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.

57. The Faces We Wear

Chapter 57: The Faces We Wear

The journey from High Hrothgar was not overly taxing. Each time the wind and snow became too fierce, I Shouted it out of our way.

But I was tired. Regardless of how much sleep I had (or hadn't) gotten, I was tired of Skyrim throwing its worst weather at me.

The weariness was shroud-like and weighed me down, and I remembered feeling heavy and bleak the last time I had left the mountain with Farkas, as well.

Would I ever venture out from a visit to the Greybeards feeling happy?

Perhaps as with danger, the only hope I would find on Monahven would be that which I brought with me. I remembered feeling hope when I understood Paarthurnax was somehow suppressing Alduin's thrall. I remembered the thrill of learning to breathe fire like my soul-kin. Those potent realisations had not occurred so long ago, but the vigour had been sapped out of me by what had come after.

Perhaps the Throat of the World was a void, rendered inert by the time wound and battered senseless by furious eddies for eons until it too felt nothing, drawing energy in a futile attempt to assuage the transdimensional tear from those who scaled its heights, however fleeting their touch.

Ordinarily I did not find it so difficult to relocate my sense of hope, even if it sometimes took a timely shove from one of my friends to find it. But perhaps it had not been so difficult to feel optimistic toward a largely unknown task.

It is still an unknown, I tried to persuade myself up from the depths. You don't have to do what the Tongues did.

No, I did not, but until I could find some alternative, I had to pursue their path.

The sun had set by the time we reached Ivarstead and I didn't need Vilkas' heightened senses to know my companions were also feeling discouraged. I had suggested we stay the night at the Vilemyr, and we could decide what to do in the morning. We had barely said three words to one another, but it was not difficult to encourage them to remain in the common room.

They needed some time together, and I needed some peace.

I retreated to our room; glanced around the space, willing myself to like it, but one word stuck in my thoughts; drab. It was larger than the room Farkas and I had stayed in last time. This one contained four single beds pressed against the walls and tried to exude warmth with dust-free surfaces, simple but cozy bed coverings and vases of wilting wildflowers perched on the dressers, but everything felt too aged to be welcoming. The window was cracked open, letting in a curl of fresh, frigid air.

But the oil lanterns had been lit, and our bags already allocated to beds by whatever logic publicans used. I kicked off my boots, peeled off my warm outer layers and armour, then sat on my bed and reached for my pack, letting the cool night ruffle my hair and goose-pimple my skin. It was cold, but it was good to feel something.

I wanted to open one of Master Vonius' books, even if I gained no understanding of what I read. Vilkas had carried most of them, but the two smallest of the six were secured at the top of my pack.

Instead, my hands found the ties and furs wrapped around my lute, and I changed my mind. An urgency swept through me; a panicked plea that I give in to the luxury of music.

Luxury?

Untying with swift, deft motions, I uncovered then cradled the beloved object in my lap; closed my fingers around the body and frets and pressed my forehead to the strings.

I squeezed my eyes shut in effort to suppress a sudden lump in my throat, threatening to choke me.

"What do I do?" I whispered thickly.

Silence met my words but, like a gentle breeze, a memory drifted to the front of my thoughts. In my mind's eye I saw Hadvar; eyes adoring, bright with pride, and mouth curled in a fond, loving smile.

"Play your lute for me, okay? Every day."

Thank you, my love. Hundreds of miles away and he was helping me, even if the thought of him made my chest ache anew.

His simple request served as a point of focus; a promise I could keep in a quagmire of impossible duties. Drawing back to position my hands, I tuned, allowing myself a moment's reprieve from the fate of the world as I focussed on only that which was before me.

When my lute was ready, I played. With my mind fogged, a song that might bring hope or insight eluded me, and I did not feel like singing, so I ran through scales and arpeggios to warm my fingers up. For a few, blissful moments, I existed in the now.

I reached G minor in my sequence and a tune drifted through my thoughts to counterpoint the melancholy timbre.

"Hmm, hmm-hmm," I hummed; crossed my brows as recognition flared. Fingers stilled then repositioned; I tested strings hastily until I found the notes again, lest they flit away on the nighttime breeze before I could catch them.

It did not take long because I already knew their shape. It was the yearning G-D-E pattern I had happened upon on my journey to Whiterun. But unlike that journey, where I had been merry but cautious of the melody and the Truth I had been certain it would unlock, I now felt no such reserve.

What did it matter if I played these notes; formed this song? Music would not lead me to an Elder Scroll or a way to banish Alduin. It was just a tune; one that had found me and wanted to be remembered – no, created. Who was I to deny its existence?

I closed my eyes and let the music come. The wind whistled through the window and brushed at my cheeks; a wordless taunt, or warning. I ignored it. With my mind quietened and my attention focussed, I let the melody fill me; let it course around and eat at my worries and disappointments like bright rivulets of water sparkling in the morning sunlight, following a familiar path around lifeless boulders.

There were no words, but perhaps lyrics would come over time, or perhaps this song didn't need any. The longer I could work it, the sooner I would know. The trick was to not overthink it, and let the music simply be.

I opened my eyes; stared down at the fingerboard and positioned obediently. The poignant G-D-E began the story, and my hands filled in the next note, and the next.

It was both gruelling and thrilling to actualise the lilting, thirsty song. This feeling was not entirely new to me; perhaps why I felt qualified for this task at least, for the intensity did not immobilise me. I had composed frequently when I had thought only of music, in the time before I had stepped into Skyrim and opened my eyes. Back then I had drawn from what little I knew of love and beauty and suffering and betrayal; mere glimpses, or caricatures of more formidable realities, learned from stories and songs and imitated to the best of my abilities.

"I am certain it is your reluctance to draw a blade or bowstring before asking those questions that you are constantly asking yourself that will save them, and by doing so, us."

I had only myself to blame for my innocence; for believing that the next great sage or Master would give me answers to solve my problems, or teach me the skills I needed to meet my duty. My music until this moment had reflected an idealism that I feared very suddenly lost to me, forever. It had been more hopeful and dramatic because I hadn't known.

The Deans at the College had never made life easy or comfortable; they didn't sugar-coat our futures or give awards for good behaviour. We had to work at our skills; hone our talents, expose our weaknesses and do battle with them until they were weaknesses no more. No single Dean could teach anyone everything there was to know about music; nobody had all the answers. They were conduits, directing our focus so we might stumble upon our answers for ourselves. They had encouraged us to examine every potential and to study what had been done before us with enough detachment to learn our most important of life's lessons.

"If you ever stop pursuing that elusive better way," Dean Gemane, the history professor, had said during our first lesson, "then you might as well go home now."

We worked hard because we loved music.

I work because I love.

Perhaps that was what this song was trying to remind me.

When the demands on my focus calmed, I felt the melody settle. I practised it again and again until it was seared onto my soul and I knew its form by heart, though it felt unfinished, as though I was yet to experience its full potential.

And when my eyes grew heavy and my hands stilled, I placed my lute on the dresser at the end of my bed, even as the tune continued to thrum within me. Another familiar feeling from my previous life; the song might be with me for days, but that was okay. Once, I had considered it normal to listen to a song as it formed in my mind.

Your story isn't over, I thought as I regarded my instrument; ran my fingertips over one of the smooth, silvery lines that repaired a fissure. You fractured, and parts of you shattered and were lost forever. But you were saved, and remade stronger than before; nurtured by those who love you. You are still capable of making beautiful music; perhaps some of the best music you have ever made.

There is hope yet.

–

"Farengar is sure to know something of Elder Scrolls," Vilkas proposed from the breakfast table. "We should make for Whiterun and start by questioning him."

My heart leapt in fear; Vilkas stilled; glanced to me hastily, his brows crossed in confusion. "You don't...what?"

Lydia groaned; palmed her forehead. "He's your heretic?"

Vilkas' eyes flickered to my housecarl. "What's wrong with Farengar? We need a mage – he's a mage."

"He's obsessed with dragons," Lydia reached for her mug; strong, dark tea with a splash of milk. "And being paid to research Celeste's ancestors by Delphine."

"How is that a bad thing?" Vilkas queried, genuinely confused. "This is about dragons, and Celeste. He will know-"

"It's not safe to involve him," I cut in quietly before they entered into yet another debate. Meeting Vilkas' eye, I shook my head in pointed refusal, yet apology. "He knows too much about me already."

Vilkas grimaced but seemed to accept. His gaze lowered to his food and he speared a piece of tomato that squelched under the force of the metal prong. "You would rather speak to a mage who knows nothing of your...family secret?"

"Yes," both Lydia and I chorused.

"How does Farengar know about that?" Vilkas asked with some frustration.

"Delphine," I rolled my eyes. "The book she stole from the Greybeards was one of Dante's," I lifted my eyebrows.

"Ah. And you believe anything you tell him may get back to her?"

"Not may, will," I stared down at my food as my stomach clenched. "Without a doubt. Who else can we go to?"

"We need to get that book from her someday..." Lydia sat back to consider, then waved her hand. "But not today. What about the College of Winterhold?"

My eyes widened in realisation. "What about Giselle?"

Lydia spluttered and coughed. "Not what I meant."

It was Vilkas' turn to glare. "Be reasonable."

"College of Winterhold has plenty of mages," Lydia added swiftly as she took a quick sip. "All of whom are not," she lowered her tone, even though we were the only occupants of the pub, "working for the Thalmor or the Stormcloaks."

I shrugged; stared at my breakfast and made myself pick up my fork. "I know you don't like her-"

"Like her-?" Lydia bellowed.

"I don't know what to think any more," I admitted grumpily. "The last time we crossed paths, she saved my life."

"After she cast a spell on you to make you talk," Lydia placed a consoling hand on my arm; her fingers trembled with restraint. "Remember that part?"

Vilkas ran an agitated hand over his face; pushed his hair back. "Think of what she will do with any information you give her, before you set your heart on finding her," he pleaded. "If either of the forces she might be working for know you are after an Elder Scroll-"

Again I shrugged; I was not certain she would divulge such information to whoever her superiors truly were. I couldn't find the words to tell my shield-siblings why I had suggested her, nor had I thought her through to conclusion. When Lydia had said Winterhold, it had simply reminded me of Giselle, even though I knew better now; she had never attended the College.

Now the idea was upon me, I was certain, so certain that she would know something of Elder Scrolls, perhaps simply because she had been three steps ahead of me for this entire journey. Of course Giselle would already be in pursuit of what I required. But I didn't know where my sister was; the last place I had seen her was the Thalmor Embassy, and if I returned there, Rulindil would want to have our little talk and question me about Delphine, which would waste precious time and risk exposing a whole lot more. Given the embrace he had witnessed between my sister and I upon exiting his office, he would find it suspicious that I didn't know how to make contact with her.

With a shudder, because making the Thalmor suspicious about anything would only lead to trouble, I tried to focus on the logic both Lydia and Vilkas were striving toward.

Instead, the insistence to find Giselle grew ever stronger.

"I see your point," I conceded quietly. "But I am prepared to cast personal matters aside. She is a mage and through her connections will probably have the information I seek, if she is willing to help Skyrim."

If she is willing to help me.

Silence met my words. I looked to each in turn when they didn't try to talk me out of it; both seemed lost for words.

Personal matters aside, I echoed, taking a bite of toast. Winterhold, Giselle, or Farengar?

Why not all three?

"We should split up," I decided.

"No," Lydia protested through clenched teeth. "This is all going wrong-"

"Listen," I lifted my eyebrows. "We need information, and we have each come up with a viable resource. We'll get this done faster if we split up and pursue all three."

Vilkas didn't seem pleased either, but at least he wasn't spluttering like Lydia. "Not an option," he said sternly. "Where you go, we go," he flickered a glance to my housecarl.

"Exactly," Lydia supported.

"Then we look for Giselle," I put to them with a flat expression.

"No," both Lydia and Vilkas fired up.

The table shook as Vilkas slammed his mug down; the handle cracked off under the force. "Celeste, your sister will betray us," he spat.

"Okay," I leaned forward, meeting Vilkas with a challenge. "Then we split up. Lydia, you go to Farengar. He knows where your loyalties lie and won't dare draw anything of the dragons or my ancestors from you. And you," I lifted my eyebrows to Vilkas, my voice rising in command. "You find my sister then bring her to me. You have the best chance of locating her, and discreetly withdrawing her from whoever she is currently working with."

"No-," Vilkas shook his head vehemently but I wasn't done.

"I will go to Winterhold," I cut in. "I will buy my answers if I need to. Students will tell you anything for a chance to pay off their loans," I murmured disdainfully.

Vilkas tried to suppress his frustration, but his mouth curled down as his eyes flashed gold. "You have never been to Winterhold, have you?" he bit out.

"Vilkas-" Lydia soothed quietly; placed her hand on his arm.

"No," I admitted with a lofty sigh, unwilling to be ruffled. "I hear it is cold."

"It has nothing on the Throat of the World. But yes," he agreed in a hard, emotionless tone as his shoulders slumped. "It is a strange, cold place, full of strange, cold people. Why would you go there without us?"

"I will not be there long," I assured him. "If I can't find what we're after, we can...regroup in Whiterun..." I drifted off, then wondered why we were arguing at all.

Vilkas tossed his fork at his plate; it clattered noisily. "This doesn't feel right."

"None of this feels right," I corrected. "This is just the first step in a series of bad steps that will lead me to a bad solution," I reminded him angrily. "If we don't examine all options, we may never find our alternative."

Lydia's eyebrows shot up in realisation. "That's why you're suggesting we split up? Oh, little one, we will sooner find the correct path together-"

"Better chance if we ask everybody-" I insisted.

"New plan," Vilkas cut me off this time. "I go to my brother. Tell Hadvar your plan to storm Winterhold on your own," he threatened with a nod toward the door as though he meant to leave at once. "You don't want to disappoint him, do you?"

"That would be a waste of time we do not have," I squared him; grit my teeth. This had nothing to do with Hadvar, though my heart leapt at the possibility that Vilkas could go to him now, and bring him back to me.

To what end?

"Strip away this...emotion, and you will see it my way. We need information, and we need it fast," I explained, determined to sway them. "We three are not incapable of action and subtlety, even in isolation," I wove. "I don't want to leave you or go anywhere on my own – but I want this to be over," I admitted, suddenly desperate. "The sooner we find an Elder Scroll, or unearth another way to banish Alduin, the sooner it will be over. So please," I closed my eyes. "Just...let's get this done."

After a tangible hesitation, Lydia spoke up.

"Who will watch your back?" she pleaded in a low, somewhat scared voice.

I stood and wiped my mouth on my napkin, placing it purposefully in the centre of my mostly uneaten breakfast; my intention to pack and depart. My stomach was in knots; if I ate any more now, I would certainly throw up.

"The Gods," I muttered.

"Sit down," Vilkas insisted. "This isn't right. You go to Winterhold alone and you will not return. I cannot ignore my instincts. Lydia," he shot her a glance, before I had processed his claims. "You are the least conspicuous. You go with her," he grumbled.

"What of Farengar?" I asked pointedly.

"Lydia's suggestion is better," Vilkas defended. "The mages at Winterhold will know more about Elder Scrolls than the Jarl's wizard will, and we don't want Delphine to learn what you're up to unless we have no other choice."

"But we need to explore all-" I fired up, exasperated.

"Little one, calm down," Lydia spoke over the top of me, holding out her hands. Her eyes were hard and dangerous, and I had a feeling I was about to taste her 'mum' voice. "You might be the Dragonborn, and Kodlak may have named you Harbinger, but we are in this together, or not at all. We're a team. Nobody," she shot Vilkas a hard look as well, "leaves this inn until we are all in agreement. And if I must agree to Vilkas locating your sister, then you must accept I am coming to Winterhold with you."

I closed my eyes; took a deep breath so I wouldn't snap back at her. She was right, and she did not deserve the brunt of my frustration in my task. Neither of them did.

"Fine," I breathed.

And that was that.

Within the hour we were ready to depart; Lydia and I for Winterhold, and Vilkas for Solitude to track my sister's whereabouts. If Vilkas retrieved Giselle he would send word to the inn in Winterhold that would help us to locate him.

If he didn't find her within a week, we were to leave and return to Whiterun to regroup, where we would attempt to draw whatever we could from Farengar.

I had ordered Vilkas and Lydia away from one another, but I could see no alternative not borne of whimsy irrelevant to my goal, and they would not agree to let me travel alone. I had wanted to keep them together so they didn't have to waste all that time apart – so that they might have the time they needed to come to some arrangement, and find a moment's happiness in this crazy sequence of events. I knew what it was to conduct a relationship leagues from ones partner; very, very lonely.

But it seemed that I had failed. Well. We would have to put our wants and needs aside for the moment. They would only be parted for the better part of a week; Hadvar and I had endured much longer separations.

When I left our room I had assembled a reasonable guise to travel under. I had hidden the Whiterun horse on my chestplate with a green, sleeveless tunic with long splits for riding, and a thick, brown, v-shaped belt, leaving most of the arms and tasset exposed.

I used the issue of wearing armour to my advantage. Alvor had made it multi-purpose; beautiful enough to appear ceremonial at first glance. So I wore it as a warrior bard would; one who sang mighty ancient songs of victory and the glory of Sovngarde. My hair was braided and knotted on top of my head in an array of woven strands that curled down to brush my shoulders. All that was left was to hide my bow and strap on my lute.

When I met my companions by the horses, Lydia threw me a short, worried smile. "You look very beautiful, little one. Perhaps too beautiful," she murmured. "We will be remembered."

She was dressed in a common tunic over her armour, for I insisted that if she traveled with me, she adopt a disguise with me. A wandering bard would never be able to afford a bodyguard, so she would have to play the part of bard as well, but Lydia still looked like hired muscle armed with her swords instead of an instrument. I scrutinised her ensemble; we would have to do something about that.

It was then that I noticed the heavy black warpaint; smeared lines under her eyes, and slashes around her upper arms and wrists, all made by fingers larger than hers.

Vilkas helped her. With a small start, realisation bloomed and a bubble of delight burst in my chest. "A bard endeavours to be remembered," hastily, I turned to Misty and strapped my bow underneath her saddle, trying to focus on the task ahead and not the thought of Vilkas brushing warpaint over Lydia's skin.

Had they come to some arrangement since we had arrived at the Vilemyr? The idea carried a bittersweet tang of hope; one that I longed to latch onto.

Vilkas was by my side but I didn't notice he was there until he cleared his throat.

With another start, I faced him; arched an eyebrow at his grumpy expression. He does not look like a man in love.

"You look too much like you," he grumbled, then twisted his hands together.

I wrinkled my nose and was about to ask him what he was doing when one hand uncovered the other. A small pot was in his palm, and his raised fingers were smeared in black kohl. "Warriors wear warpaint. Even the ones who sing songs."

"Oh," clearing my throat, I admitted innocently, "Well. I suppose you did a lovely job with Lydia's makeup. Why not?"

"It's not makeup," Vilkas mumbled; eyes focussed on my cheek. "Tilt your head up a little."

I tilted up, giving him better access to my features.

"Makeup, warpaint," I sing-songed quietly. "It's a good idea, Vilkas. Or was it Lydia's idea?" I arched an eyebrow.

He ignored my smugness, though quirked a half-smile then painted a stripe on each cheek; his motions swift and deft. "Close your eyes," he murmured.

I closed them; a gentle smear brushed my eyelids. A memory flit over me; preparations for performance assessments at the College, long years past, when Ataf had done the same for me; always ready to lend a helping hand at a word's notice.

"Open – slowly – and look up."

I did as commanded and faced the soft, pale sky, noting how the memory of Ataf, for the first time, didn't hurt or embarrass me. Perhaps I was starting to forgive myself for not realising he had felt something for me; for using him, as unwitting as it had been.

Vilkas daubed a few more times. "What do you think?" he asked over his shoulder; his eyes focussed, scrutinising his work.

Booted footfalls approached. "She really looks like your sister now," Lydia scoffed, though her tone was warm; impressed even.

"Ah, good. Formidable and fierce," Vilkas huffed as he stepped back; crossed his arms, inspecting my face.

Lydia scrunched up her brow. "No. She's still too pretty."

"Pretty can be dangerous," Vilkas flashed Lydia a narrowed, sideways glance. "You think I'm pretty?"

I laughed warmly; they were going to be fine. "Will it wash off?" I asked, glancing around for a reflective surface, but located nothing.

"Not unless you go swimming," Vilkas shook his head; twisted his hands together again, then passed the closed pot to Lydia. "But you'll need to touch it up if you sleep in it. Use oil if you need to remove it quickly."

"Thank you," I accepted his advice – and stared up in bemusement to the beloved family member who I had insisted go in the opposite direction to me and the woman he admired against his better judgement and nature, to locate a dangerous woman who would probably fight him the whole way back to us. He had not only agreed to my scheme; he was helping to prepare us for yet another separation.

And he was serene. Either his wolf agreed with this course, or he was in control of its response to our looming departure. Or...

With a tightening to my chest, I realised that it was highly possible that Vilkas no longer needed me. When had that happened? Was it Lydia's doing, or something else?

They were both smiling now, perhaps in amusement, perhaps in endearment. I fixed Vilkas with a wary glance. "You haven't turned me into a cat or anything ridiculous have you?"

Vilkas chuckled and looked to the ground. "I wouldn't dare."

"Though, that would be adorable," Lydia interjected quickly, hitting him in the arm. "Why didn't you think of that?"

"Ow!" Vilkas grabbed his arm, shooting Lydia a scandalised look. "Why would you hit my pretty muscles?!"

I couldn't hold back my laugh and there were tears in my eyes, but I blinked them back hurriedly and glanced to the brightening skies to stall their course. I didn't want to undo Vilkas' work straight away.

Soon it was time to go; the sun peeked over the horizon as herald to our departure. The shadows of pre-dawn slunk back, and while I still had no answers and didn't like the path laid out before us, it felt good to be moving again; to be working toward any future. We left our shield-brother in warmth and – it was possible – hope, with a repeated promise to wait for word at the inn in Winterhold.

While we were dressed to impress anyone who crossed our path, Lydia and I decided to take the safest route north; one that avoided Windhelm and other major settlements entirely. I had been so readily accepted as my sister there that I did not doubt I would be recognised again if I ventured too close to the base of Stormcloak operations, only now she was not perceived as their ally. No, Windhelm was too dangerous.

Lydia and I travelled due east all the way out of Whiterun Hold and into Eastmarch, to the mountainous path that bordered Morrowind with only birds and the occasional rabbit for company. Despite the ever-ascending path toward the Velothi ranges, it was noon before we encountered any snow to hinder our progress, just as we reached the junction in the eastern road that would take us north.

We stopped to rest the horses and took lunch by a cluster of worn, cube-shaped stones that had undoubtedly been ancient columns some eras past. The pass directly north was bordered by more of these grey-stone markers, tipped with white and leaning at odd angles; a once-organised road left to nature and time's devices. The tall, silent sentries veered to the right, marking a pass completely obscured by boulders and snowfalls, and continued up into the highest misty peaks beyond.

After lunch, Lydia took the lead, and I directed Misty onto the road after her. It was as straight as the landscape allowed, for it was Legion-built and maintained, but the pebbled path was still encrusted with old snow and thick, stubborn tufts of grass. "Where do you think the other path leads?" I asked Lydia. My words seemed to be swallowed up by our surrounds.

Lydia shrugged; turned sideways to scrutinise the barely-standing stones. "Dwemer temple?" she suggested. "They used to build structures on this border, didn't they? For all the good it did them," she murmured, turning her eyes back to our path.

Dwemer, I echoed in wonder. Misty clopped obediently behind Lydia's mount, and I studied the line of tall, weathered stones until we rounded a bend that hid the remains from view. As with most history, all I knew of the Dwemer had been read in books or learned through songs, and was sketchy at best. They had been grand architects, alchemists and engineers; that was undisputed owing to what remained of their culture in plain sight. But one pointed fact dominated their story and coloured their glory, depending on who related their tale; that they had been the sworn enemy of the Aldmeri. Everything else about the Dwemer's lives and disappearance from Nirn was hazy. There had been no war to wipe them out; according to the legends, the Dwemer had been there, and then just...vanished.

"Don't panic, but – there are riders approaching," Lydia whispered, snapping me out of my musings.

My eyes darted to the road ahead as my thoughts scattered and reformed, directed on the now. While I could see no signs of approach, I could make out the distant clop of horses hooves in the gravel. "Let me do the singing," I hissed hurriedly.

"Wouldn't have it any other way," Lydia drew her horse back to ride beside mine, resting more casually in the saddle as though she didn't have a care in the world.

I feigned a comfort I didn't feel; my eyes glued to the corner they would round at any moment; reminding myself that if they were Stormcloaks and they did recognise me, I could fall back on Fus Ro Dah to get us out of here.

I wanted to cry with relief when the riders rode into view; their allegiance at once apparent. They both carried shields bearing the Emperor's dragon and were decked out in the armour of Imperial officers.

"Thank the Gods," I sighed. Lydia mirrored my smile, then lifted a hand in greeting as the two Legion soldiers drew closer.

They were suitably wary. "Whoa," the first to reach us pulled back on his reigns; shot us a curious look. "What is your business here? This road is off limit to civilians."

Damn. I was going to have to explain, and I didn't feel comfortable bare-faced lying to Imperial soldiers. "I'm sure General Tullius won't mind us using it," I smiled reassuringly.

The second Legion officer arrived; shorter and younger than the first. She pulled her mount up and frowned between Lydia and I. "You won't find anyone wanting a song up here, lass," she offered in a thick highland Nord accent. "Better you stick to the inland roads for that."

Lydia snorted; arched an eyebrow; shot me a look of disbelief. "Well, your disguise works," she commented.

"It's meant to work," I reminded her, holding out my hand to the first who had stopped, as he was closest to me. "Sorry, where are my manners? Celeste Passero," I greeted, taking in his ruddy, weathered skin and thick blonde hair, and eyes the colour of honey. "And this is Lydia, my housecarl."

"Officer Vale Harkensen," the man replied dutifully, accepting and shaking my hand. "Passero?" he added in mutter, wincing as he mulled over the name.

His companion choked on a cough. "You're the one-!" she exclaimed; her deep brown eyes widened in realisation. "I'm Thora," she held out her hand urgently. "Thora Starkad. It's – it's an honour to meet you, Lady Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn?" the first's eyes shot back quickly; glanced over me, narrowed in inspection.

"Apologies, my Lady," Thora laughed nervously, seemingly caught between embarrassment and delight as she raked her helmet off and lowered her eyes. Her hair, nearly black, flopped around her cheeks in traditional Nord plaits, though the rest tangled around her shoulders. "Vale's been stuck out on the border for too long. Are you in need of assistance?"

"We are well provisioned," Lydia replied smoothly, though not unkindly.

"Our garrison is camped not ten miles north of here should you require lodgings and food for the night-" she added hopefully.

"Thank you," I spoke up quickly. "But it is as my housecarl says. We are bound for Winterhold on an urgent matter and cannot delay. It was...is always lovely to meet officers of the Legion," I winced; I didn't know how else to get us on our way again.

"Winterhold?" the older soldier, Vale, frowned; shook his head, as though we were at liberty to change our minds. "That's Stormcloak territory, far more dangerous than Eastmarch at this time, ma'am. You should not be going there alone."

"She's not," Lydia reminded him dryly.

"Let us at least escort you to the southern bank of the White River," Thora insisted, motioning north. "This road is patrolled by our unit, and our presence will keep you from having to repeat your story."

I looked to Lydia; her mouth thinned and her brows were barely knotted, betraying a hint of frustration, but her response was a brief shrug.

"Thank you," I accepted gracefully and added a small nod of appreciation. "How fortunate we crossed paths."

"Anything for our Lady Dragonborn," Thora assured hopefully as she wedged her helmet back on.

As four, we clicked our horses into action and set out at a leisurely clop.

"You sure about this?" Lydia drew her horse up to ride beside mine. "If word gets out we're headed for Winterhold-" she murmured.

"It's fine," I shushed her. "Thora is right; their escort can only make this part of our journey faster."

With a laborious sigh – she was clearly unconvinced – Lydia guided her horse back into formation. For a few miles our group rode in single file and silence; Vale in the lead and Thora at the rear.

But before long the road widened and Thora took the opportunity to guide her horse up next to Misty. "Sorry to intrude, my Lady. I just wanted to say – I know your fiancée. I served with Tribune Reidarsson at Korvanjund, and in the Pale, before I was sent to the Eastmarch camp," she offered out of nowhere with another nervous smile.

Tribune?

"You know Hadvar!" I exclaimed, eyes widening as I turned in the saddle to better see her. No wonder she was so eager to help. Behind me, Lydia's eyes snapped to us in interest.

"So he has been promoted again?" I babbled, grinning gleefully at the young woman. "Do you know if they retrieved the scouts at Fort Kastav? Was it a trap?"

"Steady, my Lady; he is well, and the scouts survived," Thora dug around in a satchel strapped across her body.

Briefly, I closed my eyes in abject relief.

"It seems you already know the full of it," the officer continued. "But the report arrived this morning – I have it here, if you'd like to read it."

"Very much so!" I pounced on the opportunity to hear about Hadvar's progress – about him at all.

Sun's Dawn 6, 4E 201, for immediate circulation to all officers of the Imperial Legion.

Naturally the report only dealt in history in case it made it into enemy hands; the latest achievements of the garrisons posted all over Skyrim. I read hurriedly, glossing over the victory in the Rift that secured the Hold for the Legion.

After that was a brief paragraph on the mission to Fort Kastav – but there was no mention of Hadvar at all. Rather:

Four of our scouts have been successfully retrieved despite misleading information provided by the false Dragonborn, Giselle Passero, which was intended to trap the recovery team. The officers in charge evaded capture and liberated our scouts, returning to Solitude with zero casualties.

And then, to leave no doubts about her status:

Let it be known that Giselle Passero is an enemy of the Empire and Dominion. Any information on the whereabouts of this Stormcloak spy, responsible for the deaths of many Legion officers, men and woman in the Empire's employ, and the release of a dangerous criminal being held for questioning, should be reported immediately with the highest priority to General Tullius.

Okay. So, somehow, Giselle had been exposed. She was a traitor to the Empire. Of course Fort Kastav had been a trap, and of course my sister had laid it. Knowing that all involved had survived, and vindicated in sending Farkas after Hadvar, I was relieved to finally, unequivocally understand both that Giselle was working with the Stormcloaks, and that she had escaped the Thalmor before they had found out about her. Everything I had seen at the Embassy, with the exception of the flicker of panic before she had frantically insisted I leave, had been a ruse. The Dominion would be furious with her; nobody deceived the Aldmeri and lived for long after, though if Giselle was able to return to Stormcloak, perhaps he would offer her protection?

Would he, though? Her cover had been blown twice now. Unless he truly cared for her, I could not see him accepting her back into his ranks; her usefulness as a spy was at its end, and his army would never trust her.

This truth left a bitter tang in my mouth but I was not all that surprised by at least this turn of events. If Giselle was on the run; if she could not return to Windhelm – perhaps sending Vilkas after her had been the best thing to do. She now had nothing left to lose; nobody left to go to. Vilkas had the best chance of finding her, and if she cared at all for the fate of Skyrim, or of me, she might willingly help us. Particularly if we offered her sanctuary; somewhere out of reach of the Legion, the Stormcloaks, and the Dominion.

Does such a place exist?

I would have to think on it. I made myself read on, and finally found the names of the officers most recently promoted:

Tamriel honours the deeds of the following brave men and women:
For services in the battles for the Rift, officers Mekdar Braggart, Lynlanna White-face and Merten Walker are promoted to Praefect.
For his sacrifice in the name of his garrison during the battle for Riften, Tribune Thurlin Hollowleg is posthumously promoted to Legate; may he find glory in Sovngarde.
For the successful liberation of Legion scouts held captive in Fort Kastav, Praefect Hadvar Reidarsson is promoted to Tribune.

I sighed in longing at the mere sight of his name; eyes bright with pride as I continued to scan.

For his assistance, instrumental in the retrieval of scouts held in Fort Kastav, Farkas Jergensson of the Companions is henceforth awarded honorary title of Auxiliary.

Long live the Emperor.

"What?!" I screeched in surprise. Misty was as unaffected as ever, but the other horses jumped at my outburst and all three of my companions shot me worried looks.

"What, what is it?" Lydia asked hurriedly, pushing her way between Thora and I.

"Do we stop?" Officer Harkensen asked uncertainly. "Are you unwell?"

"I'm fine, no – please, proceed," I laughed, trying to wave off his concern as I passed Lydia the note. "Read the promotions," I urged gleefully.

Lydia snatched it and read; Vale turned back to the path with a frown.

Thora's wide, brown eyes flickered between Lydia and I curiously. "You are pleased by something?"

"Hah!" Lydia reached the relevant place, then passed the report to Thora in triumph. "Vilkas is going to love this."

My smile doubled; it was telling that Lydia's mind had flown at once to him. "Yes, I'm sure he will," I suppressed my glee, and looked instead to Thora in apology. "We are both Companions, from Whiterun," I explained, nodding to her report as the soldier tucked it away. "Our shield-brother, Farkas, was just named honorary Auxiliary."

"Oh!" Thora's eyes widened; her open smile was back. "A deserved honour, though I understand your laughter now. For one of the great Companions of Jorrvaskr, such a title must mean little to you."

"No, you entirely mistake me," I laughed fondly. "We are pleased for him. Farkas will appreciate the accolade. In his own way," I added with a considering tilt. He would probably wonder why he had receive it for simply doing what he had always done; protect others.

We continued on the age-worn road in better humour, passing the occasional pair of Legion officers as Thora had anticipated. Rather than halt our progress, the young officer would hang back to answer for our appearance while the rest of us pressed on. It was never long before she rejoined our group.

"I do hope word of my whereabouts doesn't spread too quickly," I mused carefully as she returned from one such delay and slowed her horse to ride beside mine.

"Your secret is safe," Thora's cheeks pinked as she looked down and laughed at her hands rested on the pommel. "We are all aware of your part in the Battle for Whiterun, and the dragon attack outside Rorikstead. I spend most of my time convincing my comrades they needn't join your escort. You saved many lives then, and we will never forget it."

"Oh," I blinked; regarded her curiously. "Thank you," I returned haltingly, wondering what exactly was being circulated about my part in the war.

"It is the least I can do," Thora glanced up again, eyes sharp and watchful as she gazed across the mountains to our left. "Mayhap when the war ends-"

"If it ends!" Vale called out over his shoulder pointedly.

Thora fixed her comrade's back with a flat expression. "When the war ends, I've been thinking I might go to Whiterun, present myself to the Companions."

A knowing snort issued from the soldier at the head of our party, but I cut over him quickly. "I think that's a wonderful idea. I would be honoured to stand beside you as your shield-sibling."

"You would?" Thora near fell off her horse; her eyes widened as she regained her balance. "You see, Vale? Even our Lady Dragonborn thinks it's a sound idea."

"With respect, my Lady," the older officer ground through his teeth, "why did you tell her that? Now I will never hear the end of it."

"You should come too," I offered with a laugh.

Officer Harkensen barked a humourless laugh. "No offence, but mercenary work's not for me, ma'am."

"The Companions are more than mercenaries," I advised. "Though I will readily admit that I thought as you do, before I got to know them," I flashed Lydia a knowing smile.

"How...?" Thora asked haltingly, with a discreet glance toward her elder. "How did you come to join the Companion, if you don't mind me asking?" she lowered her tone.

"I don't mind. And, I didn't at first," I rolled my eyes. "I did all in my power to avoid joining them, actually," I laughed, feeling more than seeing Lydia's eyes and Vale's ears turn toward me in interest. With a small smile, the bard I was dressed to be stepped forward. "Would...you like to hear the tale, while we journey?"

It was Thora's turn to laugh now, though it came out more like a splutter, as though she thought I was crazy for asking.

I took her wordless reaction as a yes and mused over where to begin, and what I could safely relate. There were aspects I would need to gloss over and disguise to protect my shield-siblings, but it was a challenge I felt capable of meeting.

"I have Lydia to thank, for without her I might never have ventured into Jorrvaskr that night," I smiled gratefully at her. "She was once housecarl to my late father, and knew of my training with the Bard's college from his stories of his family. When the Jarl asked me to remain in Whiterun for a night, Lydia suggested I seek out Kodlak Whitemane for accommodation, in exchange for my services as a bard."

I related the initial misunderstanding; the subsequent performance, and Vilkas' ambush the next morning, where he had offered a contract in Jorrvaskr; an offer I had swiftly declined and escaped from. I explained that when I returned, freshly outed as Dragonborn and uncertain of what it meant for my future, Kodlak had welcomed me and we had entered into a new arrangement; they would teach me to defend myself, if I would continue performing songs and stories at night.

When I touched on their response to my music, I played down the effect. Instead of werewolves in search of a cure to their curse, I painted a picture of everything else that they were; everything they meant to me. Not mercenaries, but a team; a family. A business built on the foundations of those who wished to do for the community what others could not. I spoke of Kodlak and my shield-brothers as the men I felt they truly were within; men of intelligence, courage, and above all, kindness.

It was cathartic to speak of Kodlak after all this time, and while I missed him, his memory brought me more joy than pain. I was able to speak of his foresight, his open trust, and his startling intelligence without dragging myself down into grief. I spoke of Farkas' fierce sense of justice; his strength and ability to live in the now. When I related Vilkas' part in my story, I had to be more careful. I could mention nothing of our encounter with Skjor and Aela in the underforge, but that was the moment everything had changed between the Companions and I; when I had decided to stop existing in their lower ranks for my own purposes, and really be one of them. Not even Lydia was aware of what had occurred that night, and I doubted Vilkas would tell her, either.

So, as many a bard before me, I changed my history with the Companions, to honour their deeds, but protect their deepest secret.

"As happens with many who try on the warrior's cap, it was not long before my bravado got me into trouble," I wove, glancing away as though recalling it brought me embarrassment, which gave me time to remember one of the many jobs my shield-siblings had undertaken.

"I did it! I felled the bloody bear!"

Ria's merry claim speared me straight to my chest. I closed my eyes, and made myself go on. "There was a bear," I told them, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "It had been terrorising the salmon farmers on Lake Ilinalta. And I wanted to prove my worthiness, my...usefulness. I assigned myself the job the moment it came in. I had been progressing with the bow, so I thought I'd climb a tree and fire upon it until the deed was done."

Lydia hissed a sharp breath but I couldn't look at her; she would see through my facade in an instant. "That shows how much I know about bears," I huffed ruefully. "I found the beast easily enough; it was robbing the fishermen's hut when I arrived. I climbed one of the bigger trees around the lake, just as I had planned. And the bloody thing climbed up after me.

"But the Gods were smiling on me that day, even as I tried my best to get myself killed. If Vilkas had not been returning from a job in Falkreath and heard us, I would have certainly been eaten," I flickered Thora a glance; she was wide-eyed and enraptured. I offered her a weak smile; I felt guilty for spinning such falsities, but it had its purpose. This was the story of how the Dragonborn became a Companion, not a step-by-step account of my actual past.

"Without hesitation, Vilkas ran to the base of the tree and roared at the bear," I shuddered. "I gripped onto a branch for dear life as it fell – splinters of wood flew as it scratched bough after bough for purchase, each time unsuccessful – and it crashed to the ground with a mighty thud, scrambled onto its four paws, and bolted."

It was near enough to the truth.

"Vilkas was so angry with me that I had to..."

Sing him down.

"Well," I changed my mind and shrugged. "I was confined to Whiterun and account book duty for a while after that," I surmised.

This earned me a surprised laugh from Thora and a hmph from Vale.

When I chanced a glance at Lydia, she had her fist on her forehead and her eyes were shut. "You went after a bear without telling anyone?"

"It was a long time ago," I offered meekly.

"Not that long," she accused.

"And this," I motioned toward her reasonably, "is why I didn't tell you."

Lydia unclenched her fist and shook her head in disbelief. "I will be having words with Vilkas-"

"-who saved me that day," I reminded pointedly. "And, knowing him, he will tell the story a little...differently."

"Oh," Lydia groaned; the sound suffused with a sudden deeper understanding. "Maybe I don't want to know."

Thora laughed nervously, glancing between us. "I do not understand your distress, Lydia," she commented gently. "She is plainly alive before you and has a story to tell for it, even a lesson to teach others-"

"Yes, yes exactly," I pointed to Thora as I squared Lydia. "Let's all listen to Thora."

"Me?" the soldier looked taken aback; her cheeks flushed as she lowered her eyes. "I would much rather listen to you, my Lady."

Lydia shot me an unimpressed but knowing look as she lifted her brows pointedly in Thora's direction. What are you doing, her eyes asked.

"That's very kind of you," I offered gently, wishing I could remind Lydia it was a bard's job to make others want to listen to them. "And if my housecarl has no further comments, I shall continue?"

Lydia rolled her eyes, betraying a smirk. "When have my reactions ever stopped you?"

I proceeded. The story of my time with the Companions knit together and wound between actual events, plucking at what worked and ignoring what didn't.

By the time I brought the story to a close the sun had dipped behind the mountains to our left. And the winding tale I had formed while we rode? I finished it when I reached Kodlak and Ria's funeral; it was now a story honouring their significance, not one designed to further the Dragonborn's glory.

There were still hours before us until night truly fell, but when we were near enough to the White river to hear it, Vale stopped and insisted we find a safe shelter for the night, before it grew too cold.

"Unless you want to risk crossing the White at night," he added in a scoff, as though we would be crazy to consider it.

Lydia nodded. "I intend on using the cover of night to cross the river," she insisted, flicking me a glance. "I want to be out of Eastmarch before dawn."

"That's right," I supported hastily. "We can't afford any loss of time."

Vale turned his mount around and fixed me with a puzzled look. "Your business in Winterhold is so urgent that you would put your lives at risk?"

"Yes," I replied.

"No," Lydia shot me another look, her brows crossed, before she turned back to the officer. "There is no risk if we do this right. The longer we remain in Eastmarch, the more likely it is that we'll be found by Stormcloak's soldiers."

Officer Harkensen sighed in what seemed like defeat. "What roads do you intend to take, once you're across?"

"Here," Lydia grabbed a map folded over her belt. "I'll show you," she directed her horse to the front of the group.

Vale unstrapped a torch from his saddle and lit it to give more light to their task.

"There are more Stormcloaks in Winterhold than Eastmarch," Vale told her as Lydia unfolded the map. "You'd be better off avoiding the main pass entirely and forging a route along the glacial walls," he pointed.

Lydia snorted. "Swimming in sea ice and dodging horkers and bears?"

"Better horkers than Stormcloaks," he replied dryly. "Horkers are easy," he shifted in the saddle, sitting back to consider. "You stay out of their territory, they leave you be. Bloody Stormcloaks chase you, even if you're minding your own business," he grumbled. "And your lass already knows how to take down a bear," he pointed to me. "Scream at it until it runs away, wasn't it?"

My cheeks flushed; I cleared my throat and faced Thora, who had shifted her horse to stand beside mine again.

She offered me a small smile. "I suppose this is good bye, Lady Dragonborn," she murmured.

"Not forever," I returned. "I will see you in the mead hall someday, remember?"

"Ah. Right," again she turned her eyes down, laughing gently.

"And – should you see Hadvar? Could you...?" I asked haltingly, wincing at my awkwardness. Could she what?

"Tell him I miss him?" I settled in a rush.

She nodded once and gave me a knowing smile; all teeth. "Your Hadvar is a lucky man, my Lady. If you don't mind me saying so," she added hurriedly.

Smiling sadly, I shook my head. "No, it is I who am lucky," I replied with a sigh toward the shadowy mountains, lined in gold. "He is a true hero," I owned quietly. "He stands up because it is the right thing to do. He could have chosen to save anyone that day in Helgen – but – for some reason – he chose me," I was baffled. "He is everything to me."

In the corner of my eye, Thora's smile relaxed. "That's funny," she mused, a hint of laughter in her tone.

My brows knit together as I turned to her with questions in my eyes.

"He said the same thing, when he talked of you," she smiled encouragingly.

–

At the mouth of the White river we bade Vale and Thora farewell and left Misty and Lydia's horse with our Imperial escort, as the road ahead would be too perilous for our mounts. They had promised to return the horses to Whiterun to await our return.

We had taken Vale's advice and made our way north on foot along a sea pass that hugged the sheer cliffs and glacial walls to avoid the Stormcloak patrols the Imperial soldier had been certain we would encounter at every turn.

Wordlessly, I followed in Lydia's footsteps, taken in by the serenity of our surrounds, and quietly thanked Officer Harkensen for his suggestion. A perfect silence was broken only by the rhythmic ebb and flow of the sea, glittering with luminescence, reflecting the pink and green aurorae and brightest of stars as it beached and foamed gently against the pebbled shore then receded to repeat its mantra. The ice cliffs and bergs bathed in the twin sheen of Masser and Secunda, towering colossal heights and sparkling like enormous jewels, perfect and pure.

Despite Vale's insistence that Winterhold was enemy territory and we would certainly be caught, I could not help but be moved by the beauty of the northern Hold. Instead of fearing the north, I felt honoured to be able to experience this deserted corner of Skyrim for myself.

The moons eventually set, and the skies shifted from indigo to grey so gradually that it was impossible to pinpoint when the change occurred. Dawn slipped into day, and as the sun's rays pierced the horizon the world shifted again, from blues and silvers to pinks and golds.

"I wish I could paint what I am seeing. It is a true beauty to..." Lydia stopped; squinted, holding her hand up to her brow to shield her eyes from the new day's light. "Is...that a shipwreck?"

I glanced out to sea. Islands of rock and ice littered the shore, but silhouetted beyond was what could have passed for a ship's mast. "It might be," I shushed, turning back and side-stepping my immobile housecarl. My boots squeaked another footstep through the softly-packed snow and crunched against the pebbled beach below. "Mark it on the map, for later," I suggested. "We're a bit busy today."

With a sigh, Lydia trudged after me; her footfalls louder and faster as she caught up. A hesitation hung between us, thick like the morning mists, until eventually, her hand entered my line of sight, clasped around a stamina potion.

I glanced to her with a frown, and she smiled supportively, reaffirming her offering.

Why not? You have been walking through the night carrying a heavy pack and lute.

It was only after I took it and sipped at the contents that Lydia broke the silence.

"I know, little one; you want this...strangeness to end. But if joining the Companions has taught me anything," she placed her hands on her hips; glanced down to the ground. "It's that we must try to live for the moment, too."

My eyes swivelled to her in curiosity and I took another sip.

"I mean," she was wincing now. "Better to live today, than to focus on a future that might never be. You – we are only here," she emphasised, "because we explored. Took chances. Improvised," her mouth curled into a half-smile.

"Sound advice," I murmured with a nod, though continued to eye her skeptically. "...thank the Gods you and Vilkas aren't still wasting time dancing around each another."

Rolling her eyes, Lydia turned toward the sheer glacial cliffs that dominated the west and started moving again. "That's different," she hushed pensively.

"How?" I asked gently. "I know you're both afraid," I owned. "But – as you said – what if there is no tomorrow? What good will your valour, or caution, or whatever you're calling it today, be then?"

"I wasn't talking about Vilkas," Lydia evaded with a huff; retrieved a stamina potion for herself.

"Yes you were," I prompted quickly with a little laugh as I tucked my now-empty bottle into my pack. "How is love exempt from your logic?"

"Because-" Lydia slammed her eyes closed; bit her bottom lip in restraint, and I curiously wondered how close I was to a telling off. "It's...private."

I reached out; placed a hand on her shoulder. "Sorry," I murmured. "I'm interested because...I want it to work out between you," I let my hand fall. "I miss Hadvar," I admitted. I looked past her to our path. It grew more insubstantial the further I looked into the mists ahead. "I miss him every second of every day. When I see two of my favourite people falling in love I just-" I shrugged helplessly. "I want you to have what I can't."

Lydia made a soft sound of dissatisfaction. "I wish he could be here with you, instead of me. In a perfect Nirn, Hadvar would be accompanying you to Winterhold and I would be hunting down your sister with Vilkas."

"No, I'm glad you're here," I said quietly to the snow.

"But -" Lydia added haltingly. "I must make myself plain. You can't...live your relationship vicariously through...mine," she hazarded. "I'm sorry. But – we are different people. I will not rush into this, for anybody, even you," she laughed, pushing at my shoulder.

"I still don't understand you," I sidestepped, rubbing my arm in the wake of her shove. "What happened to, 'when you find love, you must seize it'? Does the same not apply to you – or was that all talk?"

Lydia burst out laughing. "I'm not sure how to respond to that," she admitted.

"Then don't," I gave her an out, laughing with her – because she was right. As delightful as I found the prospect of my shield-brother and housecarl together, it was none of my business. "Just...think about it. I want you to be happy."

"I am happy."

"Happier, then."

With an exasperated glance to the now bluer skies, Lydia shook her head. "I can't even remember the point I was trying to make."

"Something about a shipwreck?" I lifted my eyebrows at her. "Do you really think we should check it out?"

Lydia shook her head and a soft smile graced her lips. "Perhaps not. Not today, at least. We have a long way to go."

"Do you think we'll reach Winterhold by nightfall?" I queried; Lydia was in charge of tracking our progress, and I did not fancy another night of walking spurred on by stamina potions.

She untucked her folded map from her belt; peered at it. For a few moments she glanced between the shoreline, and the document. "Crossed the mouth at seven, and..." she glanced up, "it's about that now. Twelve hours, give or take," she murmured, considering, then her voice rose. "We're half way along the coast, I think. If we can keep this pace up, we'll arrive just after sunset."

"Good," I stretched my neck, my arms. "First order of business will be a warm bath."

"I'll second that," Lydia closed her eyes, imagining wistfully. "Bath, beer, bed."

"Now you really sound like a Companion," I scoffed.

Lydia opened her eyes and gave me a quick wink. "Honoured to be acknowledged, Harbinger."

"Ugh," I rolled my eyes. "Not you too."

With a good-humoured laugh and a hand on my shoulder, Lydia stepped past and took the lead.

–

It was full night by the time we ascended the fragile path leading from the coast to the tiny village of Winterhold. We had been delayed circumnavigating several horker families territories, avoiding any and all engagements. The night was cold and damp, and an aggressive wind pushed us to and fro, relentlessly tugging at our strappy bard garments.

By the time Lydia and I crashed through the door of the local inn, aptly named the Frozen Hearth, we were a bit of a windswept mess, and I had to wonder how our warpaint fared; I could feel it peeling on my cheekbones. The air in the tap room felt dense and warm, and the small space was full to the brim with night-time revellers made shades of orange from the glow of the enormous central hearth.

Our entrance was barely noticed over the din of conversation and music. Lydia raised a hand to keep me from stepping into the throng, standing tall and alert as she scanned the room with her expert-eye.

I did the same, more curious at the amount of people crammed into this small space than anything else. I had expected a dreary, empty pub to rival the Moorside, not the merry scene before me. I tried to clamp down on a surge of panic as my eyes flit about and understood why the tavern was so busy.

It was about half full of Stormcloak soldiers, all who seemed to be well into their cups; red cheeked and laughing, stumbling – a few were asleep at their tables. The easily-recognisable cuirass dominated the back half of the room closest to the bar, where they stood, perched and sat in clusters of wedge-shaped blue-clad muscle. I couldn't stop myself from shrinking into the shadow of my housecarl as I turned my eyes toward the bar's remaining occupants.

Students of the College – or they had to be, given their youth and range of ethnicities – there was perhaps one Nord among them – though none wore mage's robes. They wore fine, expensive cloths, plush furs and polished leathers, and while enjoying themselves, seemed neat and cultured. Some sat, chatting over goblets and open books and others were dancing, twirling and laughing in front of the resident bard; a gorgeous Nord woman with glossy amber hair piled in a curly bun, smiling over the top of her flute as she trilled a vibrant jig. She did not look to be in want of money either; the white fur and leather, dyed sky-blue, fit her so precisely that it must have been tailored, and she wore a tasteful array of jewels around her brow, wrists, ankles and throat.

I lifted my eyebrows at the unexpected opulence; I doubted a single person on this side of the room would see any reason to exchange money for answers.

Lydia lowered her hand carefully and nodded toward the students. "Go, stand by them," she murmured through the side of her mouth. "I'll secure a room."

Without waiting for confirmation, my housecarl glided toward the bar.

Nodding to steel myself, I took a step forward; fidgeted with my lute strap and straightened my tunic. My eyes drifted to the nearest student; a tall, lithe, well-dressed Dunmer girl. Her dark hair twisted around her head like a crown; the tails wound around her shoulder in an elegant braid. The purple and gold of her clothing and ear-cuffs set off the vibrant, garnet-red colour of her eyes.

I must have made a sound, for the mer suddenly looked at me – expressionless as her eyes flickered over me – and then one slim eyebrow arched.

I turned and made for the nearest table, flushing furiously. I no more fit in with these students than I did the Stormcloaks at the other end of the bar, dressed as I was. My clothing was dishevelled, my warpaint flaking, and I did not want to even think about what the fierce winds had done to my hair.

Giselle would have loved it here, was my first thought as I sat at a bench and stared at the wood grain of the table top, then my open palms. They were dry-chapped with small cuts and grazes marring the surface.

With shaking hands, I began to unwind my hair, praying that Lydia would return swiftly, and that a bath would not take too long to prepare. If I wanted to earn anyone's trust – enough for them to divulge secrets – I would have to present myself appropriately. Weathered warrior-bard would not do.

The table I had sat at was nearest the door and occupied by a pair of students sat perpendicular to one another with wine goblets in hand. They hadn't noticed me, so I listened, ears perked in interest as I detangled one of the small plaits and stared at nothing.

"You still blame J'zargo! You know that was not supposed to happen-" the small Khajiit male was saying.

"What, that it would blow up?" his comrade, a taller, muscled Nord with a shock of black hair laughed; his entire face lit up when he did.

" - Talara's theorem speculates the existence of destruction-level resources in all forms," the Khajiit persisted; his golden earcuffs dancing as he shook his head. "The spell was designed to focus on those pockets of untapped potential. J'zargo was not to know you would be the only human who failed to conform-"

"So it's now my fault your spell exploded?" the Nord's glee doubled and he clapped a hand on the Khajiit's shoulder. "J'zargo, you do remember I once majored in destruction?"

J'zargo hissed. "And that makes you an expert, does it Onmund?" he jabbed his tankard forward. "Explain to J'zargo, then, where the spell failed if you did not."

"I'm not saying the spell failed either," the Nord, Onmund, sat back, chuckling as he glanced into his goblet. "You just really suck at destruction."

"Traitor!" J'zargo's pointed teeth showed as he grinned. "Alteration has addled your mind," he waggled a paw at the Nord.

I suppressed my smile; such talk amongst mere colleagues might have ended in blows, so these two must have been old friends. As my fingers worked my hair, I recalled teasing arguments of a similar nature that I'd had with my friends from the Bard's college.

A long, long time ago.

"Your lack of faith in J'zargo makes me only more determined to conquer you," he finished.

"I'm not competing with you," Onmund groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. "Faralda chucked me out of the elective," he gave his friend a shove on the shoulder.

The Khajiit's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "That was all part of your...plan."

Onmund snorted, but was cut off before he could speak by a newcomer.

"Darling, won't you dance with me before curfew?"

It was a Breton girl; cheeks pinked with exertion, honey-coloured hair loose and feathering her shoulders, with one slim hand extended toward the J'zargo.

"Since when has curfew ever stopped you, Evae," Onmund jibed.

The Breton shot Onmund a baleful glare. "Since when have you ever cared what I do with my time, Onmund?"

"Evae?" J'zargo frowned at her, blinking blearily. "Why are we to dance?"

"You owe me, remember?" she widened her eyes; a brief annoyance flashed through her warm green eyes. "For the essay...?"

"Oh really?" Onmund, suddenly grinning, rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand.

"All right, Evae," J'zargo chuckled nervously. "If you want to dance, you don't need to-" he stood hastily.

Onmund wasn't deterred. "Which essay would that be?" he cut in.

"That is enough out of you," J'zargo glared as he took Evae's hand with a large paw. "Drunk bastard," he murmured as Evae towed him toward the bard and other dancers.

Onmund's eyes followed the pair, then he turned on the bench seat to face the room; his expression relaxed as he grinned and waved at his friend. "Don't let me forget it," he murmured, to himself it seemed.

I turned as well, searching for Lydia. She was by the bar, and as though my notice had summoned hers, her eyes found mine. She motioned subtly, eyes flickering toward the doors to my left.

Understanding, I stood and made my way toward the left side of the inn.

Or I would have, had a hand not landed on my arm.

"Hey – I mean. Wait," he spoke. "Please," a hasty addition.

I tried to smother a startle and looked down to the large, pale hand on my arm – then up, to take in the surprised, icy-blue eyes of the Onmund I had been eavesdropping on.

"Excuse me," I dipped my head; shrugged his hand off.

He let go at once. "My apologies. I was mistaken," he sat back haltingly. His smile was gone; the animation he'd so freely exhibited earlier replaced by a flat, expressionless mask.

I tried to remain unruffled as I moved away as quickly as I dared to the door Lydia was standing beside, but it was difficult to ignore the change in the Nord mage – or at least, what it implied.

What were we going to do now?

My housecarl's eyes flickered to the table where Onmund sat, then back to me. "Trouble?" she murmured, placing a consoling hand on my shoulder.

"I'm not sure," I glanced to the door so she would open it.

Lydia feigned disinterest as she unlocked it with a flick of her wrist and guided me within.

"What aren't you sure about?" she locked it behind us.

The room was larger than I had expected and contained two double beds – deep mahogany furniture and cloth in warm, creamy shades and a square table by the shuttered window, lit up by a cluster of lanterns and decorated with an artfully hammered bowl of jazbay grapes, several pewter goblets and a shallow vase of Dragon's Tongue, Nightshade, and purple mountain blooms.

"What's going on in Winterhold?" I murmured, taken back by the quality of the guest room, not to mention the freshness of the flowers.

"Celeste?" Lydia prompted. "What happened out there with that boy?"

I faced her; the wealth of Winterhold wasn't the matter at hand, and I acknowledged what must have been true; "I think that student recognised me – or, her."

"How?" Lydia crossed her arms, genuinely confused. "Your sister didn't-"

"I know," I cut her off, shrugging helplessly.

Lydia's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What did he say, exactly?"

"Not much, but..." I frowned at the polished floor, trying to remember in case it offered any hints. "Just that he was...mistaken."

Lydia exhaled sharply. "No he wasn't. I saw the look he gave you."

"What look?" I shuddered, closing my eyes in regret. "That was a face devoid of look."

"Not while you had eyes on him, no."

"All I can assume is that Giselle did spend some time up here," I cursed.

"No," Lydia murmured slowly, shaking her head just as slowly. "No, if she had attended the College, you would have been recognised sooner."

"Not unless they looked beyond the disguise," I reminded her carefully; Giselle would never have let anyone see her like this. "And, that mage...Onmund," I managed. "If he had truly been mistaken, he would have offered a smile or frown, or something. She must have hurt him somehow."

"That sounds like Giselle," Lydia considered in a droll voice, then shook her head and moved further into the room. "Okay. One boy does not concern us; nobody else took any notice of you. We proceed as planned," she offloaded her pack. "Speaking of which...what...is the plan?" she added.

"I don't know any more," I admitted truthfully, eyes pleading. "What if...what Delphine told us wasn't true? What if she did attend here?"

"Then I'll go into the College and ask your questions, and you'll remain here," she assured swiftly with a smile of encouragement. "Peace, little one. We will get what we came for, one way or another."

"I hope so."

While I sat and removed my boots, I wondered over why Onmund, and all of Winterhold for that matter, had thrown me. I had been wearing the risk of being recognised like a thick cloak for this entire journey; it had been inevitable that eventually, someone would see through the guise and warpaint.

At least it hadn't been a Stormcloak. At least Onmund hadn't questioned me, or made a scene.

But that begged the question; how did Giselle know anyone from the college she had never attended?

While my housecarl and I remained in the room for the evening, we were not left alone. The first knock came only minutes after we had entered, and the publican's wife was admitted. The tall, slim woman oversaw a team of inn workers as they carried in two baths and water Lydia had asked for.

Once they had set down the tubs and the buckets had been emptied, she backed toward the door, giving Lydia a warm, understanding smile. "Summon me, should you or your daughter require anything, Lady Belamy," she dipped her head.

"Thank you," Lydia leaned over a bath; her hand drifted through the water idly, testing its temperature. "We should like a meal, and your finest red, in about an hour, if your kitchens are still open."

"Of course," with another bow, the publican's wife closed the door behind her.

I glanced from Lydia to the door, then back to Lydia again; my stomach tied itself in knots. Daughter? "Lady Belamy?" I managed, letting out a large lungful of air.

Lydia shrugged, lifting her eyes to meet mine as she smiled. "My mother's name," she explained calmly. "I had to give them something."

The merest touch of warm water seemed to have relaxed my housecarl considerably, and I let myself laugh at the change in her as I strode to the door and locked it. "Did they question you about our business?" I asked. "What else did you tell them?" I turned back and leant against the carved wood.

With a secretive smile, Lydia rose, dispensing with formality as she began to shed her layers. "I told them a story, as a bard might, littered with just enough intrigue and septims to make us desirable customers," she placed her costume, then armour, over the back of a chair. "While we're residents of the inn and in the company of others, you'll need to call me mother. Sorry about that," she motioned toward the other tub as, disrobed, she stepped into hers. "You should bathe while the water is hot."

"As you wish, mother," I smirked, drifting to the steaming tub that didn't contain my housecarl. "What did you say my name was?" I enquired, wondering just how elaborate our backstory was.

"I didn't," Lydia admitted. She worked at her hair; pins tinkled musically against the floorboards. "What do you wish to be called?"

"Well, if I am your daughter, then it must be Lucia," I smiled as I turned my back and began to disrobe.

"Lucia Belamy. Very pretty," I could hear the smile in Lydia's tone. "I wonder how she is?" she pondered.

"Lucia?" I confirmed.

"Mm."

I faltered at the briefness of her reply. "I...wonder if she's practised the songs I taught her?" I continued undressing.

Lydia laughed, but sounded a little sad. "Oh, I had forgotten about that. I wonder if the lute is still in tune?"

"I taught her how to tune it," I defended over my shoulder before I stepped into the bath with a shudder, then ducked down. It was scalding, but I had been so devoid of warmth for so long that I endured it even while the hot water found the nicks and grazes peppering my skin that I hadn't noticed until now. The worst would be over soon, and it would be worth it, to be clean.

"For Sigrid's sake," Lydia sighed, settling deeper into the hot water and closing her eyes, "I hope she remembered that lesson."

Once we had wiped the remains of our warpaint off with oil and were both clean, dry, and dressed, the food arrived, and once the publican's wife had left for a second time, Lydia and I sat at the table and considered how we might locate someone who knew anything about Elder Scrolls, without attracting too much attention.

"You could present yourself to the College as a prospective student?" Lydia suggested. "We both could."

I shook my head in regret. "It's mid-term. They don't accept just anyone from the streets; they'll want us to prove we can cast a spell," I frowned, recalling the entry exams and interviews Giselle had been required to pass in Solitude, before she had been considered for enrolment.

Why did she bother going through all of that if she didn't intend on coming here?

"I don't suppose we can just request a meeting with the Arch-Mage?" I proposed.

"Under what pretence?" Lydia arched an eyebrow at her plate and speared a few mushrooms.

"We can ask about my sister?" I shrugged.

My housecarl raised her eyes; stared at me for a moment, and blinked slowly. "We spend all this time hiding and coming up with disguises," she posed delicately, "and you want to tell them who you are the moment we arrive?"

"Okay, not the best idea I've ever had," I rolled my eyes. "Could Lady Belamy request an audience and line the Arch-Mage's palm with gold? Perhaps," I sat forward a little, lifting my eyebrows as my mind ran away with the possibilities. "You said intrigue, right? What if you and I are in love and escaping our marriages to be together? We could ask for an Alteration spell that would last for the duration of a crossing to..." I waved my hand in the air. "Solstheim. I don't know. Anywhere but here, where we can make a new life for ourselves."

"That will lead us to information about Elder Scrolls, how?" Lydia burst out laughing and shook her head. "And not after I told the innkeeper you are my daughter. Besides, I am far too old for you."

"Age is irrelevant when love strikes," I jibed. "But – all right. That's a 'no' to eloping."

"Though I do like the idea to request Alteration magic. That would explain why we were disguised when we arrived here," Lydia sat back, tapping her fork to her lips for a moment. "Though we would still need to find some reason to ask about Elder Scrolls..."

Her eyes flashed to me suddenly. "Okay. The first thing we need to determine is whether or not your sister is known around the college. That will decide for us who approaches the Arch-Mage with – the particulars of our request."

"How do we do that?" I laughed nervously.

Her eyes flickered to the door. "That boy who recognised you..." she glanced back to me and lifted her eyebrows.

My shoulders sank as I understood what she was coming to. "You don't seriously want me to go and question him?"

"What?" Lydia's eyes widened, horrified. "No! Nothing like that!" she held out her hands; tried not to laugh.

"Thank the Gods," I let out a sigh of relief.

"I'll go get him. We can talk to him in private."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you alone out there after the look he sent your way," Lydia gave me a sideways glance. "And if he means to cause us trouble, I can deal with him-"

"WHAT?" I spluttered, rising to my feet.

"Not like that," Lydia shot me an unimpressed look, then stood and made for the door. "Sit down and – give me a minute."

"Lydia!" I hissed urgently.

Her hand landed on the handle and she glanced over her shoulder before she turned the key. Mother, she mouthed – and then she was gone.

Exasperated, I flopped into my seat and pushed my half-eaten dinner away. Great. Another conversation with another person my sister has a history with.

This wouldn't be frustrating or dangerous at all. Leaning my head against the back of the chair, I closed my eyes and tried to compose myself. Had I not insisted that Lydia and Vilkas let go of their emotions to obtain what we needed? I had to do the same.

Lydia's right, I reasoned, once I could see past my panicked little thoughts. You need to figure out if it's just him, or if everybody at the College will recognise you.

It was not long before the door opened to re-admit Lydia – and an uncomfortable-looking Onmund.

"You're back," I said uselessly, standing for no reason as I wrung my hands in front of me.

"We're back," Lydia echoed as she ushered the student inside and locked the door behind them. "You see?" she said in a quiet tone, lifting her eyebrows to the mage. "She is not Giselle Passero."

"I know she's not," Onmund muttered, casting me a quick look – and immediately did a double-take. His eyes widened, flickering over me in recognition and something more – a deeper-seated agony that had the nerve to make me feel guilty for my sister's deeds.

He was seeing me without warpaint or mad hair; I would have looked more like Giselle in that moment than before, though I deplored the notion that my very presence made him respond in this way. "Um," I flickered Lydia an uneasy look. "Thank you for coming?" I hazarded.

"Yeah. Sorry, about before...Celeste," he seemed disappointed in himself.

"Oh," I blinked in surprise. "You know my name?"

"Of course. But, I never..." he hesitated, then lowered his eyes, his brows knitting in frustration. "Just – give me a moment, okay?"

I glanced to Lydia and frowned. What had she told him to make him agree to this audience so swiftly? He certainly didn't seem to want to be here.

My housecarl glided into the room and sat on the edge of her bed. "Take a seat," she suggested with a hint of amusement, motioning toward the table.

Onmund nodded, but took a moment longer to collect himself before he shifted further into the room.

What is he worried about?

He reached the chair opposite mine and sat; his eyes fixed on the table centrepieces.

"Can't you just tell me where she is?" he asked the flowers quietly, somewhat hopelessly. "It's been months and...I haven't..." he drifted off.

Oh. Oh, I recognised that look; that particular breed of agony. I had felt it keenly when Hadvar had gone missing after the incident in the Pale.

That's how Lydia got him to agree to this.

"A colleague is in the process of extracting her," I cut in smoothly.

Finally, he looked at me, eyes wider, practically begging as he leaned forward. The lantern light caught his features and made his buttons and jewellery flash briefly. "From where?" he asked, his voice thicker than before. "Can't I go to her?"

Lydia, I cursed. "Her location is classified," I studied him; tried to paint a picture of who they were to one another. Did my sister have lovers in every Hold in Skyrim?

Squeezing his eyes closed in regret, he leaned back, then stared at the ceiling. "Stormcloak will not take her back, and if the reports from Solitude are correct, she is in terrible danger."

Again the lights shifted across him and I caught another glimmer of jewellery – a piece I should have paid more attention to earlier. My heart skipped a beat; I recognised it.

Now my eyes widened as I leaned forward, grabbing the object around his neck. "Where did you get this?" I spluttered.

He startled; his hands flew to the chain but I stood to get a closer look, peering at it to be certain it was my mother's ring. The ring she had left Giselle in her will.

"Where do you think?" he asked quietly.

"Giselle gave this to you?" I squeaked. "She's been in bed with Ulfric Stormcloak going on three years and she gave you our mother's ring?!" I accused.

"Lucia!" Lydia warned in a firm voice, clearing her throat.

"Don't remind me-" he yanked the chain out of my grasp; stared down at the ring with a frown. "She does what she must. I will never blame her for her nightmares, or forgive myself for all she has endured-"

"What?!" none of this was making sense. Taking a step back – staring at him in incredulity – I shook my head in horror. "Who are you?"

When Onmund scowled at me from under thick, lowered brows, I saw something in him that I recognised but couldn't place, and my heart hammered a little faster. Who are you, really?

Instead of answering, he stood; the scowl persisted as his eyes judged me for a moment longer, then he faced Lydia. "You don't know where she is at all. Why did you ask me here?"

"We will have her, and soon," Lydia insisted calmly.

"Are you going to give her up to the Legion, or the Thalmor?" he spat.

"Not if she cooperates," Lydia assured, then frowned at him crossly. "You cannot blame anyone, least of all Celeste, for being wary of her."

Onmund's eyes were on me again, flashing with fury. "You are her sister. If you loved her, you would know-"

"Don't dare to presume you know anything about my relationship with my sister," I cut him off with a bleak laugh. "In the past months, she has tried to trap my fiancee, hunted and lied to me – for a time I truly believed she was trying to kill me-"

"She wasn't trying to kill you-"

"Who's trying to kill who is irrelevant today," Lydia cut in, loud and clear.

Both Onmund and I glanced to her; the air crackled with unspent accusation between us.

Lydia's emerald eyes carried a different type of accusation; her mouth formed an unimpressed line. Eventually her eyes settled on Onmund. "We need information. If you help us to obtain it, we will relate Giselle's location, which will be in neither Legion nor Thalmor territory, to you by the end of the week."

"Or Stormcloak?" he asked, swallowing nervously.

"Or Stormcloak," Lydia confirmed.

She said it with such conviction that I managed to not feel embarrassed. We weren't exactly lying to him – because we did intend on capturing Giselle and spiriting her away, even if my motive for doing so was foggy. We could, feasibly, bring Onmund with us when we left to meet Vilkas.

"And if this week passes, and your intelligence doesn't arrive?" he flickered me an uneasy glance.

Lydia squared him with a flat expression. "Then you come with us when we leave. Our contact tells you all he discovered, and you can follow her trail yourself."

"Perhaps it is time," Onmund looked miserable as he closed his eyes and nodded regretfully, as though he was betraying himself – or her – by agreeing to work with us. "All right. Tell me what you need."

I relaxed into my chair. "Access to the College."

He lowered himself into his seat slowly; his brows furrowed. "But...why?"

"Classified," I repeated.

Onmund huffed a humourless laugh. "You want me to trust you, but won't tell me why you are here?"

"That's right," I intoned, perhaps a little childishly. "Also – will I be recognised if anyone sees me there?"

"No, of course not," he waved his hand dismissively.

I waited for him to elaborate, but his eyes grew distant and sad. A little of the fire surging through my veins extinguished. Whatever my sister's feelings toward Onmund, it was plainly obvious he was in love with her. And...well. The evidence was clear; she had given him mother's ring, just as I had given Hadvar father's. Perhaps...he did mean something to her. Something more than Stormcloak did.

"How can you be sure?" Lydia asked cautiously.

"Because...I took the place that would have been hers," he laughed bleakly. "She...insisted upon it," he added through his teeth. "And there is no stopping her, once an idea has entered her head."

"Tell me about it," I muttered. My curiosity was at tipping point, but somehow I managed to focus on what was here to obtain. Giselle's history was clearly much more complicated than I or even Delphine knew, and it wasn't as though Onmund was about to regale us with their backstory.

"Okay," I glanced to Lydia; she nodded grimly; I turned back to the mage. "That settles that. Can you take me to the Arch-Mage?"

Onmund shrugged. "When?"

"Now?"

"Now?!"

"Not now," Lydia's voice rose and she narrowed her eyes at me. "You have been running on potions and half-eaten meals for nearly two days."

"Then a few more hours won't make a difference," I pointed out.

"Doesn't matter," Onmund scrunched his nose. "Arch-Mage won't see anyone outside of office hours."

I lifted a hand to my head; rubbed at my temple. "Not even for the sake of Skyrim?" I murmured dryly.

"I doubt it," he replied with a shake to his head. "We're sort of...cut off from what's happening down on the plains," he sighed loftily. "And there's no guarantee Savos Aren will have access to the magic you seek, he hasn't practised for years. This is a research and retirement gig for him."

"I'm not after a spell," I admitted with a sigh.

He opened his mouth – hesitated, then seemed to reconsider. "If...you could tell me what you are here for, I might be able to suggest a faculty member who can assist you."

I thought quickly and made a show of relenting; my shoulders slumped. "A book."

"A very...specific book," Lydia added carefully.

"What's it called?"

"I honestly can't tell you," I squared him.

He nodded and considered the fruit bowl, though the icy-blue was more distantly focussed. "I suppose that's as good as I'm going to get for now. If it's a rare book, you want to talk to Gro-Shub. Arcanaeum hours are six to ten, then two to eleven," he sighed wearily. "We'll have to leave soon, if you want to be there when he opens it."

"Why?" I sat back; crossed my arms. "It's the dead of night. How do you propose to get me into the College?"

"That won't be a problem," he waved his had again and even cracked a small, secretive smile. "I'm an Alteration major."

"But you said I wouldn't be recognised?" I frowned. "Why-?"

"They're not going to let a stranger wander into the College," he half-laughed. "Some of those your saw in the pub tonight will not make it back by curfew."

I recalled the Evae who'd led J'zargo away mentioning curfew, though didn't understand why this was so funny. "Why not?"

Onmund rolled his eyes. "Because they can't keep track of time," he shook the thought off and refocussed. "I'll make you look like one of them so we can get you in tonight, and you can go to the Arcanaeum at first light, before anyone down in the village slinks back," he tilted his head critically. "Do you have any nicer clothes?"

I tried not to bristle; it had been a long day and I was dressed in what was comfortable.

"I mean – I can get you mage's robes, once we're in-" he offered.

"I have other clothes," I fired.

The look he sent me was one of surprise, but he swiftly recovered and uttered a small laugh. "Sorry. You just...vividly reminded me of Giselle," Onmund stood, smiling as he closed his eyes. "It's a balm to my soul to think I might hold her in my arms by week's end."

"Great," I drawled, and stood as well. "Are we doing this?"

Onmund nodded, then stepped before me and lifted his hand. "Close your eyes. This might...sting a bit."

---

A/n: A sincere thank you to all who are sticking with me for this journey - your support and comments really help, and I'm sorry that r/l and work keeps sapping my momentum.