false Dragonborn was my sister, using my name, my title, for Ulfric's cause. I couldn't fathom how or why or when she'd returned to Skyrim from Wayrest, or how she could align herself with the people who had murdered our parents and plunged Skyrim into war. But I could not deny what I had heard.

I was almost grateful I hadn't seen her, merely heard her. As I ran, I imagined I had launched myself out of our hiding place, FUS'd her across the snowy expanse, then leapt at her, screaming of her betrayal of our family; at her use of my name while insisting to others that I was her. She'd referred to me as Giselle, which told me one crucial sliver of information.

She was not Dragonborn; not like I was. Had she been able to Shout, she would have no reason to use my name. If she was Dragonborn like me, her allies would not have pursued me at all; they wouldn't need to, for she would have lacked no proof to validate their claims.

She was a mage, and she was my sister, but she was not the Dragonborn she claimed to be. What was she doing here?

I crested the hill then descended through a rocky, ice-lined streamlet, following the waterway for a time as it grew ever-deeper. I fumed all the while, my thoughts leaping between injustice and rage, and berating myself that I'd not realised what was going on sooner.

Of course the Stormcloaks believed the Dragonborn was on their side. Whoever had come up with the scheme had found the only woman in Tamriel who looked exactly like me to play my part.

But it didn't make any sense. Giselle had always been wilful and contrary, but at her heart she was strong, and loyal, and true. She was a Passero and I could not believe she would stoop so low out of spite. Something was wrong.

A spark of dismay flared within me. Perhaps Giselle had been brainwashed or blackmailed into joining them. Perhaps she was being coerced. Perhaps something had occurred, something crazy, that had indebted Giselle to the Stormcloaks.

Or perhaps she has sided with the Stormcloaks and you simply don't understand what's motivating her. All you know is what you heard.

I sloshed on through the water, minding my footing as I chewed futilely over Giselle's involvement in the war. When the water became too deep for me to continue without drenching my legs and filling my boots, which had protected me from the icy flow thus far, I climbed out and continued on through the desolate, snowy wilds.

After several more inclines, I came across a road: hard packed earth, devoid of snow. Hesitating at the edge of it to catch my breath, I looked both ways, several times, before hastily crossing it and disappearing into the tree line on the other side.

I could not take the roads, or goat tracks, or any path that a person might wander. That would lead to swift, certain capture, and...

And what, I taunted? Giselle won't kill you. If you go to her, you can question her, find out what she was doing. Help her, if she's being kept under duress.

Still I persisted with the slim chance Giselle wasn't part of this farce of her own choosing.

No, I countered, clinging to the escape as the right course of action. If you go to her, she will take you straight to Ulfric. And the last time you stood before him, he did order you be tortured and disposed of.

I shuddered at the memory of the bear-like Jarl towering over me, gripping my chin to make me look at him, before he told Ralof who I was, and gave his order.

I unwittingly glared across the expanse as I ran. If I had been determined to kill Ulfric Stormcloak before, I was pledged to destroy him now.

As I jogged through the snow, the darkness gradually turned grey. Dawn was nigh but the skies and stars were shielded by thick, low clouds.

It began to snow.

It was only a light dusting, drifting lazily from the closed-in heavens, but the first tiny speck landing on my nose served as a bit of a wake-up. It forced me out of my internal agony and made me pay attention to where I was, and where I might go. The snow would cover my tracks, but the fall could thicken, and it was tantamount to suicide to run through a storm. I had no idea where I was, which direction I was running in, or if there was a settlement near by. I had to find shelter before the snow worsened, and then remain and wait for Vilkas.

If he lives.

I shook my head, my resolve hardening, refusing to entertain any notion other than: Vilkas is alive and he will find me.

Making for the dark, shadowed cliffs I'd been skirting around, I searched for crevices large enough to shelter in. I didn't bother searching for a cave; they were the homes of bears and sabre cats, and I was too drawn out to attempt to fight anything.

It didn't take long to find a gap between the dark protrusions, large enough to keep me in and the snow out, overhung by a smaller boulder wedged above. I ducked inside, crouching to lay down the Stormcloak shield, then sat on it, tucking my legs underneath my chin and staring into the pre-dawn. The snow fall gradually thickened, spiralling as the wind caught and clumped together the tiny flakes.

I didn't feel cold, but then, I'd been exerting myself for some hours now. My breaths laboured, my chest burned, but the real pain was in my legs, muting all others. I fumbled through our backpacks for food and potions, and was successful in both pursuits. After taking my fill and washing down a healing potion with water, my muscles began to unlock and anything I had damaged unwittingly began to re-knit. I closed my eyes with relief, relishing the warmth of the potion coursing through me.

Thud.

The rocks shook and I opened my eyes. The snow had stopped and I could see patches of bright, blue sky. I startled, realising I had fallen asleep. Of all the idiotic things to do in a snow storm! I could have frozen to death, or been found by a hungry pack of wolves, or anything!

But what had woken me? I stopped berating myself to focus on the thump. An animal? A dream? A Stormcloak? Vilkas?

I rose stiffly and grappled for my bow, drawing it off my shoulder and fumbling for an arrow. With shaking hands – from the cold, I assured myself – I placed it, then leaned against the rocky cliff, took a steadying breath, turned and aimed.

The snow around my hideaway was unmarked. I glanced swiftly, noticing the snow was pristine, untouched, in all directions.

Whoosh.

A shadow loomed over me.

I bit down a scream, skirting back into my shelter, bow still raised but aimed at nothing. I ducked and looked up, but could see nothing moving through the gap.

With a thudding CRASH, the ground rolled under my feet. Flecks of dirt and small stones rained down from the roof of my tiny cavern.

There was a screech –

"Daar dur gein fent stinaan fod diivonaan!"

– and a reply, a roar, deep and throaty, further away.

I recognised one with a jolt of terror, and my mind filled the blanks for the other, unasked: This cursed one shall be freed when swallowed!

"Vilkas!"

He had tracked me – and he was out there – with a dragon!

I arched around the rock, peering skyward, and saw the dragon at once; it was impossible to miss, perched on the rocks directly above me. It was smaller than the ones I'd encountered in Helgen and at the Western watchtower.

Its scales were brown and its wings were folded close to its body, its eyes narrowed and focussed on its chosen adversary.

I followed its gaze and spotted him. Loping through the snow was the huge, black-furred werewolf: Vilkas.

The dragon leaned out and opened its maw. A warm glow started to pool within.

Without thinking, I aimed my arrow and fired up, at the creature's head. The moment my arrow loosed, I retreated, pressed my back against the rock again. My eyes slammed closed as the dragon screeched indignantly.

"Mal nin!"

My arrow had met its mark: Little sting!

Vilkas let out a snarl, and the dragon seemed to shake itself, and screeched in reply as my transformed shielf-brother launched himself through the air, and clung onto the dragon's neck.

My arrow had bought Vilkas the time he needed to reach the dragon. Now I had to do my part to make sure he lived long enough to come back to himself.

I turned, grabbing another arrow and taking aim as I watched the dragon throw its head around as it tried to toss the werewolf from it.

I fired at the dragon's flank - I didn't want to shoot my shield-brother. As it keened and tried to turn to see who had shot it, the werewolf slashed its claws along the dragon's neck and bit down its jaw, locking himself into place.

The dragon didn't seemed to know which way to turn. The few times it tried to fly off or breathe fire, one of us would already be attacking it, and it would stop to try deal with that. While the werewolf struck, I would hide and ready my next arrow, and when the dragon was distracted by Vilkas, I would fire.

The dragon, only perhaps three times larger than Vilkas' werewolf, didn't stand a chance, I realised dully, as I fired another arrow into its thick hide. The thought brought me both a sense of victory, and an unaccountable sense of dread.

It must have been young, in relative dragon years. Again, I stepped out of my hiding place to fire again at the struggling creature. My heart lurched in dismay as the beast reared up in pain, then shuddered its death throes.

The werewolf remained on its back until the dragon's head had crashed down onto the ground, rendered clear of snow by the struggle. Then he launched himself off the dragon, and bounded toward me, his mouth curled into a snarl.

I had readied another arrow and swiftly took aim at him, startled by the fury I saw in the werewolf's gaze.

"Vilkas, stop!" I commanded, stepping back unconsciously, knowing that no matter how I threatened or how he ran, I couldn't fire an arrow at him. "Brother! It's over!"

The werewolf hesitated, slowing and tilting his head as though confused. Beside him, the fallen dragon began to shimmer and sparkle. Distracted, Vilkas' werewolf caught sight of the brightness and snapped his jaws, uttering a warning growl to the felled dragon. The felled, glittering dragon.

Oh. Oh no. It's going to happen again, isn't it?

I ran out to the clearing, lowering my bow and squaring my stance as a false wind, created by the dragon's own soul, whipped around us. The white-gold brightness coalesced from the creature and surged toward me.

Dimly, I was aware of Vilkas' wolf staring at me. The thought that he might have been the beast for too long fled my mind as the dragon's soul struck my chest. As with the last dragon, the brightness surrounded and blinded me to all else. A rushing filled my ears, thrumming tunelessly like a drum as my mind stretched to make room for this new inhabitant. The whiteness faded as the flickering brightness coiled around my soul; at the same time trapping, and protecting it.

My vision cleared and the werewolf was before me still, though behind its fur I could make out the faint outline of a man with a bright, erratically-thumping heart. I reached toward him, surprised to see my pale hands trembling. Taken aback, I blinked, and when my eyes opened again, the vision faded. My boots were on solid ground; my arms ached dully, from the strain of firing so many arrows one after the other.

The werewolf regarded me with its narrowed, golden eyes, but didn't move.

Throwing him a sympathetic smile, I took a step, my palm out to him in offering.

"Come on," I beckoned.

The werewolf's eyes flickered briefly from me, to my hand, then to me again, its - his uncertainty plain.

"You can come back, now, Vilkas."

He leaned down to nose my palm, snuffling hot air over my hand.

I huffed an easy, comfortable laugh; the breath tickled. The werewolf met my eyes, startled and standing tall as the uncertain look in his eyes transformed into one of pleading.

I knew what he wanted; what he needed, and with my heart and mind made luminous and bold from the dragon's soul, I sang Vilkas back to himself.

The transformation was gradual, slower than the previous time. I had to assume it took longer because Vilkas had been transformed for so much longer. A shudder rippled through, wondering how long he could maintain this form before he would lose himself, as the creatures in Driftshade refuge had.

But the concern slipped away, unable to find purchase against the dragon's soul, and Vilkas was soon himself again, crashing down to his hands and knees beside the dried bones of the dragon we had slain. His armour was gone, his skin exposed to the elements.

Hastily, I threw off my quiver and chucked off my coat, then knelt down, bundling it in my hands and placing the offering in his line of sight. "Here."

Vilkas tensed as he looked at the material, staring unseeing for a good few seconds. His now-silvery eyes glanced up to me eventually, wide and questioning, but he still said nothing. They flickered over me, the look turning to realisation, to recognition.

He moved suddenly, grasping onto my coat and covering his crotch as he sat back, on his knees.

"Thank you," he muttered.

I smiled and laughed, relieved to hear him speak. "I have the rest of our things, back by the mountainside."

I gave him what privacy I could and made directly for the place I had left our packs, and heard him rise, then a shuffle of cloth. I knelt on the Stormcloak shield to search through Vilkas' bag, hoping he'd brought a spare tunic or something.

The pad of Vilkas' bare feet came to me, and he crouched down beside me; my coat tied by the arms around his front.

"Let me," he murmured gruffly, reaching for his pack.

I shuffled back to give him room to move.

His expression was grim as he rifled through his bag, and he looked so utterly withdrawn that I faltered before speaking to him.

But I couldn't hold my tongue for long.

"What happened to the Stormcloaks?"

He half shrugged as he pulled a pair of trousers from his bag. "Most of them fled. A few pursued me, including your sister," he rose and turned away, to untie my coat and shuffle into his trousers. "But I gave them the slip."

I averted my eyes, blood surging madly at his pronouncement. "So, you know," I muttered.

"How could I not?" he huffed.

I squeezed my eyes with regret.

When the rustling sound ceased, Vilkas spoke again, closer to me.

"How long have you known?" he rumbled.

I peered at him. "I had no idea, until last night. When did you find out?" I accused.

Vilkas' expression was too calm, too steady. He handed my coat back. "It's cold. You'd better put this back on."

I stared, unimpressed at the shirtless man with bare feet in front of me, lecturing me about the cold.

He sighed and ducked back down to withdraw a thin-looking tunic from his pack.

I shrugged my coat on, then I adjusted my quiver over the top. "How did you know the false Dragonborn was my sister?" I repeated.

This time, he didn't hesitate, back to me as he chucked on the tunic. "You smell the same."

"We what?"

His head popped out of the neck hole, and he shook his shaggy mane out of his eyes, pulling the tunic over his torso. "Do you want me to lie?" he fixed me with a look. "Your hearts," he confirmed, nodding toward me. "They smell the same. It happens that way, with twins."

Inwardly, I shrank back. I had assumed he'd heard them speaking of her – me – in the stables. "That's horrible," I muttered. "I'm nothing like her."

"In mind and choice, perhaps not," Vilkas stood again, shouldering his pack, and mine. He was too calm – too steady, given what we were discussing. It made me want to rage at him.

"In heart," he shrugged, "in soul - you are the same."

My mouth twitched and I narrowed my eyes at him. "Giselle is a traitor to the Empire, and a traitor to the name Passero. She and I are not alike."

"That's not what I meant," Vilkas cast me a level look. "Come on. We need to go before any more dragons sniff you out."

I humphed and trudged after him. "What happens to your armour when you transform?" I asked grumpily, an attempt to find a topic that didn't revolve around myself and my family. "Won't anybody recognise it when they find it, and figure out what you are?" I added.

Vilkas shook his head. "It won't be found," given the subject matter, I was surprised he answered me at all. "At least, not in a form that resembles anything but bent pieces of steel."

He didn't seem worried about it, or about the cold snow he was padding through, bare-foot. He actually didn't seem that upset about letting his wolf take hold of him, either, which I found odd. His calm nonchalance, the inappropriate clothing – it was somehow more disconcerting than Vilkas in his werewolf form. I shuddered, crossing my arms over my chest against the chill, and turned my eyes to the snow.

Of course, his senses picked up my withdrawal, and he turned over his shoulders to smirk at me. "Easy, shield-sister," he rumbled. "I can smell the dragon on you. Do I need to sing you down? Because I doubt you'll thank me for that."

He turned away again, and I watched his back with furrowed brows as he continued paving the way. With a small start, I realised why he was so calm; it was empathy. He was giving me, and my soul, space to recover. The fine hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.

"I'm not turning into a dragon," I muttered, to myself really, suppressing another shudder.

Before Vilkas could reply, I asked him about the horses, and if there was any hope in retrieving them.

He told me there was not; we were too far from the Nightgate. My run had taken me further west than he had thought it would, placing us on the border of the Pale and Hjaalmarch. If we continued west a little further, we would meet one of the main roads leading back to Whiterun.

A flush crept over my cheeks; I had thought I'd been running north. I hadn't been able to tell, due to the fog, the lack of stars, the distractions on my mind...

I sighed to find myself back at Giselle, and wondered if I should write a letter to her, once I was back in Whiterun. I dismissed the idea immediately; any letter I wrote would fall into the hands of my true enemy. Had Ulfric ordered she come for me, to convince me to join them? Or, was it as Vilkas had intimated; that he wanted me retrieved so that he could imprison me, if not silence me?

The note I'd written must have prompted them to come for some reason, I determined. They would never have known I was in the Pale, had their agents not killed the Imperial scout, and taken my letter. Furthermore, they would surely not have bothered acting against me, had something in my letter not disturbed them.

I tried desperately to think back over what I had written, but I had done it so hastily, unable at the time to dwell over my words. I could only recall the most basic information. I'd thanked Hadvar for his warning of the rumours, advised him the General hadn't written to me yet, and told him how much I missed him, for it had been only hours since I'd realised that what I felt for him was love, and I'd wished to express it. That had been all, I was sure of it.

While Vilkas picked out a path across the thinning snow, I mused and decided: no. There was nothing incriminating in my letter. And, there was nothing in it to make them go after Hadvar. It would serve no purpose.

Still, my heart raced. You were wrong in interpreting the Stormcloak's logic in the past, I reminded myself sharply. If they want you, perhaps they will go after Hadvar, to try and secure your cooperation.

Vilkas sighed, and when I looked up I saw he had stopped, and turned back, and was waiting for me. He had a somewhat exasperated, sympathetic look on his face, and I took this to mean that he had sensed what, or who I was thinking about.

I stopped before him, my arms crossed. "I can't help it," I told him quietly.

"I know," he sighed again, stepping up beside me and drawing me under his arm.

He started walking again, and I fell into step beside him. I was a little surprised to feel the warmth still emanating from Vilkas' form, given his state of dress. The man was a furnace!

We walked in silence for a short moment, then, "Did you hear why they came for me?" I asked.

He shook his head, eyes on the horizon. "They arrived, questioned the stable boy about a woman who had passed through a day or two ago, who looked like the Dragonborn they had with them. They mentioned the woman they were searching for was wanted urgently in Windhelm. They spoke nothing of motive."

I frowned, realising they had not expected to find me at the Nightgate inn. They had been following my trail, and it was only because we backtracked from Driftshade that they happened upon us.

But there would be no such confusion about the Imperial Legion camp in the Pale. My heart wrung in remorse as I thought again of Hadvar's position. Vilkas' arm around me tightened.

Hadvar was a soldier in an encampment of soldiers, but if there was the slightest chance Ulfric would give a retrieval order against him, be it to secure, or spite me, I had to do something.

"I have to warn him," I shuddered.

"Write to him, the moment we return," Vilkas supplied at once. "Write to the General of the Legion army, too. I'm sure they will find the whereabouts of your sister...interesting."

Dimly I nodded, as I internally began phrasing a letter to General Tullius. He would need to know about Giselle's defection, though I was almost certain it would encourage him to insist I join the Imperial Legion, now not only as a matter of saving Skyrim, but for my family's honour-

I gasped, rooted to the spot and stilling both Vilkas and I.

"What is it?" Vilkas fired.

I shook my head swiftly, motioning for us to go on. "It's just – what if the General already knows?" I posed.

"I suppose anything is possible," Vilkas acknowledged. "But, what makes you think he might?"

"My family's money," the weight of realisation fell on my shoulders, and I cursed. "When I arrived in Whiterun," I explained hastily, then changed my mind. "No. Wait, this doesn't make sense. The General froze our family's finances while Giselle was in Wayrest. It must be for some other reason..." I mulled, biting my lip as I tried to make sense of that.

It was no use. I would write to the General, and perhaps, if he replied, he would give me some hint of the matter, if not outright explain why he had done it. It did not truly matter to me now in a pecuniary sense, as I'd accumulated a modest living during my time with the Companions.

We walked in silence a little way further. Vilkas released me so we could more easily climb down a cluster of boulders surrounded by nodes of hard-packed snow, and onto an expanse of flatter ground. It looked as though it hadn't snowed here for many days; the golden grasses were stiff and rippled in time with a crisp breeze wafting over them.

"We should reach home tomorrow morning," Vilkas announced, falling into a jog on the easier ground. "As soon as we're there," he cast me a swift, concerned glance. "Report to the Jarl. He'll want to hear what happened. And, Jarl Balgruuf will be able to relay messages faster than couriers. He will have a way to contact the General, and might even be able to get your warning to Hadvar, or at least to his commanding officer."

"I will."

"After that," Vilkas sighed. His voice carried a strain that told me he was about to say something I didn't want to hear.

He must have felt my dread, and gave me an unimpressed look. "Once your duty is done to your Legion sweetheart, I need you to stay at Jorrvaskr, for a few days."

I had expected something worse, and frowned. "Why?"

He turned away, sighting our path. "I need you to manage the accounts while Farkas, Aela and I are away."

Realising what he left unsaid, I shook my head. "After all we went through at Driftshade, you expect me to idle at Jorrvaskr while the Circle frees Kodlak's soul?"

"This isn't about you, Celeste," Vilkas replied swiftly, his voice stern. "You told me, only yesterday, the Companions are your family. We take care of one another," he insisted.

"By shutting me away from harm –?"

"Not about you, remember?" Vilkas cut me off.

I bit back another retort. I breathed deeply a few times, easing my rising indignation. There was always more to Vilkas' requests than met the eye.

"All right," I said, more calm. "You are my Harbinger. I'll remain behind, but I would appreciate a reason for it."

He shot me a furrowed glance. "I'm not your Harbinger."

"You will be," I replied swiftly.

He faltered, turning back to the path before us, and said nothing more. The idea came to me that he'd truly never considered the position of Harbinger would be his.

I quickened my step, and asked again, "Will you explain why I must stay behind?"

Vilkas blinked swiftly, as though I'd shirked him out of a deep thought. "You are the only person I trust to look after the Companions in our absence."

A brief flush of pride rose, arrested by confusion. "They're grown men and women, not children who need taking care of."

He gave me a sideways look, lifted his brows. "You do enjoy putting words in my mouth," he teased, but the amusement fell swiftly. "We have taken too many blows for the Circle to be scattered. Without leadership, the Companions won't come back from this."

I waited, feeling there was more - then caught up to what he'd said. "I'm not Circle," I reminded hesitantly.

After a weighty pause, he slowed and stopped, then faced me. "But, you will be," a grin broke out across his features.

The smile was infectious; I returned it, despite my surprise, and my cheeks were hot again. "You mean to make me a member of the Circle?"

He placed a hand on my shoulder. "Many see the Companions as a rabble of barely-organised mercenaries. Even some of the Companions believe this," he raised his eyebrows knowingly.

I huffed a laugh; I'd believed it, before I'd known them.

Vilkas' silvery gaze met mine, shining with admiration. "But you see into our hearts, and fight for your place not for title, or fame, but because you want to be one of our family. You care about us," Vilkas' hand fell back to his side. "Not many do."

I was truly touched, and nodded my thanks. Yes, I did care about them, and had been shown time and time again that my shield-siblings cared about me.

He smiled a little sadly, and turned away to continue our journey home. I met him step for step.

"So, it's settled, then?" he asked, a little gruffer than before. "You will become a member of the Circle, and mind the kids while I'm away?"

I laughed. "I would be honoured, Harbinger."

"I'm not your Harbinger."

"But you will be."

A/n: Of course, the false Dragonborn is Giselle, which many of you guessed...several chapters ago. I was trying so hard to be subtle, but you're all too clever! But, there is more to this revelation than there seems to be. I'm hopeful that nobody will guess what's going on (cue everybody guessing immediately...).
Thanks as ever for the reviews :) they're helping me to keep motivated. There's a lot of work looming that I'll likely have to take a month's break for (sorry), but it hasn't hit yet, so I'll get as much out as I can before that time comes.