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.

43. Where You Want To Be

Chapter 43: Where You Want To Be

As the sun sank over a glowing horizon, Lydia and my Legion honour guard escorted me to my quarters, past rows and rows of identical stiff canvas tents; their walls snapping in the dry, chilly afternoon breeze.

In truth I remembered little of the rush to my tent, and saw even less of it through the sting of tears and glare of the setting sun. Once at the entrance to my temporary abode, I barely glanced over the contents. It was the same size as Giselle's prison, but neat, orderly, and perfunctory, as one would expect of a soldier of the Empire's living space, containing a small table, several chairs, a closed chest near the back, and a bedroll behind a wood and canvas screen.

My housecarl guided me into the tent. She spoke in a bright voice, perhaps for the benefit of my guards, but I missed whatever it was she said. I let her direct me as I noted a change in lighting and temperature; the material door and window flaps were tied closed and lanterns were lit, and the bitterly cold wind no longer tried to claw its way to my bones. Once I was sat at the table, I turned my eyes down, blinking at my small, shaking hands. Thick splinters of wood stuck out of the pale flesh from where I had gripped Giselle's bars, but I didn't feel them.

It was as though I couldn't feel anything beyond the adrenaline of the interview and the raw misery now coursing through my veins in discovering that my sister hadn't been trying to trick or trap me. She hadn't been brainwashed or bribed to fight for Ulfric or to share his bed. She was devoted to him, and she had believed every word she had said to me. She truly believed that what she and Ulfric had done was for the greater good.

As Ulfric does, I tormented myself. I should have been relieved that the Legion had finally caught my sister, because if she remained with Ulfric Stormcloak, together they might win their war.

But this feeling; this was certainly not relief. Clenching my eyes closed tightly to stall a fresh wave of grief swelling on my tide of emotions, I was only then aware that Lydia and my guards were still speaking to each other.

I made myself listen, but was removed from their conversation; their voices strange echoes drifting to me as though through water.

"- should the battle be won tonight – and our most recent intelligence suggest it shall be – she will be moved with the rest of the prisoners, probably at dawn."

"Yes, that is standard procedure, and she will not be exempt. We must go back soon and resume questioning before we lose our only chance to make some good of the false Dragonborn's reign of terror."

"Lady Dragonborn is in shock, Woodharth – we can't ask her to face her sister again tonight."

"Giselle won't speak to anybody else."

"It seemed she didn't speak much sense as it was."

"The Legate will still need to hear the full of what occurred, particularly if we do not intend on going back. Shall we advise her that questioning has been completed, Lady Lydia?"

"Can we – just – give her a few minutes?" my housecarl replied in a tight, hushed voice. "Please."

A clunk of something solid being placed on the table before me came to my ears, and then a hand was on my shoulder; gentle and consoling. The chair next to me scraped against the hard-packed dirt floor before it was filled by a sighing occupant.

"Little one," it was Lydia, of course, "drink this. I know, I know!" she added swiftly when I glanced to her with wide, tear-filled eyes. "Bards don't drink. But a sip can't hurt, can it?"

I shook my head dully. "We drink. We just...don't drink much," my voice was rough, crackling with unspent emotion, and in this state I wondered if I might ever sing again; I certainly felt as though my will to do so had fled. "In excess, drink damages our...vocal chords and..." I trailed off, for the excuses did not matter.

"Then, take some," my housecarl's head tilted as she offered me a smile. "It might help to distract you from everything that I know is going around in that head of yours," she urged softly.

I gave in because it was easier to do what others asked of me than to make decisions for myself. Nodding and reaching for the tankard – my hand was still shaking – I gingerly lifted it and stared at the contents. Mead, aqueously reflecting the lantern-light, giving it the appearance of liquid gold.

The last time you drank mead, you were with Kodlak.

I frowned at the drink, turning it around in the tankard so it caught more of the light. There was something soothing and disconnecting about the pools of light and darkness; it was like a tiny aurora in my hand.

Indeed we cannot leave them; for they will forever remain in our hearts and minds, for as long as we live and breathe.

His toast as we had drank to my joining the Companions shifted through me, and I nodded with resolution, lifting the tankard to my lips and taking a draught. It wasn't as sweet or thick as Kodlak's mead, but then it wasn't anywhere near as strong either, though it did leave a trail of warmth in my mouth and throat as I swallowed it.

"Good," Lydia sounded relieved. "Are you hungry?" she rose.

I shook my head, but she went anyway and spoke quietly to one of the guards to arrange for food to be brought.

I glanced up to the three guards, wondering why they were clustered just inside of the closed door flap. Did they need to be invited in? What exactly were their duties?

I watched as one, the Imperial male of the group, shifted the canvas door aside and left under Lydia's instructions. Then I spoke to the remaining two.

"What are your names?" I asked quietly.

The Nord man and woman snapped to attention.

"Captain Elsga Mjardott, ma'am, at your service."

"Dathies, ma'am. Dathies Woodharth. Officer of the 105th."

Lydia had been moving back to her seat as they had announced themselves, and raised an amused eyebrow at me that the pair couldn't see.

Amusement couldn't reach me yet, and their stiffness was merely a sign of respect and office. I glanced from her hastily and waved toward the chairs around me. "Won't you sit? Have a drink, if you like?" I wrinkled my nose at the tankard Lydia had brought. "There's no use in just standing there."

The Legionnaires stepped forward, but both shook their heads in unison.

"Thank you Lady Dragonborn, but we are on duty," Elsga replied for them both.

"Oh," my gaze drifted back toward my splinter-filled hands on my lap. "Of course," I murmured flatly. "I suppose we will remain here in silence then, until the battle for Whiterun has been won for us."

I think the pair withdrew to stand either side of the door flap. A small, earnest voice in my mind berated me for being so rude and begged me to apologise to them. It was a simple matter to smother the entreaty.

"Celeste," Lydia drew my attention to her. She smiled ruefully and hesitated before adding, "We can't just sit here, I'm afraid. I know that you would rather forget what just happened, but there are people who will want you to relate every detail of what just occurred to them soon."

I groaned, resting my forehead on the table with a soft thunk.

"There is an alternative," Lydia spoke up, loud and pointed to be heard over my disgruntled noise. "You can repeat it once, to me, now, and perhaps Elsga or Dathies might scribe all you say. Then you may forget it, or deal with it, or do whatever you wish with the memories and the information she has given you," Lydia said in an offhand way. Her tone darkened, as she added, "and I will relay your audience to those who ask for what has passed."

I glanced up, resting my chin on the tabletop as I observed her. "You would make my report to the Legate?"

Lydia smirked and nodded her head, reaching for my hand. "What are housecarls for?"

Her casual manner, contrasting with a determined glint in her emerald eyes made me well up with tears again, though I managed to hold them back. I darted forward, throwing my arms around her. "You are too good for me, do you know that?"

"Oh, little one," Lydia soothed, laughing softly as she held me. "You still don't understand the lengths that those who love you will go to, to relieve some of this mighty weight from your shoulders?"

Clenching my eyes closed tighter to further stave off my emotions, I swallowed thickly. "I don't understand what she told me," I made myself take a calming breath, and another. Lydia was doing this for me; I would need to reign in my emotions in for her.

"I would wager that not many will," Lydia countered. "But we should still document it, while it is fresh in your mind."

"No, I mean," I shook my head, trying to make sense of what I was trying to say. "She told me that Stormcloak...knows why I have been made Dragonborn."

Easing back slowly, Lydia rested her hands on my shoulders; her brows furrowed slightly. "Why don't we start at the beginning?" she posed. "Captain Mjardott, could you find some paper and something to write with? Perhaps we might make some sense of what Giselle said, together."

I watched as the Captain stepped across the room and looked through the chest by the wall, then returned with a notebook and some pieces of charcoal, and took a seat across from us at the table. "Ready when you are," Elsga announced.

Lydia had extracted herself from me fully, and now merely held one of my hands in both of hers with my palm facing up.

"Thank you," Lydia replied to the Captain. "Now, my Thane. When you are ready, we will hear what you would tell us."

A tiny burst of unexpected pain in my hand made me jump, and also managed to clear some of the fog from my mind. I stared down at the source as another sharp tug jolted through me. Lydia was swiftly withdrawing the splinters I had gained from Giselle's prison bars.

"Sorry," Lydia murmured, briefly glancing up under her lashes. "It needs to be done. And, perhaps it will help to distract you from what you are recalling?"

Closing my eyes, I nodded and took a few more steadying breaths, suppressing my reactive startle when I felt the next tug of the tiny piece of wood being drawn from my palm.

Lydia was right; it was a good distraction.

I opened my eyes, faced Captain Mjardott, and gave my report.

–

While I talked, the Captain scratched away in the notebook and Officer Woodharth simply stood by the table and listened, frowning but never interrupting me.

Lydia spoke sometimes, often asking me to repeat something I had said. I assumed that she was trying to commit as much of the tale to memory as she could for future use. I did as she asked, as dispassionately as I could, watching her as she crossed her brows and continued to withdraw splinters from my hands.

The third member of my honour guard returned part way through my speech, his arms laden with a tray of food. He took an immediate interest in what we were doing, but said nothing; silently placing the food tray on the table, then joining Dathies.

Still tending to my hands, Lydia reached forward, grabbed an apple, and passed it to me, without even looking at me.

I accepted it, staring at the shiny, green-skinned fruit, turning it in the hand she had finished with before the Imperial guard had arrived. "I'm not hungry," I reminded her.

Lydia flicked me a frown as she grabbed another from the platter and took a noisy, crunching, almost pointed bite out of it. "Humour me," she said through a mouthful of apple, placing it on the table as she turned her eyes back to her work.

I rolled my eyes, but bit into the apple, because it felt as though she would pester me about it until I did otherwise.

Of course, Lydia knew what she was doing. She had seemed to know what she was doing this entire time; distracting me by all means and methods available to her. Recalling the dialogue that had passed between my twin and I came easier with Lydia's attentions to my palm, and a little food and mead in my stomach.

What they didn't provide was answers to the questions my sister's utterances had dredged up, but regardless; the tale had to be completed, so that others might be able to make sense of it.

Once the apple, my hands and the report were all finished, with Lydia's faultless and clever efforts to keep me from sinking back into sullen misery, my mood lifted and the painful tightness gripping my heart seemed to slowly unclench. Some objectivity even returned when a noisy cheer from outside came to us, muted through the canvas.

"Whiterun is won!" the cry came. "The Stormcloaks have issued a retreat!"

I couldn't suppress my relieved smile.

"It's over?" Lydia rose immediately, charging to the door flap and throwing it open; my honour guards on her tail, making similar exclamations and hurrying to see what was happening for themselves.

I sank back in my seat and let out a huge sigh as I looked up to the flat, featureless canvas roof of my quarters.

It is over. You have a home to return to.

With my emotions so recently, rawly tapped, I found myself close to tears very suddenly.

"Celeste!" a voice called from outside. It was not Lydia or my guards, but another voice; one dearly beloved to me.

My eyes widened as I dashed my unspent tears with my fingers and sat straighter at once; my attention snapping to the entrance where I saw a quickly-approaching Legion officer through the gloom of evening. "Hadvar?!"

He strode straight past my entourage and into my quarters, his face a mask of concern. "I came as soon as I could," he muttered in an apologetic tone.

I stood, hastily putting my apple core down, which I had been fidgeting with prior. "But, it's all right, the battle is – ah!" I cried out as Hadvar threw his arms around me, enclosing me in a fierce embrace the moment I was within reach.

He held me to his chest; his other arm secured around my waist. "Thank the Eight, you are safe," he sighed into my hair.

"Of course I'm safe," I shuffled so I could move my arms from where they had been trapped between us. "Lydia and the Legion have been looking after me here, and Farengar shielded me during – no. Wait."

I had never truly been in danger, while many had put there lives at risk for me. "More importantly," I drew back only far enough to meet his stormy-grey eyes, "Whiterun is safe."

"But, your sister," Hadvar continued in a rush; his expression still marred by distress. "They should never have asked you to question her – you're not a soldier to follow the orders of the army. When I heard-"

"I wanted to face her," I explained plainly. "And Giselle..." my breath shuddered. "It was very...strange," I settled quietly, baffled by the lack of distress I felt this time in thinking on it; the clarity that had been out of reach while I had been taking part in the events.

Lydia's insistence to document the exchange seemed to have been a cathartic exercise for me, and from within the disconnected state I now found myself in, I understood that before I had faced Giselle, I had known that the confrontation would be heart-wrenching. I had been preparing myself from the moment I had heard of her allegiance to Stormcloak. My tears; my immediate response had certainly been borne of reactionary frustration to what she had said, but now, even if she had only given me more questions; now that the shock had abated, I felt a semblance of obscure, however disappointed, closure. I had been able to face her before I travelled to the Greybeards' eyrie to begin my Dragonborn training.

"All right, then," his tone related anything but acceptance. With a gentle tug, Hadvar closed the space between us again, strengthening his hold on me, grasping my armour as though even pressed against him I wasn't close enough. "I hope that you obtained some answers from her."

I closed my eyes, winding my arms around him as I settled more comfortably on his chest, and I listened to the beat of his heart through his armour. "Not exactly," I huffed quietly.

I felt him tense, and after a pause he hazarded, "She is being transported at dawn. If we return to her now-"

"No," I stressed, shaking my head firmly and refusing to open my eyes. "I am very comfortable here," I muttered.

Hadvar let out a breath of air that might have been a perplexed laugh; his chest rising and falling in time with the sound.

"And with Hadvar you shall stay," Lydia's voice came to me, close by my side. "But, I shall take my leave."

I opened my eyes; turned my head to face my housecarl, but was reluctant to let go of Hadvar. I frowned at her. "Leave? Where are you going?"

Lydia's expression was flat but she glowered before she turned away. "To pay a visit to your sister."

"Don't you dare," I broke free and stumbled toward her, reaching out and clasping her arm before she could exit the tent. She stopped and looked at me patiently, but there was dark resolution in her eyes that I knew I would not be able to shift.

"I...don't want you anywhere near her," I faltered, the dangerous air about her almost tangible. "Giselle will give you nothing of use, and only bring you pain with her blind fanaticism," I implored.

Lydia reached over and gently detangled my fingers from her arm. "I understand why this might trouble you," she sounded tranquil, despite the sharp glint to her eyes. "But you must let me do this. I have wanted to stand before your sister for as long as you have. And if I am able to draw anything of use to the Legion from her; so be it," she shrugged.

"And if she won't talk?" I fired back. "Will you make her?"

Lydia pursed her lips and didn't answer me directly. The hard edge to her gaze softened, and she looked almost apologetic before she replied with, "Don't leave Rorikstead without me, okay? We'll go home together, when this is done."

"Lydia," I pleaded quietly as she strode toward the exit. The entire situation was ridiculous, pointless, not to mention dangerous. Giselle would not speak to her, and Lydia would not resort to...alternative methods. Would she? No. Of course she wouldn't. This was Lydia, not some Imperial torturer.

Lydia glanced back over her shoulder. "Yes, my Thane?" she asked simply, softly.

I stood motionless, watching her as I searched for what I wanted to say; both of us painfully aware that I could, if I wished, order her to stay. But if Lydia succeeds, my mind prodded, it may prevent the Legion from extracting information from Giselle by...those alternative methods.

The idea was countered at once by a scoff. After everything she has done, you wish to protect her from the fate she has created?

I tried to swat the conflict away, and I could not answer my question truthfully, at this time.

"Don't get too close to her," I advised hurriedly. "And don't..." my shoulders sank in defeat. "Please, don't let her words sting you..."

...as they did me.

Lydia promised she wouldn't, and left. I watched the canvas door flap in a breeze that I didn't feel from within the tent. One of the guards shifted forward to secure the door toggles, and I heard Hadvar approach me.

He rested an arm across my shoulders. "Lydia knows what she's doing," he assured quietly.

I nodded dimly, my eyes still on the exit. I thought I knew what I was doing, too.

Lydia is older than you, more professional than you, and both a warrior and a mother, my internal dialogue listed her strengths and weighed them against me. She knows everything that Giselle told you, so none of it can be used against her, to hurt or surprise her. Her chances of obtaining anything useful are infinitely better than yours ever were.

The thought convinced me to trust my housecarl's choice. I wasn't happy about my beloved Lydia facing my sister in any capacity, but she was right; she wanted, needed to stand before Giselle as much as I had.

"That she does," I answered finally, tearing my eyes from the closed tent flap. I looked up to Hadvar from where I was nestled under his wing.

He turned to look down at me at the same time. While his eyes seemed largely guarded, masking the frustration he had touched upon earlier, his patient, supportive smile warmed me.

Here he is, I told myself dumbly as my own small, relieved smile unwittingly grew and the walls of fatigue, grief and fear continued to melt and thin within me. For a moment I wondered why I continued to be bemused by his presence, but was able to swiftly validate the reaction; I was used to referring to Hadvar, of speaking of him to others and longing for his company, not actually standing next to and being held by him. I could count the number of times we had held one another on my hands.

One of my honour guard shuffling around the table, helping themselves to some food perhaps, broke through my trance, and I glanced toward them, duly reminded that Hadvar and I were not alone, and we certainly had not found each other in the brightest of circumstances, whether the battle for Whiterun was over or not. Just standing here and smiling goofily at him was idiotic.

I cleared my throat, took Hadvar's hand and led him to the table. "Where have you been all day?" I asked, longing to talk, but of anything except my day.

Hadvar hesitated before casting a quick look my honour guard's way, and when he glanced back to me a secret smile was on his lips. "That would be classified information, Lady Dragonborn," his voice contained a trace of a smirk.

"Ah," I couldn't stop a grin from surfacing, and turned my eyes down toward the hard-packed floor to mask my amusement. "But of course it is," I laughed to the ground, pulling a chair out with the intention of sitting in it.

"And besides," Hadvar continued warmly, shifting around to stand in front of me before I could sit and cradling my waist as his hands fell to the small of my back. "I am off duty. I have a rule, to never bring work home with me," his nose wrinkled.

He was adorable, and underneath my giggle, I understood that he was both referring to our escape of Helgen; to his mind, I had not been work; and making every effort to keep the air light for my sake. Grateful, I let myself be swept away by the mood, even as I knew it wouldn't last. I flickered a lofty glance around the tent. "Home looks an awful lot like your office today, Quaestor," I teased.

Hadvar mirrored my assessment of the tent. "You're right," his eyes danced as he glanced back to me. "Why don't we rectify that? There's an inn in Rorikstead. We could..." his mirth faltered, just for a second, to betray a trace of uncertainty. "Perhaps I could...buy you dinner, my Lady?" he chanced quietly.

It was such a simple, heartfelt request, and such a normal idea after the long, terrible day. I smiled widely now, my eyes shining as the romantic within me glowed. Dinner. Together. I could think of nothing I would like more.

In the corner of my vision, something shifted; I flickered the something a glance and saw that it was Dathies, leaning back on his chair with a bored expression on his face.

"Oh," I flushed. Hadvar had distracted me to the point where – yet again – I had forgotten that there were three other Legion officers in the tent with us.

My smile faltered as I turned my head to Elsga. Was I...allowed to leave the encampment? "Captain, now that the war is won – surely the Legate would not be opposed..."

I trailed off at the sight of the apologetic glance she was casting my way. "I'm sorry, ma'am," she said, and it sounded as though she truly was. "We have orders to protect you and until those orders are revoked, I'm afraid you're stuck with us."

"That's not what I meant," I defended quickly, my flush doubling.

Hadvar's arms loosened as he ducked down to my level. "It's all right. They can come with us," he offered cheerily, then turned and casually offered me his arm.

Blinking at the swiftness of his actions, I placed my hand in the crook of his elbow cautiously. Perhaps the Legate had not confined me to the garrison; my guards were not opposing the suggestion, and Hadvar would never have asked had it risked going against a superior's orders. "All...right," I conceded, though my enthusiasm for the idea was in flux, given that we would be accompanied by three large, quiet soldiers wherever we went. The vision of a romantic dinner for two dissolved.

Remember where you are and make the most of this time with him.

Hadvar led me from the tent. The booted footfalls of my honour guard clomped behind us as we turned down the row of tents and walked past the fluttering torches now lighting the paths.

Sounds of merriment danced over the canvas garrison, echoing off the hills that the encampment was nestled between. At intervals I spied blazing bonfires, surrounded by clusters of men and women in Legion armour, laughing, drinking, and talking animatedly.

The soldiers of the Empire were celebrating their victory. I glanced to Hadvar, wondering if he would not rather be here with his fellows? The question was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it, for fear of him saying yes. It was selfish of me, but I didn't want to have to share him with anybody right now.

He must have sensed my notice; his eyes found mine. He wore a broad smile and his eyes reflected the small fires around us. "Is something the matter?" he asked warmly.

I shook my head, grasping his elbow a little tighter as I looked back to our path and leaned my head against his arm. "I am...glad you are here," I owned quietly.

His reply was a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

–

"We are, um, busier than usual, but I will see what I can arrange for you, Lady Dragonborn," the red-headed Nord youth who seemed to be one of the Frostfruit inn's only workers said with some reverence as his cheeks pinked. "Just – give me a minute or two," he darted off.

Smiling and thanking the lad, who I felt odd in thinking of as a 'lad' given that he was a head or two taller than me, I glanced around the small, homey-feeling tavern.

"It's a little noisier than I would like, but will it do?" Hadvar mused as he wound his arm around my waist.

I nodded. There was something very welcoming about the Frostfruit inn, even in its current, somewhat cacophonous state and full of soldiers. The long hearth blazed in the centre of the public room, clear of the char marks and ash that usually encircled tavern hearths, surrounded instead by relaxed-looking Legionnaires bearing tankards and wooden cups. At the end of the room was a tall bar crowded by so many officers that I couldn't make out the person or people who must have been serving behind it. Glancing up, I saw that wreaths of snowberries had been hung above the polished horn lanterns, and smiled at the pretty touch it loaned to the inn. Somebody took great pride in this place.

Before the serving lad had returned, a figure approached and stood before us; a huge Nord soldier wearing heavy armour and with a short, dark moustache and beard. "Reidarsson, the General requests a moment of your time."

I felt Hadvar stiffen as he stood a little taller. "Legate Skulnar," he offered a salute with his free hand.

"At ease; you're off duty," the older, dark-haired Nord flicked me a sideways glance, then did a double take. "Lady Dragonborn," he offered quietly, dipping his head a little as his eyes travelled over me uncertainly.

"Hello," I returned politely, looking up to Hadvar in wonder. What would the General want of him here, and now?

His eyes were elsewhere; searching the room swiftly. "I did not realise that the General was here," he murmured, almost regretfully.

"This won't take long," Legate Skulnar replied flatly, motioning toward a table at the bar end of the public room. I craned my neck and caught a glimpse of Legate Rikke, and had to assume that General Tullius was with her.

"Of course," Hadvar accepted, sending me a sheepish look as the Legate turned to leave. "Sorry," he ducked and whispered. "I'll be back-"

I made sure I smiled around my plaintive feelings, and nodded supportively. "Go. Do you want me to order you something?"

Hadvar's hand was on my arm as he stepped past me, and he cast me a grateful smile. "Thank you," his fingers drifted from me as he walked away.

I watched him join the table of high-ranking Legion officers, and was able to maintain my smile until he disappeared from view.

Then I sighed, turning away and looking for the serving lad. It seemed that I was going to have to share Hadvar's attentions, after all.

"Don't be disheartened, ma'am," the member of my guard whose name I didn't know spoke up. I turned to the man and made an effort to smooth my expression. "Quaestor Reidarsson is always in high demand, given his actions at Korvanjund," he continued. "But I daresay he will not leave you for long."

My brows furrowed at yet another reference to the Nordic ruin. "What did he do there?" I asked, recalling that it had been after the mission that Hadvar had been promoted to Quaestor.

"He hasn't told you?"

I shook my head speculatively. "He might have once, but his letters for some time now have been intercepted by someone-"

The ginger lad returned very suddenly. "I've got a table ready-" he burst out.

I startled as I faced him swiftly, my brows still crossed, to see that he was peering around me.

"Where's your soldier friend?" the young man asked.

"He was called to the General's table, but he will be joining us again directly," I cast the Imperial guard a glance, wordlessly expressing that our conversation wasn't over.

"Ah – very good," the boy ducked as he turned around. "This way, if you please."

He led us to a small table tucked into the furthermost corner from the bar, cast in shadow, though a small dish was in its centre bearing three fat, white, flickering candles. Once I was seated he rattled off the house special, and I swiftly ordered it and some wine for both Hadvar and I, hoping that I was making the right choice. I had no idea what food or drink he actually preferred, apart from everything that his aunt cooked, and having sampled Sigrid's cooking for myself, I doubted that any inn in Skyrim would be her equal.

Once the lad had left I turned around in my seat. My three guards had remained standing behind me, and I fixed my gaze on the Imperial man who had talked of Hadvar's actions that had led to his promotion. "Tell me what Quaestor Reidarsson did at Korvanjund."

The man gave a somewhat uncertain, sideways glance to his peers, before he frowned and nodded. "He retrieve the Jagged Crown for the Empire. Tore it from the hands of the false Dragonborn."

Of course, I had known that they had been at the same place at the same time, but I baulked at the revelation that Hadvar had stood face to face with my sister. Had they fought one another? How had he survived against her magic, or she against his steel? Perhaps her attack on the Pale encampment had not been entirely provoked by my letter to him.

Before I could ask anything, Captain Mjardott made a snorting sound. My eyes flicked to her, full of unasked questions.

"That is not why he was promoted," she scoffed to the Imperial officer, then glanced to me. "You deserve to know the full of it, ma'am, considering what has occurred today. If not for Reidarrson, Korvanjund would have been a tomb for many more bodies that day," she said, her words spoken with evident respect. "It was his bravery that was rewarded, not his retrieval of the crown."

My heart swelled with pride as I glanced toward the table Hadvar had been led to in wonderment, though I was not truly surprised. Had he not saved me, when he hadn't needed to, back in Helgen? Nodding, understanding in part what must have occurred, I murmured, "He knew she was not the Dragonborn, didn't he?"

All three of my guards confirmed it, but it was Dathies who took control of the story, then.

"He didn't even falter," the officer regaled, looking longingly at a tray of drinks that the serving lad was passing by us holding. "That's what saved us. Had he been surprised or cautious, like the rest of us were, she would have had the time to burn us alive where we stood."

My eyes widened. "You were there?"

Dathies nodded once as his eyes shifted back to me. "Aye, I was, and I owe my life to your young man. It was a ghoulish place, full of fierce draugr defending it and Stormcloaks attacking us from all sides. And in the temple crypt, there she was, standing proud with the ancient relic as though she intended to put it on her head and claim leadership of Skyrim right then. If Reidarsson hadn't charged in and known to separate her hands so she couldn't cast a spell, there our remains would have stayed."

"Gods," I shuddered, turning back to the table and staring at the wood grain. How was it that any could stomach calling me the hero of Skyrim for merely being present at events occurring around me, when there were true heroes like Hadvar among us who had saved countless men and women without Divine intervention? It was the actions of men like Hadvar that inspired bards to write heroic ballads. The musician within me burned to compose the saga of Korvanjund in his honour. I would do so some day, I vowed, though I etched Dathies words to memory for later, so that I would not be consumed by song then and there.

The personal implications of what had occurred in the Nordic ruin warmed both my thoughts and cheeks. Hadvar's swift actions spoke of his regard, his faith in me, even back then when we had barely known one another. Upon seeing the woman calling herself Dragonborn, who looked identical to me, he hadn't faltered. He had believed that she was not me already, but in that first second he had seen her, Hadvar must have also recalled that I had mentioned I had a twin who was studying to be a mage in an offhand way to Dorthe around his aunt and uncle's dinner table, and had known that she was not Shouting at their army, but casting standard destruction spells.

I had known and seen for myself that Hadvar was strong, clever, loyal and logical, but this swiftness of mind was something to be in awe of. He hadn't been promoted because he'd retrieved an artefact or saved his fellows; the Empire had elevated him to Quaestor because he had the intellect that, in the right role, would determine who won this war.

There was a lot more to the story that I wanted to know – including why Giselle had not been captured that very day by the Legion, after Hadvar had disarmed her – but we were interrupted before I could ask any more by the arrival of the ginger serving lad, who swiftly placed two goblets of red wine before me.

"Did you see much battle today, Lady Dragonborn?" he asked eagerly as he stood tall and hugged the drinks tray to his chest.

He looked so earnest that I didn't have the heart to dismiss him. "A little," I shrugged, reaching for and sniffing at the contents of the goblet before me. I was no expert, but the red within smelled very sweet for wine.

As I took a small sip, confirming that it was more honeyed than I had expected it to be, though not overly sickly, the youth shuffled on the spot, glancing around briefly before he leaned in a little closer. "What was it like? Did you use the thu'um on the Stormcloaks?" he whispered intently.

"Move along lad," Captain Mjardott cut in dryly. "She's not a bard, here to tell you..." she stopped, checked herself; cleared her throat. "Well. I mean, not today, at least," she muttered.

Elsga's blunder lightened the mood immensely and I laughed as I glanced toward her. Dathies, the Imperial guard, and the serving lad laughed with me, as Elsga rolled her eyes at all of us, or perhaps at herself.

"It's all right – sit a moment," I encouraged the youth, pushing out the chair beside me, because I knew that my guard wouldn't sit no matter how many times I offered seats to them. "The Battle for Whiterun is a tale that does not deserve to be rushed," I lifted an eyebrow at him, shifting seamlessly into the role of the alluring bard intent on gathering her audience.

"L...Lady Dragonborn," the serving lad's eyes widened and a smile lit up his whole face. "You would really...?" he glanced about the room again. "It would be an honour!" he squeaked as in a single hurried motion, he sat beside me, the empty serving tray still clasped to his chest.

I smiled at his enthusiasm, though felt mildly unsettled by the whole glory of battle penchant that Nords seemed to carry with them, no matter their age. People had died today, and this young man was eager to hear all about it.

So, do what you have been trained to do. Do the fallen honour, and justice.

I sat up a little straighter, replacing my goblet on the table and pushing aside my unease so that I might find the right words to weave into my tale.

"Where to begin?" I mused, assembling my focus. "Perhaps, with the leaders of both cities and men, the soldiers, the housecarls and Companions who gathered high above Whiterun in the darkest hours of the morning; their eyes trained east upon a distant, many-faced snake of flames drawing nearer to their home, who knew that when the sun peeked over the mountaintops, the Stormcloaks would try to take it from them..."

–

The youth's name was Erik. He was the only son of the Frostfruit's innkeeper, and, I found out later, only two years younger than I. There was an earnest brightness to the lad – man – that made him seem younger than he was, and I thought him to be very pleasant company while I waited for Hadvar to return from the General's table.

He seemed to drink in all I spun about the parts of the battle that I had witnessed, and I hoped that I had not elaborated too much. I was certain that Erik would be regaling parts of my story to any patrons good enough to listen to him in the future, for they didn't seem to have a resident bard of their own to take up that task.

And why was that, I wondered? Rorikstead was small, but it was extremely central; close enough to Whiterun to draw travellers passing through, certainly.

When I asked Erik about it, he looked a little uncomfortable before he tilted his head and half-smiled. "Father doesn't see the cause to hire a bard," he shrugged. "Says that bards distract a man from his duty, while romanticising all manner of mischief about the world outside – ahh!" his blue eyes widened as he shook his head hurriedly. "But – I mean no offence, my Lady! Why, if he'd heard you telling the battle for Whiterun-"

"Erik," I had been trying to stop my laughter, and held a hand out for him to pause. "I have taken no offence. And, your father is right," I admitted. "We bards can be a mischievous lot."

"I think you're wonderful," he sat back wistfully. "Wandering Skyrim, seeking adventure and having the talent to take all you see and weave it into a song or story, to brighten the lives of others."

It was his longing that caught me, and I wondered if Erik, as with Jon Battle-Born, was harbouring a desire to journey to the Bard's college that his father disapproved of. "A bard does not need to travel to perform songs worthy of the High King's court, but merely to feel; for music is an outward expression of the self," I murmured; words passed to me by one of my teachers. "Do...you sing, or write?" I asked him gently.

"Me?" Erik choked out the word. "Gods, no. I sound like a dying cat – and besides, what would I have to sing or write about? Potatoes and dishwashing?"

I raised my eyebrows, shoving down my amusement and suddenly wishing that there was a ditty to be sung about potatoes and dishwashing. Even his jesting condescension carried repressed passion; but not for music, it seemed.

So I pressed him further. It took only a few more offhand questions about travel for him to tell me the whole; how stifled he felt in Rorikstead; how his father wanted him to stay here forever and take ownership of the inn some day; how he yearned to journey out to see and make his mark on the world.

He related this with a fervour that would have made him a wonderful bard, had he felt the call; a desire to drink in all the world had to offer; something that I had never had particularly strong feelings about. Perhaps it was only natural for him to desire that which was denied to him while others flit through his father's tavern, telling him of their own adventures before charging out on their next.

I could have told Erik my sad story and insist that he treasure his father for the years that they had left together, but I didn't, for I had a feeling that it was advice that he had received many times before tonight.

"Perhaps you could offer your father a compromise?" I proposed as an idea sprung to mind.

Erik frowned, shaking his head. "I've tried everything."

"Have you tried the Companions?" I raised my eyebrows.

For a moment his brows furrowed. "Companions? They would never accept me – I'm nobody," he scoffed. "Jorrvaskr only accepts the most elite of warriors."

"They accepted me," I lifted my chin. "And believe me Erik; I am no warrior," I widened my eyes for emphasis. "But. The Companions taught me. Aside from the thu'um, they taught me almost everything I know about archery and stealth, and I would not know the right end of a blade or how to ball my fist to ensure it doesn't break my hand if I have to hit someone, if not for their expert tutelage. When I am in Whiterun I still train with them, every day."

"You're...a Companion?" Erik asked uncertainly.

I'm their Harbinger was on the tip of my tongue, but I managed to stop the words from leaving my mouth, and nodded instead. I was not their Harbinger.

Vilkas had asked us to keep our eyes open for people with fire in their hearts to join our family, and Erik's heart seemed to be overflowing with brightness. If his father would agree, Erik would not only be trained and protected, but assigned jobs when he was ready that would give him the adventure he sought. And, he would be close enough to Rorikstead to visit his father regularly, to assure him that he was safe.

"The next time you are in Whiterun," I told him, "you should go to Jorrvaskr. Ask for our Harbinger – a man named Vilkas – and tell him that Celeste Passero requests you be tested."

Erik openly gaped. "You would do that for me? Why?"

I gave him a perplexed look. "I've done nothing. This is for you to act upon."

The young man nodded; the red plaits either side of his face bobbing. "I understand. I – I will...try. Thank you."

"Haven't done anything," I repeated in a sing-song voice.

He looked down and laughed. "Then, thanks for nothing?" he hazarded.

"There you are, Erik," a low voice cut in and an older, balding man with his sleeves rolled up leaned over the table and set down two plates of grilled salmon and vegetables; one in front of me and the other before Erik, for he was occupying the seat that Hadvar was set to take when he returned. "And I should have known where you would be!" he laughed. "He's not bothering you, is he, Lady Dragonborn?"

The delicious aroma of baked potatoes and rosemary wafted to me and I made an appreciative sound as I breathed the scent in. "Mmmm. No, not at all," I murmured in a dreamy voice. "He has been keeping me company while my friend is in a meeting," I added with an appreciative, sideways look at the young man.

Erik smiled a little sadly and got to his feet. "Sorry, father. I'd better get back to work."

"Perhaps we shall cross paths again in Whiterun, some day," I bade him farewell.

"Uh," Erik glanced hastily toward his father, and shrugged. "Yeah, maybe," he muttered, turning away quickly as his cheeks pinked.

The publican rolled his eyes as he watched the boy go. "A dreamer, that one – just like his mother," he sighed, settling his hands on his hips as he turned back to me. "Have you got everything you need here?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you."

I hesitated as the publican turned to leave.

"And," I had to say something, and smiled ruefully when Erik's father turned back to me. "Dreamers change the world for good," I recalled something I had read in one of the texts at the college. "Maybe...Skyrim could use more dreamers."

"Perhaps so, my Lady," he replied politely, and dipped his head to take his leave. He clearly did not want to talk about it, so I let him go, for it was none of my business anyway. What I had said to Erik was true; he would need to act, and he would need to convince his father of where he truly wanted to be.

Still; I hoped that I might see the enthusiastic young man in the mead hall, some day.

My eyes shifted to what I could see of the table where Hadvar was sitting over the crowds of soldiers between us. I bit my bottom lip as I wondered whether I should begin without him, now that the food had arrived. He would probably insist upon it, if he were asked, but I waited anyway as a sudden determination to take dinner with him rose stubbornly within me.

So I waited, sipping the sweet, ruby-red wine occasionally, watching the other patrons with vague interest and glancing more and more frequently to the General's table, willing their meeting to end.

It was perhaps another ten minutes before there was movement at it, and I saw flashes of armour as the bodies seated there rose.

I stood swiftly, craning my neck to try and see what was happening, but I was too short and there were too many people blocking my view to make much of it out. What I could determine was that their party did seem to be breaking up. The Legate that had retrieved Hadvar the moment we had stepped into the Frostfruit was one of the first to leave the building.

"Finally," I breathed, sitting again and staring with a sigh at our cold meals. He would be with me in a moment, and we could decide what to do about dinner then.

But it wasn't Hadvar's voice that greeted me.

"Miss Passero," the seemingly perpetually unimpressed tones of General Tullius came to my ears and I stilled in my seat. "It pleases me to see that you are well," he continued.

I glanced over my shoulder; Hadvar was there but he was standing behind the General, who was being flanked by Legate Rikke. My eyes fell to Hadvar, full of questions; his apologetic grey depths gave me no answers.

I reminded myself that there was nothing to fear; I was outside of the Legion's command, because the General did not want me involved. I stood hastily and turned, accepting his outstretched hand.

"General!" I managed, forcing a brightness into my greeting to mask my surprise as he shook my hand. "Um. Congratulations, on your victory today, sir," I wasn't sure of what else to say as my eyes raked over the older man. He had not been stationed at Castle Dour for long while I had still been in Solitude, but the soldier still formed the same picture of saturnine, Imperial fastidiousness as he had then, with his bronzed and gilded armour neat and polished, his grey hair cropped close to his head, and his piercing, dark brown eyes hard and critical.

"It's a victory for all of us; for you as well," the General let go of my hand, bowing his head a little in my direction. "Many of the reports that came to me throughout the day spoke of your actions. I had recommended that Balgruuf evacuate you before the fighting began – but his faith in your abilities has been well placed. On behalf of the Imperial Legion, thank you – for everything that you did today."

Incredulity flowed through me and I cast Hadvar another hasty, questioning glance. What was this? Hadvar half-smiled in return, though his eyes still bore a sense of anxiety that I couldn't place.

"That is...I mean, you're welcome," I blinked, glancing back to the General quickly, for I had taken too long to reply to him graciously.

"Hmm," the General nodded in satisfaction, perhaps deciding that his duty to me had been completed. After a pregnant pause, he bowed in a way that indicated he was about to leave, and a tightness in my chest relaxed at once.

"I hope to be seeing more of you in the future, Miss Passero," he motioned toward Elsga, Dathies and the other guard whose name I'd never learnt. "You three can head back to camp and sign out for the night. Today's wars have been won," he flickered me another glance as he said it, "and I believe Reidarsson has a matter to discuss with our Lady Dragonborn in private."

When I glanced swiftly to Hadvar I lifted my eyebrows expectantly, but he still remained silent. The General, Legate Rikke and my three former guards left, and I somehow managed to bid them farewell despite the curiosity over what the General had said threatening to burst out of me.

The moment they were gone, Hadvar stepped forward and took both of my hands in his. "I'm sorry – I didn't realise I would be gone for so long."

I shook my head, dismissing the matter. "What was that all about?" I asked, nodding toward the retreating officers. "It sounded as though the General expected something of me, but I can't determine what it might have been."

Hadvar shook his head in a frustrated manner, then urged me to sit.

I did, and he sat beside me, our hands still clasped as we faced one another; our knees interlocking. "I think that was his way of apologising for the letter you told me about – where he asked you to keep out of the Empire's affairs."

"Oh," my eyes widened, and snapped to meet Hadvar's suddenly. "He doesn't expect me to join the Legion now, does he?"

"No – no," Hadvar cut in quickly through a laugh. "Certainly not."

"Well, that's a relief," I smiled through a disbelieving huff of my own. "I would make a terrible soldier."

"Yes – let's go with that," Hadvar threw me a suspicious half smile, detangling one of his hands to lift his fingers to my brow. He brushed back some of my hair thoughtfully. "Whatever keeps you as far away from this war as possible."

The pensive way Hadvar spoke made me a little sad, though I smiled in return, leaning into his touch as his hand shifted to my cheek. I closed my eyes and sighed. To stay far from the war would keep me far from him, perhaps for many years to come, I feared. I couldn't bare to think it, let alone voice it.

After a silence I opened my eyes and searched for a topic to change the subject, clearing my throat and sitting back. "The General said you needed to speak to me privately?" I reminded him.

"Oh – yes," Hadvar also sat back, a little flushed it seemed, and glanced down as he searched through a pouch on his weapons belt. After a brief moment he retrieved a slip of parchment and handed it to me.

My brows furrowed as I accepted it with a curious glance before lowering my eyes to the note. It simply bore my name, and a string of numbers.

"What is this?" I didn't recognise it.

Hadvar leaned toward me and pointed to the numbers. "A bank account. The General has arranged everything on your behalf. You should have access to eighty percent of your family's money within three days. The remainder...soon enough," he met my eyes carefully.

It took me a moment to realise what he meant, and when I did, I turned my eyes back down to the strip of parchment and nodded. It would all be mine, after Giselle's fate had been meted out to her.

"Thank you," I made myself say, though it had been so long since I had thought of my family's money that I wondered if I would even use it. I tucked the note away into my armour, to think about later. Much later.

"Hey," Hadvar encouraged. "Come back to me, love. I'll sing Age of Aggression, if I have to," there was a trace of amusement to his remark.

Did Hadvar sing? I smiled at the offer, lifting my eyes to his as I shook my head. "I'm okay."

"Good," he leaned forward, took my hand in his again and looked down to where they were joined. "Because...there's more."

"More...what?" I asked in a small voice.

"More...to tell you," he glanced up, the apprehension once again plain in his eyes.

Tensing at the prospect of taking in any more grim news today, I shook my head. "What's happened?" I asked fearfully.

"Oh – no, it's nothing bad," Hadvar fumbled, reached his other hand out to grasp mine in both of his. "I'm sorry, I don't want to make a big deal of this," he flashed me a hasty half-smile. "But I am still getting used to it for myself."

"Getting used to what?" I was still cautious despite his reassurances, for he did not seem to be calm at all.

"I've..." he took a deep breath and his cheeks seemed pinker on the exhale. "I've been promoted. Again," he met my eyes. "The General made me Praefect, just now."

I breathed a sigh of relief that I hadn't realised I had been holding and my shoulders relaxed as I tried not to laugh. "But that's wonderful news!" I leapt forward, throwing my arms around his neck. "I'm so happy for you," I embraced him from my seat, and felt his hands come to rest on my waist as I squeezed my eyes shut. "You had me worried that something was wrong!"

He laughed softly, his breath washing over my neck. "Sorry," he said again, then hesitated, his hands grasping my waist a little tighter. Eventually, he added in a hush; "I was so nervous about telling you."

"Why ever for?" I leaned back, smiling broadly at him as my eyes shone with pride. "Dathies told me what you did at Korvanjund, Hadvar. You deserve these accolades you are given – your only fault is modesty!" I teased.

"Oh – I..." Hadvar blinked a little as his cheeks grew more red and he smiled a small, humble smile. "I should probably tell you the rest," he said thoughtfully, almost to himself.

"I am prepared," I replied in a jesting, lofty tone as I sat up straighter, taking both of his hands in mine this time.

Hadvar smiled as he regarded me. "It's...the promotion to Praefect. It comes with a new post," he met my eyes, and there was that blasted flash of worry again!

"Now that the battle is won, the General has assigned me to act as the Empire's representative for Whiterun Hold," he revealed with a nervous laugh.

My eyes widened. "You've been stationed in Whiterun?" I whispered.

"I have," he confirmed, squeezing my hands in his. "Which means...I'm going to be living in Whiterun, for a time."

Squeaking in excitement, I leapt forward to hug him again, unable to articulate my thoughts. Whiterun. Hadvar was to live in Whiterun! It was as though my daydreams had come true.

"Do you realise what this means?" Hadvar asked hurriedly as he held me close, taking a deep breath as he buried his nose in my hair.

I nodded as the glowing, joyful tears of relief sprung to my eyes. "You'll be safe. You'll be close enough to Riverwood to visit your family – whenever you want! Oh, Hadvar!" I withdrew far enough to look up to him. "I'm so happy for you," I repeated.

"For us," Hadvar stressed, his hands forging a path down my sides and coming to rest on my hips. "Yes, everything you said is true," he said quickly, "but think of what this means for us, Celeste," he urged.

"Us?" I wavered.

He nodded, leaning forward as he swallowed nervously – and then I understood – this was why he had been nervous about telling me of his promotion. Because living in Whiterun meant...

"It means we can be together," he emphasised, his fingers grasping as he spoke. "It means that I can finally promise you more than to write occasionally, and I..." he lifted one of his hands to stroke my arm gently. "I can court you properly. As you deserve," he looked down, watching the path his fingers took.

I was stunned by this new reality I had found myself in and my lower lip trembled as I tried to find words – any words – to respond with. All I seemed to be capable of doing was repeating him. "Together?" I gasped.

Hadvar nodded, watchful of my response. "If – if you want-"

"Yes," I burst out in a rush.

He laughed at my earnestness, then relaxed, leaning closer as his palm brushed my cheek and his fingertips settled in my hair. "Thank the Divines," he sighed, laughing again, but softly as he pressed his nose beside mine and closed his eyes. "I was terrified of what you would think of me for asking, and what you might say," he owned quietly.

"Terrified of me?" I breathed a laugh.

"Yes," he replied quickly, his breath ghosting my lips as he pressed his nose against mine to tilt my head. "Because...I can't..." he withdrew a little and I nearly pouted at the loss of the kiss I had been certain was coming as I met his eyes.

His were serious again; regretful almost. "I can't promise you forever – not yet," he hissed; almost a curse. "While I am contracted to the army, I might be moved again, to Shor-knows where and with barely any notice, and it would not be fair to ask..." he paused and seemed to change his mind. "Celeste, my heart has been yours from the moment I met you, and that will never change. But until I can provide you with...with a stable home, and a future together...the moment that I can promise you these, I will take you to Riften," he vowed.

My breath caught in my throat; again, all I seemed to be able to do was echo the last thing he said. "Riften?"

"I mean," he lowered his eyes hastily. "If...you want? If you will have me."

I stopped myself from incredulously repeating him again just in time. Riften. Lovers went to Riften for one thing; the Temple of Mara, which meant marriage.

"I know...we have never spoken of this before," he murmured while my mind reeled. He huffed to himself. "If I am being presumptuous, don't be afraid to tell me," he glanced up again, earnestly adding, "And if you aren't ready to answer, then don't. I will wait. I'll wait forever, for you."

This was the discussion about our futures, about where this attachment would lead that I had wondered over at Mixwater Mill. He did want a life with me, and better still, we could be together now, in Whiterun.

And then from outside of this beautiful, wondrous life I was allowing myself to imagine, a dragon pointedly knocked against the metaphorical door; its banging rocking me fiercely as the unfairness of its presence spilled over me. "Hadvar," I gasped as tears flew to my eyes. "High Hrothgar," I managed to choke out.

He understood and replied at once. "I don't care about the Greybeards," he spoke resolutely. "I told you, I will wait for you."

I shook my head miserably, for that had only been in part what had overcome me. "No. I mean," I tried to blink away my tears, but more hurried to replace them. "I said I would leave for High Hrothgar after Whiterun was safe," I met his eyes, pleading, biting my bottom lip to stave off the tears for as long as I could. "You are coming to Whiterun just as I am leaving it," I explained sadly.

He sat back, sighing to the roof of the inn, and his thumb brushed over my hand where he still held it. "I know," he told the ceiling in a low voice. "I have not forgotten this. But I hoped..." he stopped, cursing to himself as he shook his head in frustration, then looked back to me. "I'll accept whatever time you give. A week – a day. A single hour," he huffed, seeming crestfallen.

And in his eyes, I recognised that sense of despondency he adopted as he prepared to say goodbye.

No, I insisted. I was not going to be responsible for that look; not today, not after everything else that had been suffered, and not in the wake of his beautiful promises; his dreams for our future declared when he had set his heart at my feet.

If I was to have any time with Hadvar before the Greybeards and their training swallowed up a portion of my life, it was to be now, I realised with sudden clarity. And I would not waste this precious time, wallowing in what might be if only we were masters of our own destinies.

"Hadvar, do you have any leave accrued that you might take?" I asked quickly, sitting forward on my seat as my tears retreated and a determined idea lit a flame of hope in my chest.

Hadvar seemed baffled, but answered at once. "A little. Why?"

I nodded as my mind sang with glee. "Can you request some – a week, perhaps – before you start your post in Whiterun? It will take the Jarl a few days to tie up matters in the wake of the battle for Whiterun and be ready to accept a representative of the Legion-" I spoke in a rush.

"Celeste," Hadvar cut me off with an apprehensive laugh. "You want me to escort you to the Throat of the World, is that it?"

I shook my head this time, my smile warm and eyes glowing as I squeezed his hands hopefully. "Not High Hrothgar, my love," my throat felt thick, and I cleared it so I could keep going. "Riften. I want us to go to Riften. Tomorrow."

"You want to get married now?" he asked loudly; his eyes widening in disbelief.

I laughed, glancing around the inn. His outburst had attracted the eyes and subsequent grins of several nearby soldiers.

"Yes," I whispered earnestly, pointedly leaning closer so the whole of the Imperial Legion wouldn't witness our entire arrangement. "I would marry you now, Hadvar Reidarsson – if you will have me," I flushed in excitement.

"But -" he seemed truly shocked, and grappled for words. "What if I'm reassigned? While I'm with the army I am of no use to you as a friend, let alone husband-"

"And I will be a terrible wife," I cut him off, lifting a hand to his chin to grace the stubble there tenderly. "And if you marry me now, then soon after I will need to journey to the Greybeards, and I am not certain that's a quest I will ever come back from," I owned, the light in my tone extinguishing.

Hadvar's expression levelled; his eyes flickering over me in anguish. "You will come back. I am certain of it," he insisted soberly.

I managed a small, bittersweet laugh. "We can hope, but nothing about the future is certain. Which is why I don't want to wait," I emphasised, leaning forward to press my nose to his cheek; my eyes fluttering closed as my fingers trembled on his jaw. "I love you, Hadvar, and I want us to be together now, before the world tears us apart again. I'm bursting, trying to find the right words to express myself and convince you and - I'm coming up short," I laughed at myself. "I'm a useless bard when I'm around you. I can't promise you forever, either," I echoed as my lips ghosted the corner of his mouth. "But I can give you now."

Whatever war Hadvar was fighting within himself seemed conquered by my babble. He answered not with words, but a low, hoarse sound at the back of his throat as he captured my lips in a brief, hungry kiss that pulled the very air from my lungs.

I gasped when he withdrew after a few seconds. He pressed his forehead to mine as he grasped the back of my neck. "What I would give to be alone with you, right now," he all but growled, his words rough with passion.

The sound resolved a bold sense of urgency. I tangled my fingers in the hair at the back of his neck and laughed while my heart pounded a loud, victorious rhythm in my chest. "Why can't we be alone?" the words tumbled from my lips as I caught my breath. "Does this inn not have...rooms for let?" I could barely believe what I was proposing, but my heart's desires had overcome my other senses, determined to make the most of the time Hadvar and I could claim as ours.

Hadvar sat back to regard me with widened eyes. "By the Gods, I love you," he praised swiftly, rising to his feet and offering me his hand.

I laughed in glee; at his comical haste, my eyes dancing over his form as he guided me to my feet. "But – aren't you hungry?" I teased, pouting at our cold, forgotten dinner.

He cast me what could only be called a ravenous look and stepped in close, drawing my hair aside to whisper a single, determined word, full of yearning;

"Yes."

The looks of the Frostfruit's patrons were all-knowing and ranged from amused to surprised as Hadvar and I made our way to the bar. Perhaps it was the purposeful way he hurried us through the throng of soldiers that made our intentions clear, or perhaps they could sense the glow of anticipation coursing through me, or hear the racing of my heart.

Truthfully, I didn't care – for their attentions, or their judgement, if they were passing any. Erik's father rented us a private room for ten Septims and no sooner had he shown us to it and closed the door behind him than Hadvar had let go of my hand and turned away, only to turn the key and lock the door.

I took a few slow steps into the room, taking in its features. It was a simple, cosy affair with a single window, a dresser underneath it on which sat a flickering lantern, and a bed, covered in furs. This is it.

I turned back to Hadvar swiftly and watched him instead, painfully uncertain of what was expected of me next as the reality of where we were caught up to me.

He had stilled there; his eyes on the door and his hand hovering over the key. He sighed, and the breath left him in a shudder.

"Are you all right?" I asked quietly, biting my bottom lip as my anxiety built. Had he changed his mind?

Had I changed mine?

"I'm all right," he owned quietly, turning to regard me. "Are you?" he asked solemnly.

"Yes," I breathed.

His eyes were full of devotion; of longing, and after a brief moment of staring at one another like a pair of startled rabbits, he crossed the room to where I stood.

We reached for each other at the same moment. I wound my arm around his neck and fumbled with the buckle of his Legion helmet, while his hands fell to my waist, to the fastenings that secured my Thane's armour.

"So - it's settled between us?" he asked in a hush, his breath warm as he lowered his mouth to my neck before I could answer. I bit back a moan that threatened to claw out of my throat but then his lips were gone, and he was murmuring, close to my ear, "You...you really want to get married-?"

"Yes," I insisted, finally tugging the leather that secured his helmet to his head aside and lifting the offending metal object from him, letting it clatter to the wooden floor. As soon as it was gone, I wound my fingers into his hair and drew his mouth down to meet mine.

He groaned into my kiss, his hands tugging my armour. We parted far enough so I could lift my arms when he drew the leather chestpiece over my head, and he asked hurriedly, "And – you are certain -" my armour was thrown to one side; my hands fell to the ties of his Legion armour and began unlacing; his landed on the buckles of my tasset, but he grasped my hips, his hands shaking.

The way he shook gave me pause, and I glanced up with questions in my eyes. He was staring into me, his eyes wide and dark but the uncertainty tugged at my heartstrings.

"This is...okay?" his fingers clenched my hips again. "You don't want to...wait, until we are wed?" his throat bobbed as he swallowed nervously; his eyes clouded with passion and ever-watchful for my response.

I shook my head slowly, still pulling at the ties down the sides of his armour. No, I was tired of waiting for our lives to be less chaotic to be all that we could be together. "Do you?" I challenged.

A resolute shake of his head and an incomprehensible noise as he leaned down to kiss me was my answer, and I laughed with relief into his ardent affections.

For minutes, we kissed and managed to shed our armour piece by piece, and there was no more talking; no more questions or reservations, until we were clothed only in the tunics and leggings that we had worn underneath; those two layers of fabric all that remained between us.

Then Hadvar pulled back to ask a single, breathless word that sent shivers down my spine; "Bed?"

Before I could react; before I could even nod, the sounds from within the inn intensified, and there was a hurried, urgent banging on our door.

"Reidarsson! Passero!"

It was General Tullius, and he sounded...furious.

Hadvar and I wrenched apart; holding each other's arms in surprise as our wide eyes landed on the locked door.

The thumping of fist to wood came again. "Get out here or I will break down this door!"

Hadvar closed his eyes regretfully, groaning as he rested his forehead on my shoulder. "I'm sorry," he whispered hurriedly. "Whatever this is about – I'm so, so sorry."

"We had better answer the door," I replied swiftly, a thick fear making my words sound small as I detangled myself from Hadvar and strode toward it, suddenly grateful that we had not managed to disrobe ourselves completely. Hadvar was a step behind me, but I reached the door first.

The General must have been listening for the sound of the lock, because the moment I had turned the key, the door flew open and Tullius, accompanied by a legion of soldiers and Legate Rikke, stormed passed us and into the room.

His dark eyes were wild and flashing as he glanced from me, to Hadvar, and then to the room; taking in the sight of our armour littering the wooden floor with a frown on his face. He said nothing of the state he had found us and the room in.

As Hadvar lay a gentle, reassuring hand on my back, I flushed in both embarrassment and anger, wondering how the General dared to storm into our room when I was not under his command, and Hadvar was off-duty. Were we never to have a moment's peace?

General Tullius' eyes were back on me then, unyielding. "Where is she?" he snapped.

I crossed my brows at him. "Who?"

"You damned well know who!"

Hadvar's hand tensed. "General, might I remind you-" he started in a barely restrained tone.

"You may not, Praefect!" the General fired, then glanced back to me. "You loosened her bindings, didn't you?"

My heart plummeted as I suddenly understood what – who – he meant. "Oh Gods," I whimpered, drawing a hand up to my mouth to mask my terror. "You let my sister escape?"

The General strode closer, standing tall before me and speaking stonily as his eyes narrowed. "Answer the question, Miss Passero."

"General!" Hadvar's other hand fell to my side; grasped my hip as he subtly urged me back toward him.

"Can it, Reidarsson, and let the woman answer for herself!"

"No – no! Of course I didn't," I blurted out.

"Do you swear it?"

"Yes – I swear on my parent's souls, I did not assist her!"

The General glowered and glanced around the room again in evident agitation. "I have read your report," he replied stiffly.

"Yes," I nodded swiftly, "she asked me to do it, but I wasn't stupid enough - !" I entreated, my eyes widening as my fear rose and threatened to choke me – not for my sister, but for who had gone to question her most recently. "Where is Lydia?!" I gasped in terror.

"She was attacked," the General snipped darkly. "She and your sister's guards were paralysed when we discovered she was gone."

"Paralysed?" I whispered in horror, staggering back and falling against Hadvar's chest; grateful that he held me up, or I would have fallen. I shook my head swiftly in disbelief. "She couldn't cast a spell while her hands were bound."

"Did the Stormcloaks come for her?" Hadvar asked efficiently; his hands shaking with restraint where they held me up.

General Tullius' eyes snapped to him. "In our own camp?"

"If she is vital to Stormcloak's plans," Hadvar replied hurriedly in a more logical tone that I could have ever managed, "it stands to reason that he would command her retrieval. And what better time to do that, than while the Empire is celebrating its victory at Whiterun?"

I clenched my eyes closed, trying to calm my racing heart. "She said that she had to go back to him," I muttered.

"Get dressed," the General snapped. "Meet me in my tent in ten minutes," he ordered. "Both of you," his hard eyes swerved to me. "Please," he added through clenched teeth.

He turned and marched off without waiting for an answer, leaving the door wide open. Rikke and the legion or so of Imperial soldiers remained in our room.

Both Hadvar and I stood where we were, in stunned silence.

"You had better get a move on," Rikke suggested grimly, palming Hadvar his armour.