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.

34. The Harbinger's Cure

Chapter 34: The Harbinger's Cure

I couldn't sleep.

No matter how I tried, there didn't seem to be anything I could do about it. When I wasn't agonising over Hadvar's fate, I was fuming over Giselle's. My mind simply would not settle for long enough to allow me to drift off.

After I tossed and turned pointlessly for several hours, I rose and dressed in my training garb as though it were morning – and I was certain that it technically must have been – and I was preparing for Jorrvaskr.

I would go to the mead hall, but not to practise, for I did not wish to punish the training dummies any more than I wanted to remain in my bed with only my circling thoughts for company.

I yearned to speak to Kodlak of all that had passed; to sink into the chair at his table and pour my heart out to him, and to be warmed by his calm, generous replies. He would have been able to help me forge the most appropriate path forward. And if he had not been able to, his words had always put me at ease, as though his wisdom was a song my soul had been calling for, which might have helped me to settle on the correct course for myself.

As it was, I believed that I had no choice but to find a way to journey to Windhelm. My heart was set on the notion, but understanding that by going I would learn the truths that my mind craved pained me almost as much as not knowing did.

Before leaving my rooms, I scratched a hasty note to Lydia, explaining that I had gone to Jorrvaskr early. I left it on the drawing room table, where I knew she would find it when she rose.

The letters were still on the table; the one from the General lying open where I had left it. Staring at it, and the unopened letter beside it, I made a swift decision and grabbed both, shoving them into the pocket in my trousers. I was loathed to carry them as a constant reminder, but I didn't want the information within either to be read by anyone, be it servants, or any other idle minds that might find themselves in my rooms for whatever reason. Next I threw on my boots, coat and scarf, grabbed my bow in one hand to support my pretence, a candle in the other, and slipped out.

The candle was lit from one of the hallway sconces, and then I had no further reason to delay. My heart thumped in opposition to my footfalls as I hurried through the dark, empty halls of Dragonsreach, wary that I might bump into a guard, or a steward, or even the Jarl, at every turn. I knit together my excuses; it was the same I had offered to Lydia; that I was having trouble sleeping, and I was making for Jorrvaskr early, to commence my daily training. See? I even had my bow with me.

But I met nobody within, and the path between Dragonsreach and Jorrvaskr was only manned by a handful of disinterested Whiterun guards. The night was clear and cold, and both moons were aloft, lighting the stairs and limning the Gildergreen's pale boughs so that they seemed to be eerily glowing and creaking and alive. My candle extinguished as soon as I stepped outside and was exposed to a stiff, freezing breeze. I handed it to one of the nearby men on patrol, offering him no explanation.

Nobody questioned me as it was, and I began to wonder if leaving for Windhelm might be as simple as stealing away during the night?

I dismissed the thought at once. To leave in such an underhanded way would sever my bonds with the Jarl, and thus Whiterun, forever, and that was something that I was not willing to do, even for Giselle.

Even for Hadvar?

I shuddered; my prompting inner-voice carried the trace of a taunt.

I descended the stairs to the Gildergreen at a run. I could not think of it. It was all on my shoulders if Giselle or Ulfric did anything to him; I knew it, and they knew it. I would do whatever it took to save him, if he had been captured. But to run into Windhelm, demanding answers and that the Stormcloaks hand him over, if he was in fact there, would be incredibly stupid, and might even get us both killed.

If he isn't already dead.

He lives, I countered myself immediately, turning and bounding up the broad stairs that led to Jorrvaskr. I had to do as Lydia had advised and live in hope, as the mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, and children of Skyrim were for their loved ones currently at war.

The mead hall was so stifling in contrast to the night air that I found myself gagging on the heady warmth as I shed my outer layers. I hung up my coat, bow and scarf near the door, and after a moment's consideration, also removed my boots so that the sound of them clopping against the floorboards wouldn't wake the Companions in the dormitory.

My socked footsteps made no sound as I made for the lower levels, but I knew that the Circle would already know I was here. Aela wouldn't have any reason to approach me, and I didn't mind if Farkas or Vilkas did.

I stepped into the living quarters and clicked the door shut softly behind me. I turned to glance down the long hallway, and my heart wrenched and twisted painfully as I sighted the empty desk and chairs at the very end.

Of course they were empty. I had seen him killed with my own eyes. I had attended his funeral. Had I truly expected to come upon him sitting there tonight, as though the past weeks had been nothing but a horrible dream?

Walking toward the desk anyway, because I had nowhere else to go, I frowned, holding my arms around myself as a chill rippled over the back of my neck. Kodlak's departure still felt so wrong. I could not come to terms with the idea that I would never hear his voice again, or the scritch-scratch of his quill as he wrote in his journal.

I reached the chair that my Harbinger had usually sat in, and smiled sadly down at the leather-bound book that he had been so committed to, running my fingertips along the spine. Within it were his private thoughts, but also what he had discovered of their curse, and all he had unearthed in the pursuit of ending it.

Longing to be as close as I could to Kodlak, I sat in my usual place, beside his empty chair. I pulled his journal toward me, with the idea that perhaps his written words would provide for me what his spoken ones so often had; a calm solace. I opened it, surprised that there was no cover page. Kodlak's commentary began directly:

Where to begin the account of an old man who desires to abandon everything his forebears believed in? Perhaps with the vision that inspired this search, which has prompted me to document our journey.

We cannot dream, for sleep eludes those possessed by the beast. However, during the hours where it is possible through discipline to quiet the mind and obtain a relative rest, we might vision in that tesseract realm where time is tangible and frequently fluxes; where both our pasts and potential futures are as one; a place that those who can sleep slip through in seconds relative to their own understanding, without being conscious of its existence.

In this place, as the vision came upon me, I first saw a line of Harbingers, starting with Ysgramor. Each ascended to Sovngarde, until it was time for Terrfyg, who first turned us to the ways of the beast. He tried to enter Sovngarde, but before he could approach Tsun, he was set upon by a great wolf, who pulled him into the Hunting Grounds, where Hircine laughed with open, welcoming arms.

I shuddered as I leaned down on my elbow, my eyes flickering over Kodlak's handwriting, and imagined that he was sitting in his usual place beside me, telling me this story. Recalling the sound of his voice was a small comfort; like a favourite blanket that I could drape around my shoulders, and at once I did feel a little warmer, despite the dark tale unfolding on the pages before me. I continued reading, eager for my mind to provide the memory of his tones again.

Kodlak wrote more about the vision; of the other Harbingers that came after Terrfyg, each who by choice turned toward Hircine's grounds at their time of death, at the coaxing of more spectre wolves. When only Kodlak remained, he hesitated, then drew his sword against the great wolf who stepped up before him.

Then there was an echo of the metal against leather sound that had cut through the empty space when I had drawn my sword. I knew it to mean that there were others, behind me, drawing their own weapons against the wolf – yet, I knew it to be my wolf that they were preparing to meet. I did not dare turn my back on this creature to see who it was, and with my wolf seperate from and before me, I could not sense who it was, as I might have done had we been merged.

As I expected of it, the wolf stood its ground, despite the weapons being raised against it. Its amber eyes focussed on me and it bared its teeth with a growl, but it did not sweep forward to claim me.

I took this to mean that it was not my turn, though its menacing aura loomed toward me, adding a definitive 'yet' to the understanding.

Only once I knew that it wouldn't claim me before my time did I risk turning away from the gates of the afterlives. The vision flickered, and I felt that I would drift out of it, very soon. Behind me I saw who I should have expected; my dearest boys, my beacons of support; Vilkas and Farkas, standing ready with their swords drawn, awaiting orders. Beyond the boys I saw the spirit of another; a petite frame, unknown to me, whose silhouette stood its ground without any weapons raised. In fact, she did not appear to have a sword or axe at her hip at all. Something was strapped over her shoulder – but it did not look to be a bow, and she was too small to be Aela. Her lack of weapon, along with the hazy nature of her features, and very appearance in my vision, told me that she was a harbinger of my, and perhaps the boys' futures. The shrouded figure stepped between Farkas and Vilkas, placing one hand each on their arms and encouraging them to lower their swords. They did.

I tried to make out her features in the gloom, so that I might know her if she walked among us, but it was as though my eyes were blurred with tears unshed which refused to clear no matter how I blinked. She turned her face toward me, and reached out her hand, so that I might take it and return to them. While her face was shadowed, and her dark hair floated around her like a cloud, her eyes were the brilliant, rich blue of that once most distinguished lineage, whose influence was lost to Nirn so long ago. She was a creature charged by the Divines, then. Perhaps the form of a young Saint Alessia, the first of His messengers, that I might recognise her as a spirit I could trust.

Everything faded before I could join her and the boys, or learn any more, but the vision had made its point, and its warning had not been lost on me. By accepting the beast-blood, I would not be admitted into Sovngarde upon my death, but would serve the Daedric Prince Hircine eternally in his hunting grounds.

It was a fate that had not been explained to me when I had taken the blood, and in turn I had never known to explain it to those to whom I had been forebear. Had I only to worry about my own soul, the fire and fear roused by the vision might ease over time and allow a weary acceptance to take its place. But for the souls of my family, I must always remember it.

I vow to never falter in my pursuits, or let my urgency be extinguished. There is a cure, and I shall find it for them.

And he had, hadn't he? Eorlund Grey-Mane was on the brink of reforging Wuuthrad, the final piece of the puzzle. The Circle were due to depart for Ysgramor's tomb the moment it was completed. He had done it, even if he would never know that he had.

I wondered how long it had been since he had experienced the vision, and written these first words? However long it had been, since then and for as long as I had known him, Kodlak had been focussed to this end. Vilkas, Farkas and Aela had all talked at times of fulfilling Kodlak's final wishes; that his soul be freed to enter Sovngarde, but of course the Harbinger had not intended his efforts to be for his own gain. He had done it for the Circle. For his family. I teared up at the understanding, fiercely feeling his loss, and made myself read on. I was glad that I did:

It was the appearance of the little enigma with blue eyes that convinced me a cure is attainable. Before penning this account, I spent many a day and night coming to terms with the finer details of the vision, and have determined that she symbolised our cure. She was able to stay Vilkas and Farkas' hands; an appeasement of their beasts who would fight, and she offered me the same choice, should I have the mettle to go to her – to find it.

The back of my neck prickled as I read this paragraph, and not for the first time since I had started reading. Appeasing their beasts? Wasn't that what I had been doing, since I had come to Jorrvaskr? Kodlak had not known me when he had written this account, perhaps explaining why the features of the figure were so indistinct, but...

I shook my head. Sure, I had the blue eyes he spoke of. Loads of people had blue eyes. Was it conceited of me to place myself in the role of Kodlak's symbolic cure? Had the Harbinger misinterpreted his own dream, simply because he was yet to meet me? Had the figure been me? And why – why would he vision of a girl he had never met, who was not his cure? What did she symbolise, if not what he theorised?

The only way to find out was to read on and see if he'd written about the first night he'd met me. I scanned the pages, learning how the particulars of Kodlak's vision had been explained to the Circle, and how each of them had taken the information and Kodlak's new vows on board. He wrote of each of them with the kindness of a father; even Skjor and Aela, who had rejected his awakening and wilfully continued to live the way of the beast. It had been then that he, Vilkas and Farkas had pledged to not give in to their beasts and transform. Had Kodlak truly never turned since that day? I knew of one instance where Farkas had transformed, and had stood before Vilkas' werewolf twice since I had known him.

I continued flicking through and glancing over the pages, searching for my arrival, to see if he had recognised me as the woman from his vision. He wrote extensively of his research; starting with the history of the beast blood and determining how it had been first acquired. Once he had discovered that they had been tricked into accepting it through the use of magic, Kodlak's resolve had hardened. He believed their wolves to be a blight against everything the Companions stood for, for shield-siblings were supposed to meet their tasks using their own strength, not a borrowed force obtained through what he perceived to be dishonest means.

Kodlak's more zealous divergences were difficult to read, as it was clear that he had penned them during his moments of internal suffering. Perhaps the act of writing his thoughts had helped to control and push back the werewolf, when it had tried to take him?

He wrote often of the Circle, and how they were coping. Skjor and Aela were unchanged in their determination to retain their beast-blood. Farkas seemed to live more in the moment than any man he had ever met, and was calmly confident that Kodlak would do right by them; a matter which the Harbinger felt guilty about as time dragged on and the cure continued to elude him. More and more frequently as I progressed through the journal, Kodlak wrote of his concern over Vilkas' ever-building torment. These sections I only skimmed, for I did not wish to intrude on what my shield-brother had told him in confidence.

But it was in the middle of one of these sections that I caught the word Passero, and honed in on the context. Passero seal. He wrote of my ring. That's right – Kodlak had searched me, and then examined it when I had first approached him. He had identified me to be a Passero. I remembered being surprised that he had known it.

I pushed my own memories of the event aside, so that I could read Kodlak's impressions with an open mind:

It seems that I must exert a greater discipline over the rambling pieces of this puzzle that my mind desperately tries to glue together, or I might miss something more subtle, more critical to our goal.

Tonight, while Vilkas and I were in conference, a newcomer approached. She was young and slight of build, wearing a common dress and carrying no weapons, with a dark tangle of long curls surrounding her. When she stepped out of the shadows and into the light before me, and I met her eyes – clear and intelligent, and as blue as the Midyear sky – I was sure that my heart stopped, and that I looked upon my young Saint Alessia, stepped out of my vision to deliver our sought-after cure.

But of course, she is not a spirit stepped out of an old man's dream; she is as real as Vilkas and I are. She wore the Passero seal, of Cyrodiil; a family who have been loyal to the Empire since the Third Era, if my memory serves me correctly. She spoke with bravado; most who enter Jorrvaskr seeking work are filled with a sense of false-confidence, but as it happened, I misjudged her reason for approaching me, with my head clouded by the fanciful connection between this young lady and the shadowed harbinger from my vision.

She is not here to become a Companion. She is a bard, and she was merely seeking a night's lodgings and food in exchange for her crafts. She returns tonight, for the others enjoyment, and shall leave tomorrow.

I am compelled to convince her to join us, but I will bite my tongue and suppress this urge. As with the beast, I must not give in to it, for it is not an instinct but a force borne of the vision that drives me, and it would be a cruel thing to involve this young lady in our desperate search. I feel that the world must ask much of her, as it is. If she is to join us, some day, she must do it of her own choosing, and not of my influence.

I couldn't help but flush at Kodlak's initial thoughts about me. He wrote with a bitter disappointment, but not in me – in himself, as his mind tried to paint me as the shadowed figure from his vision. Had I but known what he felt at the time...

But I hadn't known Kodlak, or the other Companions, back then. I'd known nothing, really. I had thought only of my own needs. Scowling at my selfishness, I turned my eyes back down to the book, intent on continuing.

"Can't sleep?" Vilkas' voice came to me as a low rumble.

I turned my strained eyes up to him, feeling caught out, and my flush renewed. Would he be mad at me for reading Kodlak's journal?

He didn't look angry. He was standing a few paces away, looking entirely ordinary and calm, dressed in comfortable, common garb with bare feet and no trace of warpaint on his face.

I shook my head, closing the journal as I sat up straighter in my chair, but marking my place with my finger.

Leaving Kodlak's chair where it was, Vilkas retrieved another, sitting it opposite me and settling into it with a weary sigh. "Do you want to talk about it?" he murmured softly.

Flicking a glance to Kodlak's journal uncertainly, I met his stoic expression with another shake to my head. "I've not made it very far. Have you read it?" I asked.

"I didn't mean the journal," Vilkas held his hand out for it at once.

"I didn't read the parts about you," I mumbled as I hesitantly handed it over.

Vilkas rose and replaced Kodlak's journal on the desk, set out before his old chair, adjusting it so that its base was parallel to the table edge. "It wouldn't matter to me if you did," his fingers lingered on the tan cover, before he removed them, somewhat regretfully, and turned to face me. "There are very few secrets between us any more, shield-sister," he raised an eyebrow at me as the corner of his mouth twitched and he eased back onto his seat.

I stared dully at him as the secrets I had learned about Giselle and Hadvar the previous night began to consume me, yet again. "You can sense that I am troubled?" I asked flatly.

Vilkas crossed his brows at me. "Why else would you seek out Kodlak in the middle of the night?"

"No, I mean," I faltered, motioning toward him by way of explanation. "You can sense it?"

Now it was Vilkas' turn to hesitate and his expression flattened. He murmured in a low tone, "Of course I can. But – I'm not going to try and guess what it is that you fear."

"Fear?" I baulked. I had expected something more complicated.

"There are many layers to fear," he continued, and his eyes narrowed as he stared at something beyond me; at nothing. "Yours is crossing many of them. It is a fear that cannot be appeased."

"I don't understand," I sat back, shaking my head, realising that he was sensing, smelling all of this from me, right now.

Vilkas shrugged. "I find it difficult to put feelings into words, when they are woven so. Perhaps you should just tell me what's happened?" he met my eyes again, somewhat pointedly.

I realised then why he had approached me – Vilkas was trying to fill Kodlak's boots in all regards, including offering his ear at any hour, and counsel if I wished it. I pushed away my frustration at his rambling explanation, reminding myself that he had lost his mentor, his father-figure; Vilkas had been taking late-night conferences with Kodlak for many years before I had arrived.

I reached into my pocket, retrieved both letters, and extended them hurriedly for Vilkas to take away.

He did, but I kept my eyes lowered as the dull fog of remembrance drifted across my vision, like a cloud blocking the sun.

I heard a rustle of paper from Vilkas' direction. He'd opened the General's letter, then; I knew he wouldn't open a sealed note unless it was addressed to him. But perhaps he already knew what the letter addressed to Hadvar meant, given that he had suggested I write to him and the General, upon our return from Driftshade?

During the silent minutes where Vilkas read, I stared at my hands and tried to think of nothing. To distract my thoughts, I told myself, over and over, that Vilkas would know what to do. He knew more than most, having witnessed everything that had happened at the Nightgate inn, but he was far enough removed from Giselle and Hadvar that he might be able to propose a logical course of action. His head would be clearer than mine, on this matter.

The rustle of paper came again, and Vilkas' hand, with the General's letter in his grasp, entered my line of sight.

I met his eyes as I took it. "Well?" I asked; my voice smaller and more fearful than I had expected it to be.

Before I could retreat with the letter, his fingers closed around mine, and he fixed me with his sorrow-filled silver eyes. "The other one," he vaguely held up the unopened letter in his free hand. "Why have you handed me a letter meant for Hadvar's eyes?"

My hand went limp in his. He knew - I knew that he knew - but he wanted me to say it, wanted me to voice the words, which would make it more real.

Feeling wan and pale, and speaking in a dull, soft voice, I managed to briefly explain what Erthos had told Lydia and I.

"Shor's balls," Vilkas muttered when I had finished, leaning forward and enveloping me in a hug.

I sighed against him, feeling devoid of emotion. "So, shield-brother; now I must hope that my sister, who it turns out has been working for Ulfric for several years, has captured the man that I love, and that they won't kill him while I elude them," I laughed bleakly.

He didn't reply and only held me tighter, which I took to mean that he agreed with my assessment. I had been expecting him to reject it. I had expected him to behave as Lydia had done, or how Kodlak might have done; with words of endurance and fortitude.

But he remained silent, eventually easing back from me and lowering his hands, only to shake his head. "What are you going to do?"

"The only thing I can do," I answered swiftly, setting my jaw determinedly in readiness for his response. "I am going to Windhelm."

I had expected he would protest, but again, Vilkas surprised me. He looked grim about it, but he nodded. His eyes drifted to Kodlak's place, to the journal before it perhaps, and he muttered, "I will go with you."

"What?" a surge of alarm rushed through me, fierce for my lack of feeling anything else. I stared at my shield-brother, berating myself for constantly misjudging his reactions before he had made them. I owed Vilkas better than this, confusion of mind or not.

"Jarl Balgruuf will never permit you go to Windhelm," he added, as though it explained what he had said.

Recovered slightly, my shoulders fell as I agreed. "I know. And I don't want to have to break my promise to him."

"And if you show or explain the contents of the letter, he will forbid you from going," Vilkas added, as though I hadn't spoken. "The Jarl will believe it to be a trap."

"Isn't it?" I asked Vilkas morosely.

Vilkas shook his head, but his answer was more vague. "We don't know enough to make that call."

"All right," I took a deep breath, sitting back and endeavouring to tug my mind up out of the dense fog of despair. My heart leapt at the notion that if I was decided on going to Windhelm, Vilkas would help me. The realisation gave me both hope, and a contrasting shudder of anxiety. Could I bare going there and learning the truth? Either way I feared that the outcome would be bleak. Perhaps this is what Vilkas had meant, when he had spoken of the layers of fear, and a fear that could not be appeased.

"Thank you," I whispered, belatedly.

"What are shield-brother's for?" he murmured humourlessly. "But I have one condition, or request, if you would," Vilkas shifted his weight on his seat, leaning forward again.

I nodded, waiting.

He seemed uncertain for a moment, then the glimmer I had caught of it was gone. "Wait until I am free of the beast."

I didn't reply, but he must have caught a whiff of my confusion.

"Eorlund told me last night that he'll be finished with Wuuthrad today. Farkas, Aela and I are prepared. We mean to leave within the hour of its completion," he explained.

I felt ill at the prospect; in knowing that they would be gone this time tomorrow, for an indeterminable length of time, and Divines knew what trials they would have to overcome on their journey. "Can't I come with you?" I asked softly, knowing what his answer would be.

Vilkas' mouth echoed a smile as he looked away, not needing to say what I already knew. "I've talked it over with Aela and Farkas, and this morning I will tell the others that you are a member of the Circle," his gaze drifted back to me, and there was still that hint of a smile to his lips. "That will place you in charge, while we are gone. Once it has been announced to our shield-siblings, I mean to visit the Jarl to give him the good news."

The rare, secretive smile of Vilkas' was a little infectious; I felt the corner of my mouth lift in response. By being welcomed into the Circle, my responsibilities would bring me back to Jorrvaskr for longer periods of time. I doubted that I would be permitted to miss the Jarl's dinners without a good excuse, but my duty to the Companions, particularly while the others were away, would take priority over attending the Jarl in court. "Thank you," I replied, though yet again, it came out as a whisper.

Vilkas waved his hand dismissively. "We should be away for a week, or perhaps a little more. And, when I am returned, and myself again, I'll take you to Windhelm. Can you wait a week for me?"

I didn't want to wait a day, but I didn't have much choice unless I wanted to risk openly opposing the Jarl's orders. I nodded, telling, begging myself to be contented with this condition.

"Good," Vilkas stood, satisfied, and I envied him that. "I'll leave you to your..." his eyes drifted to the book I had been reading when he had come upon me, and his smile gradually fell as he stared at Kodlak's journal.

I reached toward it swiftly, holding the book to my chest, and Vilkas' eyes followed the path the journal took, then glanced up to mine. His eyes were sad again, but it was a different sort of sad to before; this type was more guarded, as though he was worried about something underneath his sorrow.

"It helps me to feel close to him," I offered by way of excuse for my behaviour.

Vilkas nodded once, but didn't reply for a while as he observed me. I glanced down hurriedly, bearing his scrutiny, opening the book in my lap and flipping the pages to locate my place.

"He was right, you know," Vilkas sighed. I looked up at his pronouncement, but he was staring at the ground and shaking his head, as though he was laughing to himself, but he didn't actually laugh.

"He usually was," I mused gently.

"He saw who you were to us, before we knew you," he added, lifting his eyes just far enough to meet mine; the vague wariness still apparent.

I huffed. "He thought I knew how to cure you," I murmured. "I was reading about it before you came to me," I shook my head. "I can't break your curse. You are doing that for yourself."

"Ah. You haven't read far enough," Vilkas rumbled, and his unease seemed to melt away.

Keeping my finger in the place I had gotten to, I closed the book and sat up straighter again. So, Vilkas had read it already. Now I didn't feel so awkward about being caught with it.

"What did he think I was?" I asked the obvious.

Vilkas' small, hesitant smile was back, and he shook his head. "You would rather hear it from him, than from me," he turned away.

I frowned at his back, uncertain if what he'd said was true, for I trusted his word as much as Kodlak's. But I let him go. Vilkas had the most important journey of his life ahead of him, and didn't need to be weighed down by my personal dramas.

"Training begins at dawn," he had stopped, and glanced over his shoulder, to remind me.

I settled myself more comfortably, turned my eyes down to the book, and assured him that I would be there. I scanned the open page, full of Kodlak's scribings, wondering where I might find his assessment of what he believed I was to the Companions. I heard Vilkas' bare footsteps retreat as dull thuds, and eventually, the click of a door being closed.

With Vilkas returned to his room, I glanced up to the space he had occupied, and found myself wishing he was still seated before me. I wondered, for a moment, if I should take Kodlak's journal and go to him? It had been days since I had sung for him or his brother, and on the eve of their final journey as werewolves, they might have appreciated a tune, since none of us were able to find sleep as it was.

No. It will only annoy Aela, I reasoned, turning my eyes back down to the book. Besides. They know that if they want music, they need only ask. I will not force myself on them and intrude on their quiet time.

I made myself focus on what I was reading again instead. Kodlak wrote briefly of my first performance; the program I had intended to play for the High King that fateful night, though none of the Companions had known it:

Little Celeste filled the halls with song tonight, as we had agreed, and her voice filled me with a hope that I have not felt since I was a whole man. Once again, hours after I dismissed the notion as folly, I am having difficulty in believing that she is not the harbinger from my vision; a bright beacon guiding our troubled souls back from the abyss on the edge of which we seem to eternally teeter.

Our research will unearth a cure, but while we search, perhaps Celeste Passero will be able to smooth the path we tread and allow us to think and see clearer than we have in the past.

Vilkas came to me, after our songstress had retired to the bed she had won for her efforts, and he seemed a changed man. The brightness in his heart was overflowing, vanquishing the anguish he carries knit about his soul, and it pains me to know that this light will fade if we let our little dove fly away come morning. I have proposed that we offer her a contract, and Vilkas has agreed to speak with her when she wakes.

I shuddered and closed my eyes, remembering that morning well. Vilkas, who I had not really known at all, had been alone, taking breakfast in the mead hall, and reading. I had thought he was working, but it turned out he had been waiting to speak to me. But, he hadn't – had he? I cast my mind back to that moment, and was certain that he had not mentioned the contract Kodlak wrote of until I had already taken my leave. And I had turned them down, afraid of tying myself to this one place.

How disappointed Kodlak must have been in me then! I almost couldn't bare reading on, for I knew that he would have seen the evasive way I had fled Jorrvaskr as a rejection of them.

Turning my eyes back down, I shook my head at myself. I had come back, so it didn't matter. I read on, and found only a minor reference to my refusal, in between more investigations into the location of the Glenmoril witches.

I turned the pages swiftly, wondering when I might come to the part that Vilkas had eluded to; where Kodlak realised what I was to them. In the scheme of things it didn't matter, as they were about to be cured, but I was curious, and Kodlak's journal was proving to be just the distraction my mind needed from the uncertainties surrounding Hadvar's whereabouts and Giselle's betrayal. I found the place where he had written of my coming back to Jorrvaskr:

Our little dove has returned to us. The impressions I carried with regards to her future, and ours, have been vindicated in a way I could not have possibly imagined.

She is Dragonborn. Who better to serve the Gods in my vision than she? I will leave my suspicions of her progenitors out of this volume, for it is irrelevant to our goals, but perhaps, after our cure has been realised, and her duties have given her liberty to stay a while, I might touch on the subject with her, out of a more personal interest. I doubt very much that the Empire would make anything of such talk, but for her sake, we will maintain caution.

I sighed shakily at this; Kodlak was being deliberately evasive, but I understood what he eluded to, because I had queried Farengar in a similar vein when I had first found out about my being Dragonborn. Kodlak was assuming that because I was Dragonborn, I must have been a hidden descendant of the Septim line. But if this was true, Giselle would be Dragonborn as well, and I knew that she wasn't, or she would not have bothered adopting my name, or now be pretending to be me. Farengar had confirmed that while the Septims had been dragonborn and passed the honour along their line to each Emperor and Empress as part of their covenant with the Divines until the Oblivion Crisis, Akatosh had and always would determine who was Dragonborn, as the need arose.

Still, I felt sad that Kodlak and I would never be able to discuss the matter, now. This sobering thought made me turn my eyes back to the page, desperate to hear what was left of his voice.

I am glad that she will be here with us on this, the final days of our search. Farkas is happy she is here, and his open acceptance has always been a strong point within him. Vilkas is quietly pleased but maintains his professional front. His heart glows when she is near, as though her very presence is a song to him. I am not certain that he is conscious of his response, for he has suppressed his impulses for so long, out of his deep-seated fear of causing harm, but it is his business, so I will write no more in that regard. I write only of her unconscious influence over him – and to a lesser extent, his brother – because it confirms that she was the mysterious one in my vision who stayed their hands, which means that she does have a role to play in our quest for a cure.

Curious, and a little scared by what I had read, I hazarded a glance toward the hallway that led to Vilkas and Farkas' rooms. I had understood that my music had effected them, and calmed their beasts, but something about the way Kodlak had explained it made me uncomfortable. I didn't want to have such control as he wrote of over anyone, least of all my shield-brothers, and had never intended on bewitching them into helping me.

The hallways were still and silent. I shook my head at myself in frustration, turning my eyes back to the page. Whatever had happened, all that was written here – I had to keep reminding myself, it was past. I had earned my place amongst the Companions, and both Vilkas and Farkas were as important to me as true brothers might have been. In a matter of days, they would no longer need my songs, and any hold I unwittingly had over them would depart with their beasts. Resolved by this idea, I read on:

I will keep her close, even if I am wrong and she has no part to play in ending our curse. I find her presence soothing, and enjoy talking with her. She has a honeyed tongue, as most bards do, and often speaks before thinking her words through to conclusion, but her heart is true and pure. Perhaps it is the dragon within her who appeases the beast within me, when her siren's voice is at rest.

Skjor and Aela are not so pleased that she has returned, but I am confident that when they see the good she is doing to the others, they will come around, and she may be the key to convincing them to renounce the beast blood, where I have failed...

Guilt and regret pooled within me and I stopped reading to sit back and simply stare at Kodlak's handwriting. I didn't want to be reminded of Skjor, and how he and Aela had tried to turn me, and what had followed with the Silver Hand. I had come to a point in the journal that would now only dredge up more painful memories the longer I read.

I put the journal down where it belonged, where I had come upon it, and rose slowly, my eyes glued to its bound leather cover. Perhaps I could ask Vilkas to explain what I wanted to know again, when he joined me for training. Perhaps if I told him why I had stopped, he would tell me this time when I asked. And, perhaps I could offer him a song or three while we worked, to soften any torment he was enduring in silence before they left for Ysgramor's tomb.

Resolved to read no more, for the time being at least, I padded upstairs. Dawn could not be so far away, as it was, and until then I could sit in the mead hall, take some breakfast, wait for Vilkas to rise, and try not to think.

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A/n: It was a lovely surprise to see some familiar faces/regulars from TTLS reviewing - welcome to the tale, Aberron and Deplaisance de la Nuit!