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.

45. Stolen Time

Chapter 45: Stolen Time

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A/n: disclaimer - there's some M-rated stuff ahead. I think. I don't understand ratings.

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Of course, Hadvar and I could not just waltz off to Riften as we liked. We weren't eloping, so the people who relied on and cared about us needed to be made aware of our intentions.

Hadvar left to put in his request for leave and I rose shortly after, ridiculously nervous of Tullius' response. I collected my armour and clothes, strewn around the tent in an effort to dry out.

What would we do if he declined?

Irrelevant, I soothed. Either the General will approve Hadvar's leave and you will go to Riften, or he won't, and you'll spend a week together in Whiterun.

Either way, Hadvar and I would be together, and either way, at week's end, I would have to leave him. A wedding would not change this.

Swallowing a sudden, painful lump in my throat, I firmly directed my thoughts to the now. The General must have known positioning Hadvar in Whiterun would advance our relationship, for I had made no secret that I considered it home, and we had made no effort to hide our affections.

In fact perhaps he had counted on this, when he promoted Hadvar. Yes, Hadvar had been elevated for his own deeds - the Empire wouldn't appoint anyone who couldn't fulfil a duty given them - but what if the convenience of Hadvar and I being frequently, publicly seen together was considered when he decided where he was to be stationed?

Now the false Dragonborn rumour was on the brink of being squashed, for there was no denying whose side I was on now, the General might have decided I could aid their cause after all, in an indirect sort of way. The Dragonborn's devotion to a soldier in the Imperial army could only rally support for the Empire.

It had to be the case, but I found I didn't mind. I was aware of the irony; I'd been furious when the name Dragonborn had been used to rally support for the Stormcloaks. But for the General to consider my usefulness to the cause did not involve aligning me with the man who had been responsible for the murder of my parents. It matched my, my parent's, even my grandparent's views, and there was no deception or impersonation involved.

Furthermore, I was getting what I wanted out of the arrangement – time with Hadvar – and if it meant I wasn't going to be pressed into officially joining the Legion, all the better.

I held my padded undertunic at arms-length and wrinkled my nose at it. It was still drenched from Nahagliiv's storm.

The memory of the previous night flooded me; I stared beyond the fabric, unable to help but shudder. The dark, cold night, the pummelling rain, the hiss of dragon tongue slicing through my mind even as Nahagliiv's razor-sharp scales sawed through my flesh.

Had I slain a dragon a few hours ago? It felt like a nightmare.

Look ahead, I shoved the unease. You're travelling to Riften to wed Hadvar. Remember this.

I placed the soggy tunic over the back of a chair. I couldn't put my armour over that, and my leggings had been destroyed, so I knelt before the supplies chest and dug around for something to wear.

I extracted a plain, ankle-length tunic-dress, for it seemed to be the only outfit in the chest that might fit me, and my mind drifted back to my previous topic.

If the General wants to associate the Dragonborn with the Legion, he will approve Hadvar's leave. To legitimise our union in the eyes of the Divines will strengthen the alliance, and after I have gone, the Dragonborn's husband will remain as the Legion's representative for Whiterun.

Lydia woke while I assembled my armour. She sleepily joined me to help fasten the clasps, which actually gave form to the dress; my Thane's armour looked and felt more like a long, elaborate corset. I was reminded of the first time I'd sighted it on the mannequin over the silk dress, when I had, in my ignorance, assumed it was ceremonial.

I smiled fondly. Alvor had woven subtle versatility into the pieces. Had he known I would need to wear it in a variety of scenarios, from battlegrounds, to Jarl's dinner parties? Possibly.

I reminded myself to write and thank him for it, and pay him for his jewellery, for I'd not found the time to do either yet.

"Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Lydia yawned.

Countering her tug on my armour ties with a balancing lean, my smile widened.

Because Hadvar and I were...blissfully preoccupied. And then we had planned our day; discussed in hushed voices who w'd need to tell, plotting the fastest course to Riften, pondering where to stay if we had to stop for the night.

We'd been planning the road to our wedding.

Lydia missed nothing; her eyes narrowed, and as the fog of sleep cleared she turned suspicious. "What's going on?" she asked warily. "Where's Hadvar?"

A gentle laugh escaped me and I turned to her, unable to contain my merriment any longer. I grasped one of her hands and squeezed it. "He's gone to the General to request leave."

"Leave?" her brows crossed.

"Hadvar and I are going to Riften today."

Lydia's hand clapped her mouth, muffling a squeak.

I laughed, lowering my eyes as my cheeks warmed. "I mean. We mean to set out today."

"Celeste!" she embraced me swiftly. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

I hugged her back, grateful for her presence, her gleeful response. This is right, I thought joyfully. "We only decided last night," I admitted, laughing again.

"Oh little one," she pulled back, her voice thick. Hands on my shoulders, she ducked, eyes shining with unspent emotion. "I am so proud of you – of both of you," she added hastily. "When you find love, you must seize it."

I was surprised to find I was close to tears as well, though they felt bittersweet.

She stood tall, wiping her eyes as she cleared her throat. "You'll arrive in Riften tomorrow, yes?"

I nodded. "Maybe tonight," I considered. "It depends on the General, and the Jarl, and how long they both delay us," my eyes widened. "And, I'll need to tell Farkas and Vilkas where I'm going. Oh, and Hadvar's family – we'll need to send word to Riverwood-"

"I can take care of them," Lydia nodded thoughtfully. "I'm bound for Riverwood today, for Lucia. But," she lifted her eyebrows, "I might as well collect them all."

I was confused; it was as though Lydia was speaking her thoughts aloud and I was missing half of her conversation. "Collect them?"

"To come to Riften," she laughed, as though it were obvious. "I'm not going to miss your wedding, and I daresay Alvor and Sigrid will want to be there for their nephew," she lifted her brows.

"Oh," my flush returned. Of course our loved ones would want to be part of our special day! Suppressing a giggle, I imagined Dorthe's smug response; to be fair, she had asked me if I would marry him within hours of meeting me.

"Once Hadvar confirms he's on leave, for the General would be a fool to deny him and risk incurring our wrath," Lydia sounded lofty as she made for her bedroll, "I'll go to Riverwood. You clear the way with the Jarl and Vilkas, and send a courier when you set out. If I can get them on an afternoon coach, we should reach Riften by morning," she knelt and rolled her bed up. "We will be there. That's a promise," her eyes flickered up, the green piercing. "Don't get married without us, okay?"

I bit my bottom lip; a vain attempt to contain my excitement, and nodded.

Together we finished packing our belongings, then sat to breakfast.

Hadvar returned shortly after we started eating, and I rose without realising I'd done it, staring at him in a sudden fit of anxious hope.

He crossed the tent and grasped my hands. "It's done. Approved, I mean. I'm yours," he murmured with a tentative smile.

I hadn't realised I'd been holding my breath; exhaling in utter relief, I stared at our joined hands as my eyes welled with tears. "And I yours," I managed, squeezing my eyes closed.

My housecarl crashed through the tender moment, hugging and congratulating Hadvar, then raced to her gear and shouldered her backpack and bow. "Remember what you promised," she rushed back, gave me a quick peck on the cheek. "Travel safe, and see you soon."

Hadvar blinked after her, then she was gone, so he turned to me, arched an eyebrow. "I...take it you told her of our intentions?" he asked uncertainly.

The bewildered look on his face was adorable, and I giggled as I stood on my toes and wound my arms around his neck. "Yes," I whispered joyfully, nudging his nose with mine. "I want everyone to know. I want to...to stand on every mountaintop between here and Riften, and shout it to the breeze, so the whole of Skyrim might know it," I confessed.

Hadvar's eyes misted; he caressed my waist, and his confusion shifted into something softer. "Hmm," he rumbled at the back of his throat. "Lady Dragonborn," he murmured onto my lips, "that might take a little more time than we have at our disposal, should you wish to reach Riften before week's end."

A soft laugh escaped me, and he chuckled, then kissed me.

It was as sweet as it was brief, full of relief and affection, but over too soon. He withdrew, barely, and searched my eyes with a faraway expression.

I looked up and found myself lost for words. We were finally alone, and the look in Hadvar's eyes made me wonder if he'd realised the same thing, at the same moment.

"We should..." he faltered, biting his bottom lip as his fingers flexed, firmly planted on my hips.

"Yes, we should..." I heard myself agree softly, distanced from my own voice.

He nodded, glancing over my shoulder toward the exit to the tent. "We might be delayed in Whiterun," he cleared his throat. "Are you packed? We should..." he said again, trailing off as his gaze drifted back to me.

I combed my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. "We should...go?" I hazarded.

"Yes," he rushed, nodding firmly, as though convincing himself. With a final squeeze, Hadvar released me and took a step back. The nodding continued. "We should definitely...go."

With a sigh, I turned away. Of course, he was right. We had a lot to do between here and the Temple of Mara. "I'm ready," I reached for my backpack.

"May I?" Hadvar was beside me, his hand extended.

I glanced from his hopeful expression to his outstretched palm, and when I looked back up to his face, he optimistically half-smiled. "Let me?"

He wants to carry your bag.

I blinked, embarrassed by how long it had taken me to understand. "Oh – sorry – no, but thank you – there's no need," I fumbled. "I'm used to the weight and you have your own pack-"

"Celeste," he laughed, and the ease at which he took my hand calmed my racing heart. The smile grew and reached his eyes, making them shine with mirth. "We have sworn to carry each other's burdens. Let me?" he asked again, softer this time.

I lifted an eyebrow but handed my pack over, as it seemed important to him. "I'm not sure the priests mean for that to be taken so literally. Should I carry yours?" I brushed the strap on his shoulder.

"No," he laughed, fending me off. "And - we can ask them later," he jostled my bag before he reached for my hand. "Tomorrow. Personally. Before our wedding," he lifted his eyebrows.

And the rush of excitement was back as I placed my hand in his. We were really doing this.

We borrowed horses from the Legion yard, and travelled with the twenty officers who'd accompanied us the previous night. I'd told them their presence was no longer necessary, but Hadvar explained the General was sending a delegation of soldiers to Whiterun to assist with clean up and repairs, and these men and women were the first wave of that detail.

"We are merely riding with them," he had added with a smile.

His reminder of the battle silenced me.

It's over, I told myself again and again as we rode. There is no more fighting in Whiterun. The stiff morning breeze whipped my hair out of its braid and flapped the bunched-up skirt of the tunic-dress against my thighs. We won.

As we neared the city, my heart plummeted.

Won was subjective.

The outer walls were all but destroyed. There were more fragments of stone littering the earth than wall remaining upright. The inner wall was punctured in several places, but appeared to at least be holding its shape at this time.

The ground was cluttered with death and the earth was churned, marked with holes and gouges, boot prints, hand prints and long, skidding impressions, as though taken to by a plough harnessed to a horse driven mad. There were swathes of grim-faced soldiers and priests from the Temple of Kynareth roaming over it – silently lining the deceased in rows and collecting personal effects to return to loved ones.

The workers had already cleared the road, but nothing could mask the odour of so much blood, not even the chill air. Nahagliiv's storm had not reached Whiterun, so rock, earth and wood were stained with a deep, warm reddish-brown.

I wished I had the ability to use Nahagliiv's call; that I could Shout Strun Bah Qo to the calm skies, so I might wash the scene clean.

Once we reached the stables, Hadvar said something to an officer, and the soldiers riding with us departed. I understood it was the last I would see of them, for they were to assist those working to clear the land around the city, whereas I was to...

I grimaced. How could we leave when there was so much to do? How could I even entertain the notion of running off to Riften, let alone making for High Hrothgar? Was I truly so selfish – is that how I wanted to be remembered by the people of Whiterun?

Hadvar took my hand, helping me dismount, and breaking me free of my thoughts.

I hadn't realised I was still atop the borrowed mare. I felt nauseous and wanted to say something, but words would not come, no matter how I grappled.

He said nothing too, and his expression was regretful and grim - and worried.

Of course, I told myself. Hadvar has seen this all before. My nausea doubled, and I turned away to take a single, wavering step.

He offered his arm, and I grasped it firmly. He led me past the destruction and made for the main gate. We passed under the gate house that had been my post the previous day. Part of it still stood, but a large chunk of stonework was now missing.

A chill rippled down my spine. Hadvar gave my hand a supportive squeeze.

"Are you sure we should be doing this?" I asked with regret.

His eyes were on the city above us. "I don't know," he owned quietly. "Maybe we should stay. Help here, however we can," he sighed. He gave me a sorrowful look and shrugged. "It would be cruel of me to steal you from them at a time like this."

My stomach clenched. My final hours in Whiterun would slip away as we toiled on repair efforts, or whatever task the Jarl assigned us to. I shook my head in frustration. "If the General can spare you for a week, then surely the Jarl can spare me," I told him, convinced myself. "I am but one woman."

He said nothing. I feared he would call the wedding off; that his loyalty to the cause, and his selflessness, would win over our desire to marry before I left. And truthfully, if he asked me to wait, I could not fault him.

Nonetheless, I silently pleaded with the Divines that it would not be so. I was going to have to leave everything soon; surely this brief, final moment could be mine.

We approached Whiterun proper amidst looks of wariness and awe from the soldiers manning the gate. They hailed us with polite welcomes as we walked through.

I let out a sigh of relief when I took in the city within as the gates closed behind us. The walls had suffered, but they had also done their job. Most of the roofs were patchy with blackened tiles, where flames had skittered across and extinguished, and one of the expensive houses in the Cloud district was half caved in – a huge rock was visible around the broken brick and splintered wood.

But overall, it was recoverable, that much was obvious. Breezehome looked fine. Even Warmaidens, with its proximity to the wall, had suffered only a few burn marks along its roof and a couple of shattered windows. Adrienne's smelter had not been so lucky – it was smashed to pieces with a boulder where the hot coals had once been. But the smelter had stopped the rock from razing any dwellings, at least.

As we walked to Dragonsreach, Hadvar broke our silence.

"Why don't we put our plans to the Jarl and be guided by his response?" he asked. "If he truly needs you here, he will tell you, and I'll accept it. I'm in his service now too, am I not?"

I could tell from his tone he was much relieved by the state of the city, as I was. I nodded slowly, deep in thought, wondering what the Jarl would say, and if there would be any chance of changing his mind if he requested I stay.

We reached the edge of the empty marketplace and ascended the stairs to the Gildergreen.

All the while I mused, my sights on the ground. I was being selfish by insisting we go to Riften today. But, under the circumstances, I couldn't stop myself from asking: did I have a right to be?

"Hey," Hadvar chuckled, slowing to stop underneath the bleak tree and turning to face me. He lifted a hand to my chin, tilted me up. His smile now reached his beautiful grey depths. "Don't despair, love," he insisted in a lighter tone, his eyes flickering over me, glinting with excitement, with hope, and his hand moved, caressing, supporting my cheek. "Going or not going to Riften today changes nothing about us."

I watched him in wordless wonder. What did he search for, what did he see, when he looked at me like that?

"I know," I whispered finally. I covered his gentle hand and sighed, closing my eyes. He was right. "I know," was all I could say, words stolen by the breeze rattling the branches above us.

His lips were on mine before I opened my eyes, and his warmth spread slowly, comforting me as he moved. I could smell the rain on him, even now, and memories of the previous night drove me to push the melancholy away. We were lucky to be alive. What did it matter where we went today, or tomorrow, so long as we were together?

Guiding my palms along his arms, I relished the feel of his muscles through unfamiliar fabric. I was lucky to have him at all, to see him dressed so normally for once, in simple clothing instead of Legion armour. Today, he wasn't a solider, he was all mine.

He withdrew from the kiss slowly. "I can't seem to stop kissing you today."

I wound my arms around his neck. "I don't want you to stop," the words danced off my tongue.

He laughed quietly, flushing as he looked down. When he glanced back up, his eyes shone with warm confidence. "I may hold you to that," a cheeky half-smile curved his lips.

"I expect you to," my smile mirrored his; I took a step back and offered my hand. "Are you ready?"

He sighed and glanced uneasily towards Dragonsreach as he twined his fingers in mine. "Ah, about as ready as any man, to ask another man for permission to marry the woman he loves."

I wrinkled my nose. "He's not my father, Hadvar."

"No," Hadvar agreed, widened eyes on his steps. "He's worse. He's your Jarl."

There was levity to his tone, so I merely smiled and looked away, over the plains beyond the walls as we ascended the stairs. Had we met in Solitude a handful of months earlier; had my sister never betrayed my family, and the Stormcloaks never attacked the Blue Palace, we might have been visiting my dear father today.

He would have liked Hadvar, I thought wistfully.

I didn't want to awaken my grief, but couldn't stop from thinking about them now. My parents would never meet Hadvar. They wouldn't be with me on my wedding day, or visit our home, when we made one, and they would never meet and play with their grandchildren.

Hadvar is the same, I reminded sternly. You will never meet the people who brought him into this world, either.

We had all lost so many, their futures stolen from them. I turned my eyes to the heavens, appealing to Kynareth for repose.

The breeze fanned my cheeks and toyed gently the skirts of my tunic, fleeting but with a dry coolness that spoke of the ice far to the north. The sky was a stunning, clear blue and the weak sun high above us caught the tundra beyond the wall, making it look like spun gold. The mountains in the distance were distinct and purpled, free of haze and capped in brilliant white at their peaks.

"Beautiful," I whispered.

I felt Hadvar's gaze on me. "What's wrong?"

I offered a small smile. "Skyrim. It's...so beautiful," I flushed. "I...want to save it."

Hadvar smiled, a sweet, serene tilt, and detangled our hands to place his arm around my shoulder. As we continued the climb to Dragonsreach, he responded quietly; "So do I."

–

The main hall was empty, as I had expected in the wake of battle, but the din of conversation travelled down from the war room.

"Miss Passero, as prompt as ever."

Farengar met Hadvar and I before we reached the stairs.

"Farengar," I greeted, startled, blinking at the mage as he stopped before us. He looked entirely normal, dressed in his trademark robes with his hood obscuring his eyes; one would never have guessed he'd been on the front line of battle the previous day.

After a pause, the corner of his mouth curved. "Do you wish to have our discussion in the privacy of my office, or will the stairwell suffice?" he asked.

"Oh," my eyes widened and I glanced to Hadvar. I'd entirely forgotten I had told Farengar we would talk once Whiterun was safe again.

Could I put him off? If I didn't take the opportunity to ask Farengar about Delphine now, I might not get another chance before I left for High Hrothgar. Delphine was certainly not my priority, but the Thalmor, and what they might want with me, was. Any information the mage could give might help me to understand, and prevent, a future ambush.

"Um," I wasn't sure of how to explain the delay to Hadvar, or if I even should go into any detail from the main hall. "I think," I fumbled for words, glancing back to Farengar. "Your office," I decided quickly.

"As you wish," he sounded unaffected, and motioned for me to proceed.

"No – please," I waved toward his alcove. "Go before me. I'll be with you in a few minutes."

I was sure he was annoyed and crossing his brows at me from under his hood; I repressed the urge to tug it back from his head so I could see his eyes. But he simply gave me a short, courteous nod, then stepped around us and away, his boots clacking against the flagstones.

"Sorry," I flashed Hadvar an apologetic smile as he lowered his arm. "I forgot-"

"By all means," he nodded after the departing mage. "Do what you need to do."

I stood on my toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll be ten minutes."

He smiled and waved me on. "Good. That gives me time to ask the Jarl for your hand," he grinned cheekily.

"Hadvar," I hissed, working to suppress a flush.

"Go," he laughed, grinning as he made for the war room. "I will settle things with the Jarl."

Okay, I mouthed, and headed to Farengar's office.

Hadvar wasn't seriously going to ask the Jarl for permission, was he?

Perhaps it's for the best, I told myself. The Jarl had certainly behaved like my guardian, on occasion, and had mentioned a number of times he did this or that for me, for his friend; for my father. I knew he wished to take care of me. Perhaps if Hadvar requested my hand in marriage, fomally, the Jarl would be more inclined to let us leave today?

"So," Farengar cut through my musings.

I glanced up hastily, so caught in thought that I'd not realised I stood before his desk.

The mage stood on the other side with his hands pressed to the edge. "What is it you wish to discuss, Miss Passero?"

I took a deep breath. "I don't have much time, so I'll be direct," I began. "I am after information on Delphine Comtois-"

Farengar visibly withdrew and waved his hands urgently for me to stop.

I hesitated, mouth still open in the act of speaking, and I crossed my brows as he hurried back toward the main hall. I closed my mouth and watched him curiously; I had never seen him this agitated.

When he reached the boundary to his rooms, he glanced around the opening swiftly, then turned back to me, waving his hands before him.

A dull, blue light gathered, just for an instant, and then was snuffed by his fist. When he stepped back into the room, his boots made no sound against the flagstones.

I opened my mouth to speak, but Farengar silenced me with a gesture, then pointed sternly toward a room at the back of his office, even as he strode toward it himself.

I pursed my lips as I trailed after him. For him to react in this manner, there must have been a lot more to Delphine than I could have expected. Perhaps this was going to take a bit longer than ten minutes.

Farengar opened the door to a smaller study. The far wall was lined with bookshelves brimming with books and scrolls, and a large desk was squeezed against the wall to the right. The desk was orderly with only a notepad, lantern, quill and ink resting upon it.

"Take a seat," the mage muttered. Before I was able to move, he added, "and tell me who told you that surname?"

I considered my words, but there was no point in muddling about the truth. "A Justiciar," I said, feeling flat.

His mouth curled in horror; if I could have seen his eyes, I was sure they would have been bulging out of his head. "What have you done?" he asked, aghast.

"Nothing," I tilted my head, unimpressed. "Your client is safe. As are you," I added in afterthought; perhaps he was only concerned I might have told them of him.

He lifted shaking hands and pushed his hood back, raking his fingers through his hair. He sank into his chair. "You are certain?" his eyes were glued to the top of his desk.

"On this matter, yes. But, Farengar," I pressed, sitting forward. "You know I'm pledged to leave Whiterun. They came for me once. They might come for me again. I need to know why."

"Absolutely not," he shook his head resolutely, body stiffening all at once. He met my eyes, and his gaze was hard, unyielding. "Do you truly believe you could withstand torture at the hand of the Thalmor, if they want to learn what you already know?"

"No," I admitted, trying to push aside the certainty my sister might be enduring said torture as we spoke. "No," I repeated quietly, shaking off the dread as best I could. "But it was clear they knew quite a bit about Delphine already," I shrugged, crestfallen. "Undoubtedly, more than I know. I'm only asking you to tell me why they're after information about her, not what that information might be."

Farengar's expression became shrewd and he remained silent for a moment, clearly considering. Eventually, he replied; "They believe she is a criminal."

"What crime has she committed?" I asked evenly.

The mage's mouth curled distastefully. "That is...open to interpretation."

My frustration spiked. "What do you believe her crime is?" I tried again.

Farengar sat back and again, shook his head. "I do not believe she has committed-"

"Don't," I snapped. "Don't do that."

His eyes flickered to me in narrowed speculation.

I took a deep breath to regulate my tone. "Tell me why you believe the Thalmor are after her."

Farengar sighed and looked at the ceiling. "Would it satisfy you to know that she worships Talos?"

There was no way it could be so simple. "If it's the whole truth," I answered stiffly.

He glanced down, nodding grimly. "Of course, there is more to it, but as I told you the last time you asked me, it is her story to tell. I know little more than that, with regards to the Thalmor's interest in her, and -"

"Then, tell me what you have theorised," I implored, unable to hold back a desperate laugh. "Farengar, the Thalmor hunted me to ask me questions about that woman! They were prepared to arrest me to get what they need. Don't you understand?" I leaned forward earnestly. "What will happen to your investigations, to her investigations, should I, the Dragonborn, be spirited away by the Aldmeri Dominion?" I asked, reaching for anything that might convince him to talk.

He glanced to his table again, but only replied with a sigh.

So, I continued. "You heard what she told me when she left your office last time," I spoke in a more controlled tone, though no less imploring. "She told me to stay alive. If she wants me alive, and you have information that might help me do that, then you have a duty to her, if not me, to tell me what I need to know," I insisted.

Farengar was grim when he nodded. "I understand. You must forgive my reticence; in many matters, I am as unenlightened as you are."

It sounded like an agreement, so now all I had to do was be patient. "Anything you can tell me will help, and I swear it will not leave this room."

His nod was shallow, more like a cordial bow. "She is a relic of the ancient past, in some ways. When she first approached me, I have no doubts it was because it is widely known I am an expert in both dragon lore and languages," he didn't even try to feign modesty.

"She knew the dragons would come back?" I prompted, frowning.

He shook his head. "I do not believe the dragons motivated her early enquiries at all, for at that time neither of us had any idea they might pose a threat, in the flesh," he glanced toward me uneasily. "She asked me to develop a cipher using the dragon tongue, to help her understand some documents in her, or her employer's possession."

My confusion deepened. Her pursuits were scholarly? Why would the Thalmor hunt down a woman looking into the language of the dragons? "Have you seen these documents?"

Farengar frowned now. "Only fragments. She is protective of the original. But I have seen and heard enough during our...meetings," he tasted the word with a grimace, as though he found it bitter, "to understand that she, and whoever she works for, are searching for something that could destabilise the Empire and Aldmeri Dominion both."

"Which is what, exactly?" I asked eagerly, relieved to finally be getting somewhere.

"Not what; who," Farengar sat back, tapping his fingers on the desk as he observed me. "Do you recall Delphine's reaction, when she learned that you were our Dragonborn?"

I nodded swiftly. "She was surprised, and she left immediately."

"Yes," he acknowledged, a little uncertainly. "But, recall what she said, if you will," he pressed. "'This changes everything'," he quoted. "Now, you tell me, Miss Passero; why might a group of people interested in destabilising our current political system believe you being made Dragonborn changes everything?" he asked directly.

I had no idea, but I felt as though Farengar was testing me, trying to determine how much I knew about the title bestowed upon me. I wished I had persevered with my sister while she'd been detained in the Imperial camp; that I had drawn from her, at least in part, why Ulfric believed me to be Dragonborn.

Pouring over my limited knowledge desperately, I reached for a link between the dragons and the Empire, and recalled a passage I'd read in Kodlak's journal:

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 groaned aloud and leaned down; my forehead made a thunk noise against Farengar's desk. "This again?" I asked bleakly.

"So you do know," was Farengar's amused response.

"No," I glanced up, frustrated that this, this suspicion that being Dragonborn meant I was linked to an ancient line of Emperors, might be why Delphine had managed to aggravate the Thalmor. "No, Farengar, I don't know," I told him tetchily. "I asked you directly, when I returned from Bleak Falls Barrow, whether this," I indicated myself in frustration, "had anything to do with Saint Alessia and the Septim dynasty, and you told me it didn't. You told me Dragonborns were chosen, not born into their role," I added desperately. "What a handful of people speculate about my ancestry makes no sense," I insisted. "For if it were true, my sister would also be Dragonborn, and be able to Shout, and understand the language of the dragons instinctively, and she can't."

Farengar considered me, his expression maddeningly calm. "What I told you that day is true, Miss Passero. Dragonborns are chosen. Do you believe that every Septim who ever lived since the First Era was granted access to talents such as yours?" he posed reasonably, extending his palms. "So, why should your traitorous sister bear the grace of Akatosh because a certain blood may or may not run through the Passero's veins?" Farengar queried.

I closed my eyes, silently willing him to stop. "The Septim line ended at the close of the Third era," I told him bleakly, steady as I could manage. If what he said was true, I had not been made Dragonborn because I was the only person in Skyrim that the Gods believed could face the threat posed by the dragons. It was because I was the best choice out of three bad choices; myself, my sister, and my elderly grandfather in Cyrodiil.

"Perhaps so," Farengar returned quickly. His chair scraping against the floor encouraged me to open my eyes; the mage moved around his desk. He stopped before his books.

"Perhaps Delphine and her people are chasing a loose end. I am merely doing as you asked," he scanned the spines of the tomes on the middle shelf. "I am speculating on that which I have seen and read. It does not require much digging to start wondering, given the right push," he grunted as he extracted a heavy book from the shelf, cradling it as he turned to me. "Or to understand an alliance between your family and the Septim dynasty is plausible," he approached.

I startled as he thumped the book on the desk before me. "Why would the Thalmor ask me about Delphine, if they believe this?" I stared at the book. It was drab, bound in cool brown leather and embossed with an innocuous looking flower motif and a few scrolls of knot work.

Farengar made a rude hmph sound as he leaned over and flicked through the pages. "Miss Passero, if the Thalmor believed you were descendant from the Septims, you would already be dead, or at the very least, under strict observation. I believe they are after her because of the noise she makes while she conducts her search, dredging up pre-Concordat nostalgia and Talos dogma in her wake. No," he ran his finger down the scribings on one page.

"If there is a truth to be found," he murmured, "it has been well hidden, by those who understood the gravity of its discovery," he tapped his finger pointedly on a section, then glanced at me. "Read."

Swallowing nervously and wondering if I might gain hidden enlightenment from a page in a book, I scanned the page from the place he indicated. It began part way through a sentence:

...the Hero of Kvatch saved the city and Martin by entering the gate and closing it before a daedric siege engine could destroy Bruma and Cloud Ruler Temple. Many songs and stories have been told of this battle and I will not retell them here. The Hero of Kvatch was now known as the Saviour of Bruma.

With the city and Cloud Ruler Temple safe, Martin Septim opened the portal to Mankar Camoran's "Paradise". The details of what transpired in this place have not been recorded; all that is known is that the Hero of Kvatch traveled there, killed Mankar Camoran, and returned with the Amulet of Kings.

"This is The Oblivion Crisis," I mumbled, peering at Farengar. "So?"

Farengar smiled patiently. "Note the care taken with the wording pertaining to the Hero of Kvatch. They are never referred to by their true name, race, or even gender."

"Because they were nobody – no, worse; a criminal," I recalled, for I had read the book during my studies. The Oblivion Crisis, and the tragedy that consumed the bastard son of Uriel Septim VII, had often been used as inspiration for songs and poems.

"Perhaps they were a criminal? Or perhaps even that is part of a deception designed to draw attention away from who they really were?" Farengar shrugged, closing the book. He inspected the cover with a thoughtful frown. "Whatever this person's past, they earned the trust and respect of both Uriel and Martin Septim, and rose to become the Champion of Cyrodiil," he mused. "Does it not strike you as odd our records on the Oblivion Crisis don't once refer to this Champion by their given name?"

I crossed my brows. No wonder the Thalmor weren't interested in me; he had nothing.

"Ah," he smiled patiently. "Like I said before; perhaps there is no conspiracy. Perhaps Delphine's documents are nothing more than old recipes, encoded to shroud their details from some ancient, rival chef."

I paled, understanding a link I had been missing. "Delphine has documents that identify the Hero of Kvatch?" I posed quietly. "Documents written in...the dragon tongue?"

"She has never told me explicitly what she endeavours to learn, and she and I have never explicitly discussed the Septims," Farengar sighed, taking his seat, throwing The Oblivion Crisis onto the desk between us. "And, I don't believe her documents are merely written in the dragon tongue, or others might have decoded them before now."

"Okay," I shook my head, "so, a code within a code. And you – she," I corrected, when Farengar arched an eyebrow, "believes this...information, once deciphered, might prove the Septim line didn't end, it continued on through...the Hero of Kvatch?" I winced.

Farengar smiled, but confirmed nothing. "If she and her people believed they could locate such information, would the Dominion's interest in her not make more sense?"

I sank back into my seat, overwhelmed. "Perhaps," I conceded sadly. "But if this...connection is proven – and I am not saying it will be," I made clear, "then why would it change everything?" I asked, baffled. "The Medes have governed Tamriel for centuries, and they will not simply stand aside. Delphine's people can't possibly hope to start a coop based on so little, whether the Gods made me Dragonborn or not. Given Skyrim is fighting a different war with the Empire, it would serve little-"

I stilled, cutting myself off, and felt the blood drain from my face. My stomach hollowed.

"What is it, what have you realised?" Farengar asked quickly.

I shook my head, held my hand out to him as I swallowed dread, and something my sister told me forced its way back into my mind.

He has plans for us, both of us, after he wins this war.

"He knows," I muttered in shock.

"Who knows?"

I cursed and stood, clenching my fists as I paced before Farengar's desk. "He made the connection, somehow from our name alone because they began scheming years ago – and that's why he has plans – that's why they're together," the bubble of absurdity burst and washed over me. "He means to make her Empress of Tamriel - to control the whole Empire through her!" I uttered incredulously.

"Miss Passero," Farengar warned, "I assume this incoherence has something to do with your sister and Ulfric Stormcloak?"

"Of course," I resumed pacing, my head aching with all the thoughts and connections firing at once. "He knows it, and she knows it, that's why she became so insufferable after she went to college," my teeth clenched. "Because he put this Empress idea into her head and bloated her ego, her love of power," I muttered.

All I have done, all I have endured, has been for the good of Tamriel.

I winced at the memory. Perhaps it was a craving for power that drove her to some extent, but I had seen for myself she believed in what she was doing. But honestly - Giselle? Empress?

"Miss Passero-"

"Wait, please," I held my hand out again, tracking my revelations as they unfolded. "It explains why she thinks this war has to happen," I raked my hands through my tangled hair. "No, wait," I halted. "She said, plans for us," I mused to the wall, frowning at the wood grain. "Why us? Tamriel can't have two Empresses."

"Celeste!" Farengar called, loud and pointed. "You have taken an idea and run wild with it."

I glanced to him swiftly, my eyes wide.

He was leaning over his desk with a stern look on his face. Farengar raised his eyebrows, speaking in a low, gravelly tone. "We are speculating, but our conversation has wandered into a very dangerous place," he warned. "Should any of what you or I have said today leave this room, they will come for us, and it won't be to ask questions about Delphine's activities."

Sobering, I nodded, then huffed. "Nobody will believe us if we speak it-"

"We must not give anybody the opportunity to believe it," he insisted. "Not the Jarl, not your housecarl. Certainly not your lover, if you want him to survive his next battle."

Hadvar, I remembered, and it was as though Farengar had slapped me. I wasn't supposed to be here with the Jarl's mage, arguing about whether Giselle and I were descendant from Emperors!

I gripped the back of the chair and nodded again. "All right. We will speak no more of this," I vowed. "I can't think about this now, anyway," I closed my eyes, took a deep, steadying breath, and another. When thoughts of Giselle, Ulfric, and everything that Delphine may or may not unearth burst through my mind, I pushed them aside and repeated to myself; not now.

Farengar stood, motioned toward the door. "Correct. What you must focus on now is, Septim or not, you are the Dragonborn, and your duty is to present yourself to the Greybeards for training, not become entangled in political fancy that would get us, and what remains of your family, killed."

I agreed, though a stab of fear surged through me. If Giselle believes she's descendant from the Septims, and the Thalmor have any idea of what Delphine is investigating...they might...

No. I couldn't think on it.

"I am going to High Hrothgar in a week," I told him, to distract myself.

"A week?" he scolded, his brows crossed. "You have put this journey off for long enough."

I threw him a dark look. "I've been busy. And I'm committed elsewhere for the next week," I evaded. If I told him the truth, he would speak aloud all those doubts and accusations of selfishness I'd felt during our walk to Dragonsreach.

He shook his head. "You must do what you believe to be right, of course," there was no sneer to his tone for once. He almost sounded humbled.

I took this oddly pensive moment as my cue to leave. "As must we all," I muttered, dipping my head. "Thank you for your time. And...your honesty."

He walked around the table. "Come. I will go with you to the Jarl," he sighed. "There is still...much to be organised in the wake of the battle."

I could only imagine. As we left Farengar's rooms and ascended to the war room, I no longer wondered why we hadn't been interrupted while we'd been talking for so long.

The war room was full of soldiers, guards, officials, and Whiterun citizens, and they were all too busy to care about where Farengar and I had been. The doors to the Great Porch were open, and there were even more people out there, clustered in groups around tables clogged with food and drink and parchments held down with stones, and lanterns struggling to maintain their flames in the wind whistling through the halls.

I paused at the top of the stairs and located Hadvar at the Jarl's table, leaning on his elbows with his eyes on Irileth. The Jarl's housecarl stood at the head of the table, drawing her finger around a large map of the city marked in green and blue ink here and there.

Before I reached the table, Irileth glanced up and stilled. Her piercing garnet eyes settled on me, and she stood taller, placing her arms behind her back with a barely perceptible roll of her eyes.

The Jarl, Hadvar, and the other soldiers at the table turned to see what had captured her attention.

"My dear Thane!" the Jarl's expression lifted. Grinning, he approached and grasped my shoulders with large hands, though he looked over my head to his court mage at first. "Farengar, have the Black-Briar Reserve brought up. We have a marriage to toast," the Jarl's voice was full of mirth, and his eyes smiled with him, crinkled at the corners.

I might have heard the words committed elsewhere muttered under the mage's breath as he stalked off.

"My Jarl," I dipped a quick cursory bow; evidently Hadvar had said something to him. "Thank you – but I assure you, your blessing is enough-"

The Jarl's laugh boomed, cutting me off, and drawing the attention of more eyes. "Come – I insist," he turned, securing an arm around my shoulder as he led me to the main table. "Mead for everybody!" he announced.

There were a chorus of hurrahs from those within earshot.

"Jarl Balgruuf, perhaps now is not the appropriate time to be celebrating considering the magnitude of-"

"This is exactly the time to celebrate, Irileth," the Jarl cut her off as he delivered me to Hadvar's side. "The Thane of Whiterun is to be wed!"

Hadvar stood taller and glanced to me, the slightly startled expression warming as he met my eyes, and smiled. My nerves eased and I returned his smile.

I'm sure Irileth grunted in frustration, but I barely heard it, and the Jarl continued over the top of her anyway.

"Hadvar informs me you mean to depart for Riften at once," he began.

We turned our attention to him and Hadvar eased his arm around me, settling his hand on my waist.

"Yes," I confirmed, a little alarmed the Jarl seemed so in favour of our union, but I supposed it wasn't the first time Jarl Balgruuf's support had surprised me. Perhaps he was simply happy to have some good news in the wake of the battle. "I leave for High Hrothgar soon, so we thought it prudent not to wait."

"Understandable," the Jarl sobered, though his eyes shone with merriment. "I shall not delay you long. Though, Celeste, you ask your man a difficult thing, to wed you now, and let you go a week into your union."

Hadvar's hand tightened on my waist. "We all have our duties," he answered quietly.

"That's right," the Jarl agreed. "And the Greybeards will not keep her forever."

I can only hope. I nodded but a vice clenched my throat when I thought about what I was getting into in a week's time. Talking with Farengar had brought a fresh fear into the confusion I felt about what it meant to be Dragonborn. Did the Greybeards believe as Delphine and her ilk did? What if there was a lifetime of training ahead of me, or worse; a lifetime of tragedy, as there had been for the last Septim who had strived to save the world?

Gratefully it seemed words were not expected of me, and true to his word, the Jarl did not keep us long. Farengar returned with a number of servants and several bottles of mead, and after toasting our union he wished us well on our journey, and we took our leave.

There were things I needed to pack, so I led Hadvar through the castle and up to my rooms instead of out of Dragonsreach. The silence of the empty halls after the din of the war room and the stifling intensity of Farengar's speculation was a welcome relief, as was Hadvar's easy, companionable silence.

We walked, and I felt myself begin to slowly unwind, but it was only when we reached my sitting room that I realised Hadvar and I were alone.

I locked the door. I faltered, then turned, torn between wanting to leave for Riften as soon as possible, and yearning to claim a moment of normality for us; to stride across the room and draw him down into a wild, passionate kiss and drag him to my bedroom.

Hadvar stood by a table with his hands resting on the top edge of a chair. My backpack was by his feet, and his eyes were on the mannequin in the corner, the one that wore the delicate, impractical silk dress the Jarl had gifted me with my Thane's armour.

A look of unreserved sadness on his face made my chest tighten painfully.

"Hadvar?" I hastened to his side, resting my hand gently on his arm.

He glanced to me quickly, blinking as he smiled. "You should hurry, love," he nodded toward my bedroom.

I frowned; the smile had not reached his eyes. "All...right," I hazarded, collecting my pack and turning away. The decision of which course to tread was suddenly made for me, and confused, I took a step toward my room.

His regretful sigh stopped me in my tracks.

"What's wrong?" I glanced over my shoulder. My voice sounded small and more afraid than I realised it would. I cleared my throat and added hastily, "Please? Tell me."

Hadvar looked down to his boots as a wince marred his handsome features. "I'm sorry," he cut in quickly. "It's nothing, really. I'm being...quite stupid."

"I don't believe you're capable of being stupid," I turned back, closing the space between us, my pack forgotten. "Tell me?" I asked again softly, smoothing my palms along his strong arms. "Was it...something the Jarl said?"

"What? No," Hadvar blinked, frowning as he glanced across the room again. His hands settled on my hips but his touch was feather-light.

I followed his line of sight; he was staring at the mannequin again.

Puzzled, I turned back to him. "Is...there something wrong with the dress?" I asked with incredulity.

"No," Hadvar stressed, his eyes snapping back to me. "It's...it would look beautiful on you," he caressed my cheek, his touch barely there. "It's a dress fit for a queen," he added thoughtfully.

I was disturbed by the shame to his murmurings. "The Jarl insisted upon it. I freeze every time I wear it," I told him dismissively.

"It's not the dress, it's-" Hadvar lowered his hands and took a moment to consider his next words, sighing with a desperate glance to the ceiling.

"You are...so far above me, Celeste, I'm amazed you can bear it," he confessed, meeting my eyes, rife with caution. "You could marry a Jarl – or an Emperor. Are you sure you should be coming to Riften with me?" he stared, his tone quiet, and serious. "I'm just a soldier. It's all I'll ever be."

"Above you – what?" I fumbled as I organised my thoughts, stunned by the confession, not to mention anxious over the absurd possibility I was descendant from an ancient line of Emperors. I hastily shook my head. "You are not just a soldier, unless you believe I am just a student bard," I berated. "You are not measured in my eyes by your job title."

Hadvar glanced away. "I just wish..." he murmured, then again, reconsidered. "I warned you," he half-smirked, "it's stupid."

"You're right, this is stupid-" I tried to smile back; tried to break him free of this triviality, for it did not feel as though he would let it go easily.

"-But I look around this room," he continued wistfully, "and...I want this for you. The glamour, the...splendour. Everything you deserve, and more. Even once the war has ended, if it ever ends," he added in frustration, "all I'll be capable of providing you with is a farmhouse, somewhere near Riverwood."

For a moment, I stared at him. He'd forgotten about my family fortune; it would be his as well, but if the grandeur of Dragonsreach had brought this insecurity to light, now was not the time to remind him he was about to become a very wealthy man. And with that thought, I realised how stupid we were both being. Was I not, really, doing the same as he: agonising over rank? It was stupid to brood over a connection my family may or may not have to another ancient family, whoever they might have once been, whatever power they might once have wielded. The blood that pumped through my heart was my blood. Where it had come from would not change who I was, not at my core.

And who was I, right now, in this moment?

I stepped toward him, my path clear. "Will...you be living in this farmhouse somewhere near Riverwood?" I asked haltingly.

His closed expression turned dazed, and he watched me closely as I wound my arms around his neck. He nodded shallowly as his hands drifted out to rest on my waist, seemingly of their own accord.

"Then, I want to live there," I stood on my toes; my lips ghosting his. "I want you, Hadvar Reidarsson," I whispered, smiling as my cheeks warmed. "Wherever you are...is home."

I kissed him gently. He kissed me back, but I could still feel that sense of regret; his withdrawal, and hesitance.

"Please," I asked, breath washing his lips as I touched the tip of his nose with mine, closing my eyes. I had to bring him back to me, to now. "I love you," I whispered, winding my fingers into the hair at the back of his neck. "And...I locked the door," I opened my eyes, staring at him through my lashes.

He huffed a quiet, incredulous laugh, his smile part way back to reaching his eyes. "That was..." he drifted off, hands flexing against my waist.

Emboldened by his tentative response, I gently covered his fingers with mine. He glanced down briefly, watching as I guided his hands, positioning them over the armour lacings at my sides. Perhaps, had we not been interrupted by generals and dragons, or our own logic every time we had stumbled toward intimacy, I might have been capable of holding back.

But a final fear lingered in my mind, plucking and prodding at the glow of anticipation coursing through me. It was fear of being called away, or of Hadvar being called away; of being interrupted yet again and being separated yet again. After surviving the battle, the dragon, my sister; the possibility of still being denied my Hadvar powered a fierce urgency that overran any shyness or trepidation.

His eyes rose to meet mine, his hands squeezing briefly. "That was a really good idea," he puffed through flushed cheeks.

I smiled against his lips and kissed him again. Without further prompting, he picked at the fastenings of my armour, and I left him to it, moving my palms down his body, tugging at his clothes to see what I could loosen while he worked. Eventually, I found the ties at the sides of his trousers, and unlaced them hastily, tucking my fingers into the waistband and pushing the material off his hips.

He withdrew from our kiss with a shuddering breath and held me. "You're sure about this?"

I nodded, cheeks warming as I found my courage to leave no doubts in his mind. "Take me to bed, Hadvar," I whispered.

His eyes clouded; part wonder, part passion, searching me with a depth that fuelled the fire roaring through my veins. "I love you," was his mumbled reply as he gripped fistfuls of material and tugged me toward him, securing my body against his.

His fingers were suddenly clumsy with eagerness; in a beat, he lifted my armour up, and I raised my arms to hasten its removal. His lips sought mine again, gasping into my mouth when I brushed my fingers under his tunic and across his abdomen, and my mind spun, dizzy with want from the mere sound of his reaction. He unclasped my tasset, urging it down, while I blindly pushed at his loose trousers until he could step out and kick them off with his boots, then the pads of his fingertips were on my thighs as he bunched my tunic-dress up, hands leaving shivers in their wake.

The moment Hadvar tugged my dress over my head, he sank to his knees before me, hands splayed over my belly in shaking, earnest exploration. An amused thought flit through my racing mind; we might not make it to the bedroom after all, but then he kissed my belly and my eyes fluttered closed. I couldn't hold back my gasps; he caressed and kept kissing, a sculptor, discovering with skilled hands and mouth what might be realised within new, pliant clay. His fingers spread out, hooking the waistband of my underwear and stilling, looking up to meet my eyes.

His gaze pleaded with me. Tell me to stop, and I stop, they said.

"Don't stop," I whispered.

Thankfully, he didn't need to be told again, and the garment was off in a heartbeat, to be replaced by his mouth and hands. The stubble on his cheeks and chin tickled me as he placed kiss after hot kiss on every inch of sensitive skin covering my abdomen, moving lower with every fiery touch and breath pressed to me.

One hand tangled through his thick hair for balance as my legs shook, and my other hand covered my mouth, muffling my gasps and cries. Brightness thrummed through me like a chorus and my thoughts scattered as my spirit rose, and sang.

As my vision cleared, Hadvar's arms tightened around me, lifting me effortlessly as he stood.

Our eyes met as I wrapped my legs around his waist and pressed my breasts against his clothed chest.

"So beautiful," he whispered; his grey depths flickering over me. I searched his flushed cheeks and plumped, reddened lips in hazy wonder as words slipped out of my mind before I could wrap my tongue, or head, around them.

Then we were falling. A surge of adrenaline shot through me as my back hit soft material and furs; a quick glance behind me confirmed we were on my bed. I hadn't even realised Hadvar had been moving us in here.

He leaned up to pull his tunic over his head, then arched over me, raking a hand through my hair as he just looked at me, looked into my soul. Combing my fingers down his broad, hard shoulder blades and lean back, I searched his face, committing him, the feel of him, the feel of us to memory; one that might sustain me no matter how long we were to be parted for in the future.

When he kissed me, he was slower and less urgent than before, but somehow this kiss conveyed more than any other kiss we had shared. More feeling, more intensity, a depth of affection previously unrealised. It was a kiss overflowing with hope.

He lifted his head a little, to whisper over my lips, "Is this all right?"

I breathed a quiet laugh as I nodded, smiling blissfully, still unable, or perhaps unwilling to find any words.

"Thank you," he replied sincerely.

The love in his eyes, his voice, twisted my heart until it felt it might break from the weight. "For what?" I asked quietly.

He shuddered, shuffling his weight between my legs; leant down to press his forehead to mine. "For trusting me," he whispered resolutely. His eyes clenched tightly closed as he added a heartfelt; "For seeing me; the real me."

I blinked back tears, closing my eyes, dazzled by how much love I felt for this brave, kind, wonderful man. "Likewise," I breathed, tilting my chin up to find his mouth.

While we kissed, slow and deep, he shifted against me again, and then he was pushing through me. The pressure sent a flush of discomfort to my core, but it was not as painful as I had been led to believe it would be. He stilled when I tensed, patiently unmoving, coaxing kiss after kiss out of me while my body quaked and adjusted to the newness.

But the ache abated and I relaxed; in its place, pleasure built, new and breathtaking as he gently rocked into me. Murmured declarations, beautiful promises and solemn vows were whispered over my skin, punctuating his every move.

I searched for the right words to reply with, yearning to requite everything he was giving me, and more. But the only word I managed, as we finally tumbled over the peak we'd tried to scale for so long, was his name.

–

Whether minutes or hours passed before the world outside of Hadvar swam back into focus, I was uncertain. But when my mind began to tug at me; when my lazily blinking eyes saw not only the softly-smiling, relaxed man beside me, but took in walls and ceilings and rumpled bedclothes, and a patch of bright, clear sky through the window behind me, I tried to push it all away, just for a little longer.

Who needs Riften, I wondered curiously?

"What if we stay here for the week?" I murmured as I shuffled closer to him, sliding my leg along his as I nuzzled my nose against his cheek.

"Here?" he asked in a low rumble, half smiling. His hand drifted along my leg then circled the small of my back before he gently tugged me to him, and lowered his mouth to my ear. "You mean...in this bed?"

"Yes," I laughed softly, arching my neck at his nonvocal request for access. "Let's stay," I grasped his arm, the words fluttering from me. His lips caressed my neck, working over my shoulder, and I hummed my approval. "Just you, and me, and this wonderful bed."

"Won't...the Jarl summon you endlessly if he knows you're here?" Hadvar tightened his hold as he turned onto his back, easing me on top of him.

"I locked the door," I reminded him quietly, reasonably, smiling mildly as I glanced at him through my lashes. My legs slid either side of his and I arched down, smoothing my palms over his chest and following the path my fingers took with my lips. "Please?" I asked sweetly, between kisses.

Hadvar chuckled, looking back, an appeal to the ceiling. His hands glided over my thighs, squeezing nimbly. "Celeste, I don't know," he sighed to the roof.

Made confident by the response in him, making itself more evident at every moment, I guided myself back, flattening my palms to leverage my movement.

"Let me convince you," I drank in the sight of his flushed cheeks and mussed-up hair fanned beneath him. "I haven't even started trying to convince you," I whispered, pleading, brushing against him. He drew in a sharp breath through his nose as I reached back and found him, wrapped my fingers around him, and settled down slowly, until my hips rest flush against his and his warmth filled me. "I'm sure I...you" words stuttered; my eyes fluttered closed; his hands settled on my waist to support me, help guide me.

"You...make a compelling argument," he managed through a groan.

An incessant tap-tapping sound broke through my blush and breathless giggle, and I stilled, startled; my eyes flashed to his.

We stared at one another, waiting for the sound to come again, praying for it not to. Surely not.

But it did. A persistent, somehow polite knock to the outer door to my rooms.

Hadvar made a sound of frustration, letting go of me and grabbing fistfuls of bedding as his knuckles turned white. "What now?" he uttered through his teeth.

My heart plummeted when the knock came a third time, and my head whipped to the direction of the door, though I couldn't see it from my bed. My cheeks burned and I boiled with frustration, wondering why they couldn't have waited an hour longer. It could not be the Jarl; he would have just barged in and gotten an eyeful.

Well, I thought darkly. Whoever is out there better have a damned good reason for disturbing us, or I might be compelled to FUS them into Oblivion.

"I will make them go away," I murmured, climbing off Hadvar and grabbing the first clothing I could find – his tunic. I padded barefoot across the cool stones and plush carpets, through the sitting room and to the door. I shirked the tunic over my head, smoothed it down my thighs, and tugged my tangled mass of hair out of the neckline.

I could hear him getting up, and before I unlocked the door I caught him striding toward me, wearing only trousers and an irritated expression.

I turned the key in its lock and pulled back the door, glaring at the courier standing with his fist raised and poised to knock a forth time.

"Oh, good," the man seemed taken back by the suddenness of my appearance, but shook his surprise off swiftly. "I have a letter for you, Miss Passero."

My expression levelled. "You could not have left it with a steward?" I asked in a flat tone.

His eyes widened as he took in my appearance, then, suddenly cautious, he glanced beyond me.

Hadvar come to a halt behind me; his large arm swam into view, resting on the door frame above me. "Who gave you permission to walk through the castle to the Dragonborn's private chambers?" he asked in a steady tone, managing to sound more menacing for the lack of emotion.

"N-no one," the courier fumbled and took a step back, hastily looked down to his hand. His eyes snapped up, meeting mine as he pushed a letter toward me. "I was paid to deliver it to you personally-"

I snatched it. "By whom?"

"By – by your housecarl, my Lady-" he stuttered.

"Lydia?"

My eyes widened. Lydia had instructed me to send her a letter, not the other way around.

I left the embarrassed courier at the door to flounder his apologies to Hadvar and tore the letter open, leaning down by a lantern, scanning her hastily-scribbled note.

Celeste,

It brings me more pain than I can express to have to write this, but I must for the sake of those who need your clemency more than ever.

I beg you to alter your route to Riften and bring Hadvar to Riverwood. I arrived to find the village on fire, besieged by a dragon. The demon sent a number of brave men and women to Sovngarde before we managed to end it.

"What's wrong?" Hadvar was behind me, though I barely made out his words, and couldn't answer. I shifted so he could read for himself, over my shoulder.

My chest clenched painfully as I continued.

Alvor was amongst those who perished while protecting the village.

I stared at the line, reading it again to make sure I had not misunderstood.

I hadn't. Covering my mouth in horror, I tried to swallow my dread, and made myself read on.

Sigrid and Dorthe are in shock, and when it wears off they will need Hadvar, not me.

And I know, little one. I know this was supposed to be your time. I'm sorry. I will never forgive myself for having to ask this of you, or for being the bearer of such news.

I couldn't read any more. Both hands shook as I glanced to Hadvar, and my terror was mirrored in his features. All the blood seemed to have drained from his face, and his eyes were wide and staring.

The reality of our lives, of the world that we were a part of, no matter how we tried to run or hide from it, crashed over me. The gut-wrenching knowledge that I could have prevented this, had I been less selfish, drowned me for its potency. My hand clenched around the note and I threw my arms around Hadvar, praying he would not push me away.

"I'm so sorry," I sobbed against his chest. "If we'd left at once instead of-"

"Don't," he cut over me, his voice thick. "Please," he hissed into my hair, holding me to him fiercely.

Words came hard and fast to my mind now, all accusations and grief, but I could not utter them around the guilt, whose remorseless tendrils took hold of my throat and gripped tighter with every breath I took.

–

I packed through a haze of tears and bade Hadvar go to Riverwood before me. I didn't want to keep him from his family any longer than I already had.

He wouldn't leave, or even discuss it for that matter. Perhaps he guessed what was going through my head as he sat on the edge of my bed and watched me packing for a longer journey than I had intended to take with him. I packed the necklaces Alvor made, that I hadn't been able to part with to sell; I would return them to Sigrid, of course. I left my lute and dresses and other comforts behind, and packed warm clothing, weapons, a map and potions. I packed my Thane armour, for I couldn't bear the thought of wearing it to Riverwood just now. I would make the journey in common clothes.

I packed to leave them, perhaps forever if the Greybeards deigned it necessary, but I was not going to run away. I would be here now, for Hadvar and his family – only a fiend would refuse to face them – but I couldn't do this any more. I couldn't sit back and watch under the protection of people whose loyalty I'd done nothing to deserve, whose lives were being torn apart by my inaction.

The path before me was clear. I would take Hadvar to Riverwood; I needed to know he was safe. I would make sure the dragon who killed his uncle was truly dead. I would make my apologies to his family for my negligence.

And then I would leave. I had to do my duty to my people, what was left of my friends and family, and stop this plague, or I would turn around one day to find the lives of everyone I held dear snuffed out.

I knew I could never make this right. Neither excuses nor a lifetime of hard work and solitude to destroy every last dragon in Skyrim would bring Dorthe's father, Sigrid's husband, and Hadvar's uncle back. But I had to try to redeem myself, and I would try for the rest of my days, to protect those who remained.

We took one of the horses we borrowed from the Legion, leaving the saddle at the stables so we could ride together. I was grateful for Hadvar's closeness, as I felt – hoped – he was for mine, but we rode in silence.

Once clear of Whiterun's bustle of clean up operation, the afternoon dipped into poignant tranquility. After climbing the mountain pass to the south, I led the mare through the woods, along the path I'd taken the day I left Hadvar for the first time; the path I had tread when I set out on Farengar's test to Bleak Falls Barrow, and returned to Whiterun on, confused yet successful in my endeavours.

It was cruelty in itself to take this path, not only for the memories it invoked. The leaves rippling in the breeze and the wildflowers and moss clinging to the undersides of the trees were too peaceful, too beautiful, lulling me into a false state of emptiness every so often. It never lasted long; a bird call or snap of a twig would set my heart racing, and the reminder that Alvor is dead and I could have stopped it would crush me anew.

All too soon, I guided the horse down a shallow slope to the crossroads beside the bridge into Riverwood.

I drew the horse to a halt and stared up at the sign, before I caught a glimpse of the village through the trees.

The river gurgled and gushed underneath the bridge Hadvar and I had shared our first kiss on, a steady rush as it worked around the smoothed, grey bricks at its base. Beyond the bridge, I could see little more than a few blackened beams of wood, but the smell of smoke hit me on a gust of wind, and it was crushing.

I hesitated, listening for trouble, voices, anything, but beyond the sounds of the water, all was eerily silent. The absence of Alvor's hammer, tolling against his anvil, pushed the air from my lungs.

I can't. The reigns fell from my grasp as my eyes welled with tears. I couldn't face them.

You must.

"Celeste?" Hadvar asked quietly, hands tightening on my waist. He cleared his throat; "Come, my love. We are nearly there."

I didn't respond, and Hadvar let go of me, reaching around to gather the reigns. With a quiet click-click sound, he urged the horse to continue toward the village. The mare's hoofs thudded against dirt track, then clopped against stone as she stepped onto the bridge.

Divines give me strength, I pleaded. I glanced up to the late afternoon sky from the valley Riverwood nestled between. The sun had already sunk behind one of the mountains to create that beautiful false evening I was so fond of, that only Riverwood had claim to. Give me the strength to leave him, I prayed to the skies.

Hadvar tensed behind me as we turned the horse onto the main street, but still he said nothing. There were two Whiterun soldiers at the arch, which sported a scorch mark down one side and part way along its top, obscuring the name of the village so it now read as verwood.

The guards' faces were lined in ash and sweat, their expressions wholly defeated. They didn't spare us more than a glance when we rode past, and I was too distracted to hail them, for in the middle of the street, with its head practically at the Ebonhand's front door, was the beast.

It was silent, unmoving. One wing was crumpled underneath at a painful-looking angle, and its thin, forked tongue lolled out of a tooth-filled maw.

Fire tore through me at the sight of the dovah who destroyed everything; the bright rage made my skin tingle and burn as though my form was about to scatter into billions of pieces. My vision hazed, darkening at the edges, and ending this monster was my only desire. With a speed I had not realised I possessed, I detangled myself from Hadvar, leapt off the horse, and ran across the road toward it.

I heard Hadvar calling after me, but couldn't understand what he said around the rushing noise that filled my ears.

"FUS!" I screamed when I reached the fallen dragon, my anger flaring in satisfaction as it tumbled over its limbs and was flung away from their home, to settle further away, on the main street. Even as its dead form shuddered from my Shout, its bronzed scales began to glow with golden light.

I stood before its head, staring at its lifeless, glassy eyes, clenching my fists with restraint. I wanted nothing more than to leap onto its crumpled body and tear it to pieces with my hands and teeth. Instead, I watched its spirit gather, and waited for its sil to come to me, for I knew to consume it now would be the only vengeance worth exacting. "Pruzah," I told it icily as my eyes blazed with cold malice. "Zu'u fen naak hin nikriin sil, dovah; fah fin lahney hi lost gahrot."

When the dragon's soul hit me, I closed my eyes and let the hurricane of brightness consume me, wondering if this was the time they tore me apart, for it would be what I deserved.

Its presence swirled through my veins and coalesced in my mind, and I became more determined to leave; to fly and Shout and bring oblaan, an end, to this death, this suffering.

When the gold light faded, I saw the bright forms standing around me, their hearts fluttering with luminous uncertainty. I turned away, not wanting to witness their judgement. They were thick with fear, I could smell it.

My eyes burned with something more ethereal than tears, and through the haze I found Hadvar, the only being of light whose fear was for me, whose heart beat in time with my own. Lifting my arms to reach for him, I blinked, and as with the other times I'd experienced this strange, swirling view of the world, the visions faded when I opened my eyes.

Pale, trembling hands were all I saw at first. Hadvar caught me before I crashed to my knees.

"I'm all right," I mumbled, stumbling to stand on my own.

His brows furrowed and he wove an arm around me. "Let me," he urged in a quiet, determined tone.

I let him, for to be close to him was all the comfort I had left, and I would need to make do without it soon. He guided us around the silent crowd of onlookers, who must have assembled when I Shouted at the dead dragon. There were some Whiterun guards, a few townspeople who I didn't recognise, and a large, bewildered-looking dog who scurried away when I looked directly at it.

I tried to convince myself the fear I'd felt – no, smelled – had not been fear of me. The village had been attacked by a dragon; they had lost people who they had lived and worked beside for their whole lives. Another dragon could swoop down at any moment and finish the job, consuming who was left. Of course they feared.

Alvor and Sigrid's house was still standing, though the forge had collapsed. I tore my eyes from the tangled mass of wood and iron and steeled myself for those I was about to face. They would have every right to throw me out of what remained of their home.

But it wasn't fear or anger waiting for us inside the house. My lingering rage at the dragon vanished at the sight of the Dorthe and Sigrid's faces, replaced by a wan sense of disbelief, and a cruel, gut-wrenching guilt.

The evening passed as one would expect, with many tearful regrets. Sigrid seemed perplexed when I handed her the necklaces Alvor had made and apologised to her. Before I was able to utter more than a few words of plea, Lydia hauled me outside to face her in the chill of night.

"Lydia!"

"What are you doing?" she hissed, shutting the door behind us and turning on me, her green eyes flashing with anger.

I stared at my feet, wondering how she, my housecarl, could make me feel like a child being berated for some frivolous naughtiness. Shame pressed against my guilt; I closed my arms around myself, my stomach aching. It was all too much to bear.

"If I'd gone to the Greybeards when they first called-" I felt compelled to explain, though my voice was snatched at by a howling wind.

"Don't," Lydia snapped. "Don't you dare take this on yourself," she grated. "This isn't about you, or whatever the Divines put in you, it is about them."

A spark of fury made me glare at her. "Alvor is dead because I wanted to spend more time with my friends," I fired.

"No," Lydia countered in a pointed hush, "he is dead because a dragon flew down from the skies and burnt everyone in its path," she insisted sternly.

I shrugged my arms around myself more firmly as a powerful gust of wind rattled the dragon bones across the road. Each clack-clack resounded within me, mocking as it echoed through the despairing cavern in my mind. "If I had been here – or better, where I was supposed to be all this time-"

"The result would have been the same, little one," Lydia cut in, her tone placating. "Dragons will come, whether you are here to face them or not."

"Yes," I squared her with a narrowed look. "If one thing is certain, it's that while I am idle, they will keep coming."

"You're hardly idle," she rolled her eyes. "Celeste, last night you saved the Imperial Legion and most probably, the whole of Rorikstead from a dragon. A very large and powerful dragon, larger than the beast we took on here," she motioned toward its remains.

Her eyes remained on it while she continued quietly. "Had you spirited away to High Hrothgar – even a week ago, when you were determined to leave us at Mixwater Mill – that battle would have ended very differently. Remember not only those who have been lost, but those who have been saved."

With a sick twist to my stomach, I remembered all too well, and clenched my eyes closed again. Hadvar would have been amongst them. "Why are we arguing, Lydia?" I asked in desperation. "You know I must go to the Greybeards now."

"I know," she sighed, leaning against the house and crossing her arms. "But I don't have to like it," she grumbled.

I pressed my back to the wall, staring at the bleached dragon bones through the gloomy night.

"Will you let me do my duty and accompany you?" she asked in a defensive way that told me she already knew what my answer would be.

Still, I shook my head. "No, Lydia," I sighed. "Stay with Lucia. Protect her. That is an order," I flashed her a sideways glance, wanting no miscommunication on this matter.

Lydia sighed, leant her head back against the building. "As you command, my Thane," she drawled, unimpressed.

Not long after, we went back inside, for the night was too cold to remain and our conversation was at its end.

The warmth of the hearth skimmed the surface of my skin, but the cold I felt was deep-seated, as though emanating from my spirit. I sat at the dinner table beside Hadvar and didn't speak again of fault or blame, for fear of further chastisement from my housecarl.

But also because - she was right. Lydia had been right to drag me outside. Whether I blamed myself for Alvor's death or not, I had to be here for those I loved tonight, while I could, and not to appease my own sense of shame.

As the night wound on, Dorthe and Sigrid went to bed – they were reluctant to leave one another's side. Lydia and Lucia retired to the shop Sigrid had so lovingly prepared for me on the first night I'd met them.

Hadvar led me to his room, to rest if we could, he said. I climbed into the single bed alongside him, and he drew me into his arms, holding me tight against his chest, shaking with silent tears.

I just held him and let him grieve against me. Eventually, when Hadvar's grasp relaxed and his breaths evened out, I looked up, and watched him. In sleep, I hoped that he would find some peace after this harrowing day.

Harrowing, I thought with dread, detangling my hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. This is how he will remember the day he made love to you. Harrowing.

I closed my eyes as this sunk in, and the ardent pledge he made when we'd been together at Mixwater Mill drifted through my thoughts.

I can't make love to you tonight, and leave you tomorrow. I can't.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, brushing his hair back again while he slept. "But I must."

–

"Celeste?"

I whipped around to see Hadvar sitting up in his bed. His eyes were wary and his voice shook when he added, "What are you doing?"

I had to turn away before I could speak, and resumed dressing to occupy the silence. Sleep had not been merciful enough to claim me, but the dark silence had given me lots of time to think, and plan.

I decided that I could not wait until dawn; I had to leave, now.

"I didn't want to make you say good bye," I told him quietly over my shoulder. "I know you hate good byes," I blinked, squeezing the tears assembling to blur my vision.

"You're not...leaving now?" he choked out.

"It's what I should have done months ago," I huffed. I was tired and aching inside and out, and tears were on the brink of falling. I clenched my eyes closed and took a deep breath, forcing them back. Not now. Not now, or you will never leave and everybody you love will die in fire and pain.

"Celeste, no," the rustle of bedding shifting came to me, and then Hadvar was winding around me from behind, gently easing me against him. "You promised me a week," he implored, holding me close. "I need you. So do they," he whispered.

I shook my head and took a shuddering breath, turning in his arms to face him. "No. What your family – what you need," I looked up, and faltered. My lip trembled as I looked into those beautiful grey eyes I had fallen so easily in love with. Was it wrong for me to love him, to stay just a little longer-?

Alvor is dead.

My vision fogged and I lifted my hand to his face, brushing my thumb over his cheekbone. "What everybody needs," I choked, "is for the Dragonborn to do her duty to Skyrim, today."

Hadvar's brows furrowed and he closed his eyes, nodding resolutely as he brought his hand up to press against mine, and secure me to him. "I will go with you," he vowed. "It will not take me long to pack-"

"You can't," I swallowed, extracting my hand and stepping back, a step that physically pained me, and clearly had a similar effect on him from the hurt in his eyes. I had to look away to keep the pain in my chest and throat from bursting out of me. "Sigrid and Dorthe need you," I added, to fill the void with anything but more silence.

Silence. I tightened my armour, painfully aware of whose hands crafted it with his skill and care and love; hands that would make armour no more. I brushed my tears aside and fended Hadvar's attempts at consolation off so I could slip into my boots.

When I was ready, I turned to close my pack

"This isn't right," he muttered, dejected.

"Nothing will be right again until I have finished this," I dug into the pocket of my coat. The coat Sigrid gave you, when all you did was take from them, I thought bitterly.

I had placed a slip of parchment there while I'd been packing, to leave on the kitchen table when I left, but as Hadvar was awake, I would give it to him now. "Here," I extended the note. "My account number," I explained. "I want you to...have it. To use it," I added hastily. "Use it however you see fit."

He glanced to the strip of paper, but didn't move. "I cannot take that."

"Please," I begged, grasping his hand and placing the parchment squarely in his palm. I looked up to him, eyes wide and begging as I closed his fingers around it. "Maybe you can buy out your contract with the Legion?" I suggested, uncertain if that was even possible. "The General will understand why, and you can stay in Riverwood with them," I proposed.

"Celeste-" Hadvar hissed painfully.

"Or, if Riverwood is too much to bear," I cut him off quickly as another idea scrambled through my frantic mind. "Take them to Solitude. Solitude is protected. Consider Proudspire Manor your home," I rushed. "Have Melaran remove the security wards, and move in as soon as you like," I insisted, "for nobody in my family is left to make use of it."

His shoulders slumped and his eyes were anguished, pleading.

"Oh, and this-" I glanced down, remembering, wanting, needing to do this right, in case this was the end. I tugged the Passero seal out from under my underclothes, pulled it over my head. I held it out, by the chain. "You will need this," I tried for hope, but couldn't keep the frown from my tone.

As with everything else I had offered, he looked at it, but did not take it.

My feigned brightness extinguished and my lower lip trembled. "Please, take it. I have to know you are safe," I welled suddenly, and was powerless to stop the tears trailing down my cheeks this time. "I cannot do this unless I know you're safe," I bit my bottom lip; a fruitless effort to hold back my despair.

Still he said nothing, but drew me to his chest, enclosed me in his arms, and this time I let him. My grief, the preemptive loneliness poured out of me. I was so frightened, for the Ebonhands and how they would live without Alvor, for Lydia and Lucia, and how my removal might alter their lives. For my dear shield-brothers, who I had not been able to free or even say good bye to, whose demons would torment them when they discovered I had left. For my Jarl, who had a city to rebuild, who had led a toast in our honour only hours ago, and for my stupid, misguided sister, for the horrors she had unleashed and the horrors she would now have to endure.

And for Hadvar. Most of all I feared for him, for his kind heart and radiant soul. I feared if I stayed any longer, I would stay for the week I'd promised him, and longer, and more would die while I stole my moments with him. I feared if I stayed, we would go to Riften, and I would trap him in a marriage that would secure him a life of solidarity should I fail at my task. He had so much love to give, I could not bear to steal it all for myself for the rest of his days, when I had so little idea of what lay ahead for me, and so little chance of survival.

I cried against him and feared for what was to become of us, in case this was our forever good bye.

Hadvar shifted; his arms tightened as he leaned down to me. "Don't leave," he bargained in a rush. "Come back to bed – stay the night, and then we'll-"

"Hadvar-"

"No, Celeste, listen to me – an hour. What difference can one hour make to your journey? You need to plan this," he was speaking very quickly. "You can't improvise the seven-thousand steps-"

"Hadvar," I cut him off desperately as my heart broke clean in two. I had to go, and now.

I eased back from his embrace, stared up through swollen eyes, and resolutely pressed the Passero seal to his chest. Despite the practicality of the gesture – he would need it to access my account – I wanted to leave this piece of me with him; to leave the bard, the Companion, the Thane of Whiterun, and the woman who loved him, in his possession. I feared I could not take any of those parts with me, where I was going.

He accepted it, but covered my hand with his.

I glanced away. I couldn't give him false hope; could not lie to him. "I wish I could promise you...something," I shuddered, extracting my hand from underneath his, expelling a shaking puff of air as I lifted my pack.

Silence met my words, but he stepped up behind me and helped to settle my backpack on my shoulders.

I slipped my bow and quiver on next, then turned around, stared at him. Words failed me, as they frequently did in his presence, but there was simply nothing I could say or do or sing, to make this good bye any easier.

Watching me solemnly, he placed the Passero seal around his neck, then closed the space between us and cradled my face, kissing me with a gentle longing that twisted my chest into knots. There was no desperation to it; no more pleas or efforts to convince me to stay.

With relief, I kissed him back, and wound the brightness I felt for him into it, wishing this feeling could stay with him as well, so I might not miss him so keenly. But it would be a price I would pay a thousand lifetimes to ensure he was safe. I put my heart and soul into our farewell kiss, yearning for him to understand that so long as he was safe, I could face whatever Skyrim had in store for me.

When I made myself withdraw, Hadvar held the back of my neck and pressed his forehead to mine, leaving our noses touching. "Wherever you are, whatever you face. I love you. Remember that."

I nodded as I caught my breath. "Likewise," I whispered.

He walked with me through the black stillness of night to the boundary of Riverwood, and then we parted, his hand drifting out of mine as I continued on my path alone.

---

A/n: please don't hate me for what happened to Alvor. When he died from a random dragon attack on Riverwood in-game, I was devastated, and refused to return there in case my DB brought another dragon down on those who remained. It was one of those horrifying moments that stayed with me all these years.
Also, Celeste and Hadvar wouldn't let me, um, fade to black. They were very determined. Apologies if it is an awkward scene; I tried really hard to make it tasteful.
A lot happened in this chapter; speculation with Farengar was very important - I am interested to see what people's thoughts are. It does, naturally, relate back to my Oblivion fic, To the Last Septim, but you don't need to have read it to understand what's to (eventually) come.
Finally an apology; I have a lot of work ahead of me, so it might be a few months before I'm able to update again. I assure you, I'd much rather be writing this.