Chapter 33: The Hard Facts of War

I had never been particularly pious with regards to my worship of the Eight.

It was not a question of belief, but as with most others merely one of discipline. Mother had encouraged Giselle and I to visit the Temple of the Divines once a week during our childhoods, but Giselle had always been restless, climbing and leaping over pews and jumping around the shrines, and I had been too absorbed by my own musings to pay attention to whatever the priest or priestess had been droning on about. She had given up on trying to take us, and I had come to learn when I grew a little older that it had been out of embarrassment.

As I had matured, I had visited the Temple whenever I had felt the need to be inspired by the solemnity of the main hall. There was something singularly surreal about its dynamic, perhaps in combination with the Temple's architecture, that never failed to quiet my mind. But, I had simply sat in the mostly empty rows of pews, and allowed my mind to drift as the time had ticked by and others wanting to pay their respects had come and gone. I had never been the type to join them, and pray in public. I felt there was something false about a faith that needed to be performed before others, for in my limited experience, and in my heart, I felt as though prayers were for the eyes and ears of the Eight.

However I knew that I was not alone in calling upon the Divines in times of need. If men and mer could commit all manner of atrocities and be granted clemency by prostrating themselves on a shrine when the guilt grew too much to bear, then surely I could call upon the Divines to watch over Hadvar for me.

Surely, the Divines would hear and grant me this, given that Akatosh had chosen me to be an instrument of His design.

With my prayers whispered in the recesses of my mind, I focussed my efforts on growing accustomed to my new routine. For three days, my presence at Jorrvaskr had been sparse. Vilkas had been training me of a morning, but dismissing me at noon, suggesting, rather than ordering that I attend court for the afternoon, so I could grow used to proceedings there. From my place in the throne room, secured until the hour of five, there could then be no dispute over the time of my arrival at the Jarl's dinner table.

And the Jarl seemed noticeably appeased by my efforts to be his Thane. He smiled more, and the smiles reached his ice-blue eyes whenever he drew his subject's attentions to me and bade that I lend my experience to whatever matter was at hand, in a manner that suggested he was teaching me something of what it was to rule. But rather than try to read too much into his intentions, I merely did as I had promised to do; I spoke when I was called upon, and was truthful in my replies. Whether my own views aligned with the Jarl's or not, I owed him, and his people, my honesty.

Jarl Balgruuf's dinners began at the hour of six, and carried on with feasting, drinking and conversation until all hours, but in a more refined manner than that which I had grown accustomed to at Jorrvaskr. On the first night I had attended dinner, the Jarl had not dismissed me until one in the morning; on the following night, it had been after eleven.

And now I was at my third dinner in Dragonsreach, making an effort to converse with Jon Battle-Born, who had led me to my place tonight. He was proving to be a most distracted and silent partner, which I had not expected of the young man.

He mentioned, briefly and somewhat reservedly, that he wanted to be a bard. At once, his father leant across the table to him, and with a stern look at his boy said, "I'm sure the Bard's college is the last thing our Lady Dragonborn wants to talk about, lad."

"I don't mind," I smoothly replied, for I saw his father's intervention for what it was immediately; a reminder of his own disapproval of Jon's desires. "The college was as good as my home, for three years past," I turned back to Jon, who was at least two years my junior, I guessed, and offered him a sympathetic smile. "You should consider applying next semester. The Deans will push your talent to its limits, and then demand even more of you. It is exhausting," I admitted, with a small laugh in an effort to remain light-hearted, and draw him back to me. "But, I wouldn't be who I am today, had I not gone."

The father retreated, but so did Jon. He seemed impervious to both my words and my smiles; falling into some kind of internal sullenness brought on by his father's barely-concealed reprimand.

With an internal sigh of my own and now no dinner partner to converse with, I mused over the seemingly endless cycle of children and parents conflicting expectations. I turned back to my meal, and ate in silence.

At the arrival of the third course, a distraction arrived. The footfalls of approach drew most of the Jarl's dinner guests' gazes to the hall leading up to the hearth and throne level.

When I realised that it was Erthos, returned, I darted to my feet and rushed to meet him. Lydia was a step behind me, supporting my every move, as she had been for the past three days.

The Bosmer's eyes fell to mine, and a sympathetic hesitance to his demeanour sent a spike of pain straight to my chest. I was halted at once by that look; the fires of the heat from the hearth scorching the right side of my body, but I felt only a cold dread consume me.

Erthos' eyes flickered toward the Jarl, as though waiting to be given leave to come any further. Lydia stepped up beside me, taking my arm firmly.

"Let's not assume the worst," she schooled quietly, prompting me to go meet the messenger, so that he would not have to come to me.

She led me forward when I didn't move, then we stopped before Erthos at the stairs that had brought him up to throne room level.

"Lady Dragonborn," Erthos murmured, bowing his head shallowly as he reached into his armour.

My breath hitched as he withdrew two letters, and handed them to me.

One letter bore the seal of the Imperial army. The other was the letter I had written to Hadvar, unopened.

Whatever the rhyme or reason for it, I understood at that moment that I was wrong in my assumptions of the Divines and their regard for me. Had I been consumed by conceit, believing myself to be high and mighty enough that the Divines would hear me? Did the Divines consider me at all?

My eyes widened as I glanced up to Erthos for an explanation. "Why wasn't this letter delivered?" my voice wavered. Lydia's grip on my arm tightened, but I couldn't tell if it was out of shock from what she was seeing, or in some attempt to warn me from reacting rashly.

Erthos cast another glance over our audience; the Jarl's trusted subjects and family. I didn't turn back to see who was watching us; at that moment, the only people in my world were Lydia and Erthos.

"Please," I whispered, drawing the messenger's gaze back.

The tall, thin Bosmer shook his head. "I'm sorry, Lady Dragonborn. The Legion garrison in the Pale was deserted."

"Deserted?"

"Not a living soul remained," he added, carefully enough that from within my anxiety I still managed to pick up on it.

"What do you mean?" I asked swiftly. "You mean that they have shifted camp? Moved on to another region?" I begged.

Erthos sighed, and looked down. "No, Lady Dragonborn. I don't mean that at all."

"Oh, Gods," I choked, covering my mouth to quiet a sob. He can't mean – this is impossible.

"Speak plainly," Lydia took control at that point.

"Plainly put," the messenger sounded uncertain. "The garrison was attacked. The bodies of both Legion and Stormcloak soldiers littered the surrounds, and it must have only been a day or so since it happened, owing to the shallow snow on the deceased-"

I turned, burying my head in Lydia's shoulder and clenching my eyes closed to stop the tears as I willed Erthos to stop speaking. My housecarl held me tightly to her, and asked him, "Were there signs of survivors? Footprints, anything? Did anybody escape?"

"Can't rightfully say, ma'am," his reply bore the tone of a shrug. "Snow had fallen, which might have covered any tracks leading to and from the base. But it weren't enough to wholly cover the bodies."

I shuddered and wavered against Lydia as guilt thudded through me. It's all my fault.

"All right," Lydia spoke calmly – too calmly. "Did you see anybody there who bore a resemblance to our Lady Dragonborn?"

"I can't say that I did, but then, it weren't my job to search the bodies," he replied.

"When you were in Solitude, did the General, or anyone else in the Legion, tell you anything about the attack?" Lydia asked immediately.

"Weren't my place to ask, if I'm honest."

"Send him away," I whispered desperately to my housecarl, squeezing my eyes shut more firmly and shuddering against her. "Please, Lydia..." I trailed off, unable to say any more as I bit my lip to keep from bursting into tears.

It's all my fault. If I hadn't written that letter at the Nightgate...and exposed him...

"Thank you, for your services," Lydia offered plainly and dismissively. "If you recall anything else about the attack on the Imperial camp, don't hesitate to bring your information directly to me. You will be well paid."

"All in a day's duty, ma'am," Erthos said, and though I couldn't see him, I heard his armour creak and shuffle as he bowed.

The next thing I knew I was being shifted; led away by Lydia. I saw and heard little. I'm sure she said something to the Jarl, and the Jarl agreed to whatever she had asked, and then we moved again.

I clutched the two letters in my grasp; a sense of unreality taking hold. Erthos was mistaken. Hadvar will be fine. He can't be...

I couldn't even voice the thought in my own mind. Was Hadvar to be the price I was to pay to the Divines, for stalling my fate and making excuses to remain in Whiterun with those who gave me the protection and immediate gratification I so desired for a family?

My thoughts couldn't settle on any one path. There was more movement, outside of my mind. Climbing stairs. Doors, opening and closing. Candles being lit. A question from Lucia; a gentle shushing from Lydia, and then Lucia was gone. Hands were on me, untying my evening dress.

My eyes swam and focussed on my housecarl. I stared at her but didn't really see her. I felt wan, insignificant, as though I was formless; a drifting, aimless spirit. The analogy made me clench my eyes shut once again, as the prospect of Hadvar's fate crashed down upon me like an unrelenting tide that was determined to drown me.

"Is he dead?" I uttered through my chattering teeth as I let her undress me for the first time since we had moved into Dragonsreach.

"No. Not yet," Lydia said quickly with efficiency in her tone. "Don't say those words, and try not to think them, dear little one. We do not know enough," she muttered, drawing my unlaced dress down over my shoulders and arms, over my hips, to let it pool at my feet.

The long under tunic I wore was thin by comparison, but I did not feel the chill of night as I stood wavering on the spot. I did not feel any heat or cool at all.

"Let me see what I can find out, over the coming days," she added swiftly.

"Days," I whimpered, dragging my eyes open to give Lydia an imploring look. "I can't...days? I cannot bear it, Lydia. The attack – if Hadvar has died – it's because of me," my lips trembled the words.

"Reliable information takes time to recover," she soothed, drawing the circlet I had worn to dinner off my head, and smoothing my hair over my shoulders as she unwound it. "When you love someone, you must not give them up for dead," she raised an eyebrow at me. "Not until the evidence is staring you in the face."

My lip quivered again as Lydia's hands gripped my shoulders in a more determined hold. Despite the haze, the torment drawing me in on myself – despite everything, I felt the importance of her words between us, and nodded that I understood.

I did understand her, clearer than I ever had, and did not judge her for it. She was referring to my father. I had wondered about her feelings toward him in the past, but her allusion bore the strength of an admission; she had loved him.

Her feelings, and whether my father had loved her in return was none of my business. But, Lydia had not believed him to be dead until the day she had met me.

"I will get the tea things," she said quietly, lowering her hands and turning away.

I sank into the nearest seat. "I don't want tea."

"Suit yourself. But, I do," she quipped, sighing a shaky laugh for herself as she continued about her task.

With Lydia gone, and Lucia elsewhere – in their shared room I supposed, the silence deafened me. I searched about, suddenly desperate to think of anything but the news the messenger had brought, and my eyes settled on the two letters, still clutched in my grasp.

My hand shook as I placed the letter I had written to Hadvar on the table beside me, and dragged my eyes away from my own handwriting to stare at the Legion seal instead. It was not a family seal, but the one of our governing body; the diamond-like sigil of the Imperial Dragon with its strong impression confidently pressed into the red wax. It was a seal that any General would use on behalf of, and as a servant of the Emperor of Tamriel.

I slipped my finger under the wax and lifted, unfolding General Tullius' reply. The letter was longer than I had expected it to be and its contents would have turned my blood to ice, had I not already suffered one major shock tonight.

Instead, as I read, the sense of unreality deepened:

Miss Passero,

I appreciate the time you took out of your busy schedule to write me of your discovery, however I regret to inform you that the upper hierarchy of Imperial Legion has been aware of your sister's allegiance for many months. Your sister has been under investigation for some time; before the High King's murder, even. Giselle's involvement with the Stormcloaks can now be traced as far back to her first year at the College in Winterhold, and it is believed that she was instrumental in ensuring Stormcloak and his men access to and an escape route from the Blue Palace on the aforementioned evening.

On the edges of my awareness, I knew that I should have felt indignant, appalled, and upset, if this was true. The idea that Giselle had been responsible for our parent's deaths was too much to take in at this moment, however.

So I read on, with barely a huff of acknowledgement.

It is for this reason that I deemed it necessary, once I arrived in Skyrim, to freeze all external access to your family's finances. Several unaccounted withdrawals at the time of the murder indicated that Giselle was siphoning money from the Passero fortune to help Ulfric Stormcloak fund his efforts, the moment he had secured the war they so desperately wanted.

When you next find yourself in Solitude, I will personally accompany you to your accountant and arrange for a secondary account to be set up in your name, so that you might regain access to what remains of your fortune.

So. That was the answer to that mystery. Again, I merely huffed, staring dully at the words on the page, wondering if this night, if this past hour, had really occurred. The event that Hadvar had written of in his first letter to me, that required my return to Solitude to resolve, had nothing to do with my being in Helgen that fateful day after all.

Unable to process any of this in any great detail yet, I continued reading the General's small, tidy script:

Contrary to your belief, I do not wish for you to join the war. Apologies for my frankness, but one Passero daughter is enough to negotiate. Two opposing one another and each claiming to be the Nord's fabled hero would turn this calamity into an outright bloodbath. So, for all of our sakes, Miss Passero, I beg you, with the utmost respect I can offer, to stay well out of our affairs, and I in turn will stay out of these Dragonborn duties that you find thrust upon yourself by the Nords.

With warmest regards, and long live the Emperor,
GEN Tullius

I sat back, staring at the letter in disbelief. He didn't want me, want the Dragonborn, I corrected. I placed the letter down on the table by me, still staring at it. The Legion wanted me to keep out of the war.

It was ridiculous for me to feel rejected, when I had been determined to stay out of it for myself, but if I felt anything, it was that. To understand that Ulfric Stormcloak had wanted, perhaps even convinced my sister, who was not the Dragonborn, to fight for him years ago, and that the Empire, my Empire, did not, was just another blow on top of the night of blows, however ridiculous it was for me to feel it.

Hadvar had been so certain that they would ask me to join.

Hadvar. Do you live? Or are you with my dear father now, in Sovngarde?

No. I turned away from the letters, clenching my eyes closed again in an effort to dislodge the thought. Think of something else. Anything else.

Think about Giselle.

My eyes opened in a flash, and I glanced to the letter the General had penned again as if by staring at it I could learn more from it. The Empire had reason to believe that she had been working for Ulfric Stormcloak for almost three years.

I shook my head as I tried to find cause to reject what the General had written; what I had heard with my own ears outside of the Nightgate inn, yet again. But now that the idea had been presented to me, all manner of evidence, of the most personal, familiar nature, fired up within me, not only confirming what I had just read, but asking me how I could have been so blind to not realise the truth of my sister's allegiance before now.

I had noticed a change in Giselle after she had gone to the college. She had returned home for her holidays, perhaps to keep up appearances, but she had made it clear to us that she wanted to be elsewhere. She had told us that she wanted to be back with her friends, and I had assumed that she had meant her college friends in Winterhold. I had scoffed at the prospect that my now snooty, cosmopolitan sister believed Winterhold to be of greater society than Solitude, the actual seat of the High King.

With a thud to my chest, I realised even more and my eyes widened, startled. This information – Giselle's position – explained Ulfric Stormcloak's reaction to me. It explained his behaviour when I had been brought before him, on the border of Skyrim and Cyrodiil when I had been trying to go to the Imperial City. It explained why he had held my chin and examined me, and my family seal for so long. He had been checking, confirming, that I was not his agent, despite looking exactly like her, before he gave his orders.

With a groan, I leaned forward in my chair and buried my head in my hands, as the realisations crashed down upon me one after the other; it explained why the Legion had been so ready to arrest me with the Stormcloaks in the encampment that night; why the Legate who Hadvar had tried to speak up against had not faltered against my weak pleas, and had sent me straight to the chopping block. They - those in the know - had thought I was Giselle.

If the Legion's information is correct, I acknowledged, then this war is Giselle's fault. But how – and why could she want war?

Lydia returned, bearing a laden tea tray, and I was none the wiser to my internal questions. I couldn't meet her eyes, after all I had learned and realised in her absence. She ask me something, about whether I had changed my mind yet as she set the tray down on the same table I had placed the letters on.

I shook my head and motioned toward the General's note. I couldn't find my voice to ask her to read it, but the gesture seemed to be enough to tell her that she could.

I felt her green gaze on me as she took it up. She remained standing, and silent. She was reading. She was learning who might have been instrumental in securing, if not entirely responsible for the war Skyrim now found itself fighting. She was learning who had been responsible for the death of the man she had loved; his own daughter.

Surely, I warred while Lydia read, whatever Giselle's motives were for joining with Stormcloak, she could not have intended for our parents to be killed. I remembered her as she had been the night of their deaths; pale and trembling as she had come to collect me at the Blue Palace, and then sobbing fitfully over mother's body in our garden. She had been shocked, and grieved by their deaths.

It was more than that, a knowing voice rasped through me. What you saw was not her grief, but her guilt.

My rising fury fought with my disbelief, and I knew that there would be only one way to resolve the opposing forces. A new thought; go to Giselle; pressed upon me at once.

I reconsidered just as swiftly. It would be suicide to go anywhere near Windhelm, near Ulfric, particularly if Giselle was as involved with the Stormcloaks as the Legion suggested.

That doesn't matter. Ulfric doesn't matter. This is about family, about honour. You must confront her and ask for the truth.

I wanted to laugh at myself; a piteous, mocking laugh in the face of my zealous folly. My want of family honour and pride would likely see me imprisoned, if not killed, if I went. And, I was not at liberty to leave Whiterun, let alone journey to the seat of my enemy to face my sister.

Enemies.

STOP, I commanded desperately. Giselle and I had not seen eye to eye for a very long time, but she was not - could not be my enemy!

Then go to her. Do what you do best, and talk her out of the mess she has gotten herself into. If the Legion find her first, they will execute her, and if she remains where she is, Ulfric will drag both her and the Passero name down with him as he fights against all your family have ever fought to uphold.

I pressed my fingers into my temple as I felt a headache swelling there. In the corner of my vision, I noticed Lydia flicker a glance my way.

"Don't," I begged her, turning my eyes up to meet her large, sad, sympathetic ones. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'm allowed to look at you," she whispered, sitting beside me finally. She placed the letter down gingerly on the table, over the top of the unopened one I had written to Hadvar.

Her tone was steady, and calming, but I took her words on board and felt a weight to them, whether she had intended it or not. I had been demanding, close to ordering her; something I had promised I would never do when we were alone. I leaned toward her at once, burying my face in her shoulder again.

"I'm so sorry, Lydia," I gasped out, choking back a sob as my housecarl's hands fell to my back.

She rubbed in gentle, soothing circles. "Why are you sorry, little one? You could not have anticipated this."

"But I should have," I glanced up to her, gauging her for response, but she was nothing but calm. "It's her fault that the men we love are dead," I made myself say to her.

"Hadvar is not dead," Lydia sighed, standing. She moved toward the room she shared with her adopted daughter, and for a moment I thought that she had decided to retire for the night – but of course she hadn't. She merely closed the door with a barely-audible click, and then turned back to me.

"Have some tea," she urged, motioning toward the tray she had returned with.

I shook my head.

"It will make you feel better," she insisted.

"Nothing will make me feel better."

Lydia was before me again. Reaching over, she pursed her lips and determinedly set about preparing two cups of tea.

She didn't meet my eyes as she spoke, very quietly. "I understand that you have suffered a shock. Several shocks, tonight, and for that, I am very sorry," she sighed, replacing the teapot on the tray and splashing milk in both cups deftly. "But, listen to me well, little one. You cannot let unverified hearsay pierce your soul and stall your progress," she turned, meeting my eyes finally and offering one of the cups before her.

Feeling defeated, I took it, settling the saucer on my lap idly. "Because I'm the Dragonborn?" I asked her morosely.

"No," she sat, picking up her own saucer and holding the cup close to her lips as she blew across the rim. Her breath pushed the steam drifting off the liquid toward me.

I watched her, waiting for her to explain as she took a small sip, then placed the saucer and cup on the table, then sat back more comfortably in her chair; all very deliberate movements, as though she was organising her thoughts through a series of physical actions.

Once she had settled herself, she met my eyes again, even more composed, and continued. "You must endure this news, these new rumours, because that is all they are at this moment, because you are Celeste Passero," her expression was level. "And, you will endure, as those of us who are not at war must," she added quietly. "Tomorrow, you will go about your duty, just as the thousands of men and women who wonder hourly about the fate of their loved ones do," her voice rose as she instructed.

I sat back, watching her in some disbelief, but would have been a fool to not realise that it was pointless to argue about this. She was right; this anxiety that threatened my hopes for a future with Hadvar was no different to the feelings most of Skyrim's people felt every day. I would steel myself against Erthos' report, and the possibility that I had caused the attack on the Pale garrison, and live in hope. I had to live in hope, until Lydia had made her promised enquiries, and heard back from them.

I reached forward and grasped Lydia's hand. "You will tell me the moment you hear something, won't you? No matter the outcome?" I asked her.

She pursed her lips, but nodded, squeezing my hand in reply, and then released me.

Lydia drank her tea, and I took sips of my own, for her sake, since she had gone to the trouble of bringing it, but I didn't taste it. We spoke no more of the letters, or of family, or of our loved ones. She asked me a few questions about my day, which I answered dutifully, but automatically. Eventually, she rose, announcing that she was going to bed, and that I should consider retiring also.

I agreed with her softly, and we parted; she for her bedroom, and I for mine.

As soon as I clicked the door closed behind me, I leant against it and closed my eyes.

Don't let it consume you, I schooled as my mind threatened to torment me for the hours to come over Hadvar's fate.

But by forcing my thoughts away from Hadvar, all I could turn to was the information the General had revealed about my sister. His letter had filled in too many gaps for me to deny what he had written, regardless of whether Lydia intended to make enquiries about this matter, too. I knew it in my heart, as though I had always known and simply suppressed the truth; Giselle was a Stormcloak, and had been for several years. She had helped Ulfric to orchestrate the attack on the High King which had resulted in the Civil war, and our parent's deaths.

She had very likely been part of the Stormcloak brigade that had attacked the Pale garrison.

She might have captured Hadvar and taken him to Windhelm in your place, just as you feared.

I pressed my palms to my closed eyes and winced to try and expel the traitorous, torturous thoughts. This was hopeless. Everything, every path my mind took led me back to Hadvar.

If he is in Windhelm, then he is alive, I tried to reason.

But, for how long, I immediately countered?

Frustrated, at myself, at the Jarl for ordering me to remain in Whiterun, at Giselle for the part she was playing in destroying my life, and even at Lydia for demanding that I keep calm when all I wanted to do was weep, I stormed across my room and flung open the curtains of the large window behind my bed. I knelt on the pillows to stare out into the black night.

I wanted to shout at the glass; to shatter it and feel the sharp bite of cool air as it washed over my cheeks, to convince me that this night was real; to convince me that I was whole. I repressed the urge to use the thu'um. To give in to it would bring Lydia, and likely half of the soldiers in the castle to me, and then I would have to explain to them why I had damaged Dragonsreach.

So I settled for pressing my forehead against the glass, and looked out into the night. The moons had not yet risen, and the sky was awash with dark clouds in places and clusters of twinkling stars in others. All was still and silent, and the fine details of the vista were lost in the shadows upon shadows laid out before me. I forced myself to keep looking upon the vast emptiness, which served to distance me from all else as a primal fear crept over me, urging me to draw my attention back to the pale light of the single, flickering candle in my bedroom. But I made myself keep looking out over the dark hold instead.

When the cacophony in my mind had been silenced, all that remained was the persistent thought that, regardless of danger or personal consequence, I would have to find a way to leave Whiterun, and go to Windhelm.

I would make Giselle explain herself, and answer for all she had done, to our family, and to the sons and daughters of Skyrim.

And if she had attacked Hadvar's garrison, and captured him, all because of my stupid letter, I would save him.