Chapter 60: Food for Souls

The walk to the cave was freezing and consumed hours of starlit night, but we had to go there first to collect Farkas' armour.

"We're camped 'bout a half hour from here," Farkas explained, his back to me as he shirked the Legion kilt up and adjusted the jangling straps around his waist.

From the moment he'd pulled on his standard-issue woollen leggings, I'd been staring. I couldn't help it. Farkas as a werewolf was fine, reassuring even, but watching my shield-brother transform into an officer of the Legion was just bizarre.

I reminded myself he'd said something, and nodded quickly. "Long way from Winterhold," I commented.

"Yeah. Think we're camped in the Pale," he tugged his hair back; tied it in place with a strip of leather. "Telendas didn't want the Stormcloaks getting wind of the attack. We own the Pale, so it's safe territory for now."

By this time, my alteration spell had faded and I looked like me again. I'd let my hair down in a vain attempt to create some sort of cloak from the biting cold while we walked, and had put the robes back on as soon as Farkas had no longer needed them.

Nothing was working; I was still incredibly cold, and my teeth wouldn't stop chattering. "Do the Legion understand why Winterhold is so heavily occupied?" I tested.

Farkas threw me a wary glance, and I wondered if my open-book shield brother was being evasive.

"Sure you don't want a fire?" he murmured.

It was about the fifth time he'd offered, and I shook my head firmly. "I'd rather get back to camp as soon as possible," I was still uncertain what I could tell the Legion, but that might depend on what Lydia had already told them. "The Stormcloaks are here to keep Onmund in his place – and they're worried the Legion is only here to kidnap him."

Farkas snorted, but confirmed nothing.

I'd explained about Onmund and Giselle, Paarthurnax, the search for an Elder Scroll – everything – to Farkas while we had walked, for we'd had the time. He had taken in the information with his usual thoughtful silence, and said little on it since, as though he was still making up his mind about all of it.

"So..." I tried again. "Why did the Legion attack Winterhold now, if not for Stormcloak's son?"

He shrugged. "It's an obvious move," he chucked the padded under-tunic over his head. "We have the Pale, Whiterun and the Rift; if we take Winterhold, Stormcloak's hemmed in."

"The war would be as good as over," I finished quietly.

"Yeap."

Good, I mused, watching as Farkas pulled the familiar leather and chainmail cuirass on. He tightened straps and buckles, and I watched his motions, mind drifting. Then everybody can go home, rebuild their lives as best they can.

Except Giselle and Onmund.

I chewed my bottom lip; what could be done about them? Any freedom would be fleeting. Giselle needed to answer for her crimes – the murders she had committed, and the treason resulting in the deaths of High King Torygg and our parents.

But I couldn't believe she had meant for our parents to die, not any more. Was she entirely accountable for her actions? If Stormcloak or the Thalmor, or anyone else, had been directing her since she was sixteen, would the crimes she had committed prior to coming of age be weighed against her? Could she plead blackmail to protect the man she loved, coercion, or even grooming? Was she simply another of Stormcloak's victims?

I shuddered. Why are you trying to find her a way out?

They had still been her actions and she would have been aware those actions brought consequences.

And given she had crossed the Thalmor – knowing how they hunted Delphine to this day – there would be no home, no rest for my sister. She would live the rest of her days as an enemy of the Thalmor as either a fugitive or prisoner.

You couldn't start a war and expect a happily ever after...unless, of course, the Stormcloaks won. My stomach twisted at the prospect, but anything was possible.

Gripping the leather helmet – the last piece of his ensemble – my shield-brother huffed a laugh and bounded toward me. "You worry too much," he passed me a small, black bottle from his belt. "Drink this."

"I worry exactly the right amount," I shot him a withering look. "What's this?"

"Stamina potion. Army grade; really strong."

"Hmm," I popped the cork and sniffed at the contents tentatively, wondering why Farkas, of all people, was carrying a potion; he had been stubbornly averted to them not long ago.

It smelled sweet, so I sipped.

Flames coalesced down my throat. The potion was like liquid fire and the sweetness was a ruse; it was more bitter than the stamina potions I had grown used to. I gagged as my head spun and throat tingled. "You drink this by choice?"

"'Nah, I don't need 'em," Farkas smirked, throwing an arm around my shoulder. "Works for the others, though," he added knowingly. "And it'll warm you up a bit."

I shot him a glance, wondering if it was not a potion but pure liquor, but let the arm stay because he was warm and I had missed his steady comfort more than I was willing to admit. "Okay," I took another sip; winced as I swallowed. "Ready, Auxiliary?"

"Ready," he shoved the helmet onto his head and gave me a lopsided salute. "Reporting for duty."

Incredulity bubbled over; I shook my head in wonder and recorked the potion. "This is so weird," I murmured.

"At least I'm still wearing my own face," Farkas shrugged.

I eyed him speculatively as we moved through the cave toward the exit. He was still undeniably Farkas, still happy to live in the moment, but something about him had changed in the weeks since we'd parted, I just couldn't pinpoint exactly what. Somehow, he seemed more...driven.

I hadn't actually expected him to join the Legion when I'd sent him after Hadvar – but then, perhaps he hadn't officially joined. The report said something of his rank being honorary. Perhaps he was wearing Imperial red out of convenience while he travelled with the army.

Though, before, when he had talked of the Legion's plans, he'd used 'we' a lot.

"Farkas," I tested uneasily. "Are...you all right?"

Farkas smirked knowingly. "Does it bother you that much?"

"What?"

"This," he tugged at his armour, then threw me another grin. "I can take it off."

"No," I laughed, swatting his side, and some of my discomfort eased.

We reached the cave mouth and I tried to put my thoughts to words. "How...are you? How are you managing?"

He smiled at the horizon. "I'm great," he sighed; an open and honest reply. "I feel...great."

I should have felt relief, happiness even, but I couldn't. My stomach twisted. Somehow, both Farkas and Vilkas had resolved the pull of Hircine to turn into werewolves; to kill and to feed; to let their beasts take control and lose the men they had once been a little more each day.

It was disarming to see them both so relaxed. Their acceptance, this fresh breed of calm seemed dangerous, like the eye of a storm, and I wondered if the Daedric Prince of the Hunt had only appeared to ease off to give them a false sense of security before he tightened his grip and made their lives unbearable for their defiance.

"No problems with..." I lifted my brows expectantly. He seemed confused, and I rolled my eyes. "You haven't shifted in a while."

He laughed and waved his hand. "It was only a few hours. I needed his nose to find you."

Worry pinched my forehead. "You were him for hours?"

Farkas shrugged dismissively. "It's fine. I was me. I didn't tear you to pieces, did I?"

Swallowing my discomfort, for the thought hadn't even entered my mind – their beasts had never tried to hurt me – I shook my head. "I'm so sorry."

"Why?" Farkas huffed. "It kinda felt good. Different, but good."

The unease was back, gnawing at my insides. "Different how?"

"Dunno," Farkas considered the shadowy horizon, and Masser beyond.

I expected him to elaborate, then remembered who I was talking to. "Was it because..." I hesitated. Maybe he didn't want to talk about it? Clamping my mouth shut, I tried to focus on placing my boots squarely in the thick snow so I wouldn't stumble and hinder him.

There was nothing to worry about; Farkas in particular had always known his limits. Vilkas and Farkas were merely...adapting. Accepting. Growing and learning. Kodlak had read of such a thing occurring, and now they were experiencing what they had endeavoured all along to find; peace with their wolves.

"You think it's because of you?" he finished in a rumble.

I nodded, relieved he'd said it. "Was it?"

"Maybe," Farkas replied unhelpfully.

"I mean," now that he had given leave, I felt I could discuss it. "It's possible – due to whatever binds your wolf to me – because both the man and wolf wanted to find me," I babbled. "Maybe that was enough to direct its attention away from the link to Hircine?" I reached. "It might be why it felt different? You had a shared goal."

Farkas made a snuffing sound that reminded me keenly of his wolf. "Or maybe we don't bow to Hircine at all anymore."

"You think it's possible?" I asked.

"Anything's possible," Farkas returned with a sideways glance. "You're doing it again. I'd forgotten how worried you get over things."

Dismissing the taunt, I considered the moon as it set behind the inky mountainscape. "Vilkas was changed too, you know," I murmured thoughtfully.

Farkas hmmed in reply.

"He's probably using his senses like you did to find my sister," I continued musing.

"Isn't that why you sent him after her?"

"Farkas," I asked carefully. "Do you still want to be cured?"

"Of course," he squeezed me closer – a gesture of comfort. "Someday."

"Even though you have come to...an understanding?"

Farkas nodded; the otherworldly sheen bright as the setting Masser caught his eyes. "Yeah," he quietened. "I wanna meet Kodlak again. So, he's gotta go eventually," he glanced to me, a small, steady smile in place. "I don't think he'll mind, when the time comes. We've done good."

With a shudder, I swallowed down a lump of dread, and there it was; what bothered me finally resolved. We were using them. Whether the beasts within could be considered a separate entity possessing my shield-siblings, or a bound extension accentuating their inherent strength, we were using them. When we were done with the wolves, we would cast them back to the realm of the Daedric Prince we had convinced them to forsake. And what fate would await them there?

"Gods," I whispered to the night, huddling closer to Farkas.

"Stop worrying," Farkas insisted.

I felt flushed and squeezed my eyes closed, forcing out a nod. "I'm sorry," I told him; told the wolf, whether he was aware of me or not at this moment. "I know you can feel it all. I can't help it."

Our boots crunched and squeaked through the snow for a few heartbeats. Remorse tugged against the deep-seated certainty I'd felt toward helping, and freeing my brothers some day. There was an immorality in tearing their wolves away from Hircine to use their skills as we liked when I could only offer them this fleeting breath of – what exactly? Was it freedom? Or just a different kind of subjugation?

Their wolves had done nothing but help and protect me, even knowing I would lead them to their doom.

This is what Aela meant, I shuddered. This is why she said I compelled them; she truly meant the wolves, not the men.

"You know it's our choice, right?" Farkas broke the silence.

I glanced to him; my brows creased in self-reproach. Was it?

"You were born with your blood," Farkas threw me a sideways look. "Vilkas and I – we took ours."

"You didn't know what it meant," I insisted gently.

"We knew enough," Farkas dismissed with a shrug.

I pursed my lips and looked away. "I'm never going to stop worrying about you. Stop asking me to," I told the horizon quietly, but sternly.

This got a bit of a laugh out of him, and after a beat, he changed the subject. "Elder Scroll, huh?"

"Ugh," my shoulders fell.

"Any ideas where to find one after all that reading?"

I shook my head in frustration. "Onmund understood more of it than I did," I frowned. "Maybe we can get him out of the College on that basis?" I asked hopefully.

"You think he can help you find it?" Farkas gave me a doubtful look. "If the Legion retrieve him, they'll want to use him, if the Thalmor don't take him first."

My frustration swirled higher. "Stormcloak just wants to control him – he doesn't care about him," I insisted.

"But Giselle does," Farkas reminded.

Groaning, I pressed a hand to my forehead. "You think I shouldn't tell Hadvar about Onmund, then?"

"Nah, you're telling him," Farkas nudged me. "You're telling him everything. Hadvar might work for the Legion, but he's not the Legion. He's a good man, and he's really smart. You need him."

I cast Farkas an imploring look, gratified even if the praise had been wrapped around a command. "How is he?"

"He's good," Farkas gave a half-smile. "Tullius keeps us busy, but...he's good. He misses you."

"I miss him too," I murmured.

"I mean, a lot," Farkas wasn't done. "He was really glad when Lydia asked me to get you out of Winterhold."

Warmth bubbled through me, creeping onto my cheeks. "I'm glad Lydia found you two."

"Yeah," Farkas' tone levelled, as did his expression. "What's up with her?"

"Who – Lydia?" I confirmed, scrunching my nose.

He nodded idly. "She's holding on tight to some worry. But," he frowned, "it's not over you or Lucia. It's not even a bad kind of worry, it's – something else," he nudged me in the ribs. "If I didn't know better, I'd think she was in love."

"Oh," I ducked and tried not to laugh. "That's. Interesting. Though, it's probably none of our business," I hummed.

Farkas' look levelled as he studied me. "It's Vilkas, isn't it?" he deadpanned.

I couldn't hold my laughter back any longer, and didn't bother trying to.

"It is?" Farkas seemed baffled and stopped walking to stare at me. "Are they a thing?"

I shook my head and waved in an effort to contain myself. "No – no, they're still dancing around each other," I bit my bottom lip to quiet my glee.

"Huh," Farkas considered the path ahead. "Didn't think Vilkas did that any more."

I rolled my eyes. "Lydia must be worried you'll figure out she's interested in your brother. Which, you did," I added with a smirk. "Say what you like to Vilkas, just – promise me you won't tease her?" I asked. "I don't think Lydia does – that – all that often, either."

Farkas lifted his eyebrows and pointed to himself with a wounded, innocent expression, which set me off again.

–

The Legion camp was smaller than I expected, but then Winterhold was not Whiterun. The tents weren't the spacious, bannered type that had littered the fields outside of Rorikstead, proud and to attention, but smaller, closer to the ground, half buried and cloaked in snowy bear hides.

It was difficult to determine how many there actually were – perhaps forty? - and I doubted a single tent could house more than two soldiers at any time.

"Where are the horses?" I whispered to Farkas. The camp was quiet; a few tired-looking soldiers sat on stumps around a small fire, their hands clasping steaming camping mugs.

Farkas motioned toward a small hill to the west. "Dawnstar," he murmured back, directing me past the fire and flicking his hand in wordless hello to the five sat there. "Pass to Winterhold is too dangerous for horses."

The soldiers returned equally wordless waves, though one stared in confusion at me before her eyes suddenly widened.

She slapped her nearest comrade in the chest, making the man startle back and fall off his stump with a curse.

I turned away and focussed on what my shield-brother had said. "We had to leave our horses with the Legion too," I told him to fill the void.

Farkas brought us to a larger tent; square and tall enough to stand in, filled almost entirely by a large, folding table. Lydia was here, wearing her armour and a stern expression, waving her hand over a canvas map dotted with pins.

"No, there's a lot of them, but they're more casually spread out than this," she was saying.

My heart raced as I glanced over the other occupants of the tent; two in higher ranked armour – one of them must have been Legate Telendas – one that looked like a scout – but no Hadvar.

I frowned and shot Farkas an anxious look.

Farkas sent me a narrowed, sideways glance in reply. "Stop worrying," he insisted.

"Celeste!" Lydia's relieved call brought everyone's attention to her – and then to us.

Farkas let go of me, and I ran to meet her, uncovering a smile.

She squeezed me tightly, murmuring gratitudes to our shield-brother. Over her shoulder, I caught the expressions of the other soldiers in the tent – brief smiles, uncomfortable shuffling. One of the higher ranked officers stepped closer – a tall Dunmer – and I saw that one of his eyes was white. The remaining two soldiers returned to their discussion over the map.

"Well done, Auxiliary," from his authority, I assumed this was the Legate in command – Telendas. His remaining garnet-red eye flickered to me. "Welcome to the Pale, Lady Dragonborn."

"Thank you," I withdrew from Lydia and gave him a brief nod of respect. "How are you finding Winterhold?"

"Stubborn and cold," he huffed. "Just like our Thalmor advisor in the region. You and your housecarl's infiltration couldn't have come at a better time for us."

I couldn't tell if he was joking or not, and shot Lydia a curious glance; what had she told them?

Her expression gave nothing away. "Your Thalmor operative must have been disinterested in the Dragonborn's efforts – otherwise I assume they would have introduced themselves – seeing as we are allies."

"I am glad to have been considered insignificant," I assured her in a rush. Lydia masked her expression, Farkas barked a laugh, and the Legate frowned. "Thank you for the extraction," I returned to Legate Telendas. "How can I help?"

"You're welcome," he nodded, then launched directly into; "Your housecarl has told us much about the lay of the township, but she hasn't set foot inside the College. You have," he crossed his arms officiously. "Is there any way in or out, other than that damned overhanging bridge?" he cursed.

Farkas laughed again before I could reply. "You'll never guess where I found her."

The Dunmer flickered Farkas a sharp look. "Where?"

"Where?" Lydia echoed at once, turning on me. "You were in the library, weren't you?"

"Um," I bit my bottom lip.

"A tunnel," Farkas returned pointedly, lifting his eyebrows. "One that leads from the ice caves in the north, straight into the College of Winterhold."

"Why?" Lydia crossed her brows.

"Excellent," the Legate snapped, his interest suddenly off me. "Can you plot the way on our map?"

Farkas grinned. "Sure."

"Lady Dragonborn, you must excuse me," Legate Telendas motioned for Farkas to join them at the table.

With a pat to my shoulder, Farkas stepped away. I bit my lip after him, worrying over what to do about Onmund. The Stormcloaks would never let the College go easily, and I doubted the Legion had brought enough soldiers to take them on.

But perhaps the Legate already knew that; perhaps that's why they were strategising at this very moment.

Lydia filled my line of sight with her sharp gaze and an arched eyebrow. "Why did Farkas find you in a tunnel under the college?"

My eyes were sorrowful. "Onmund helped me to escape," I sighed.

"Escape," Lydia closed her eyes in regret. "So. They found us out?"

I shook my head, then changed my mind and nodded. "Sort of. The Legion attacked and – Mersten came for him too quickly and I still looked like me," I lowered my tone; glanced over my shoulder to avoid watching Lydia as her eyes widened in horror. "Should we go to the campfire or-?"

"No," Lydia shook her head, distracted. "No," she murmured again, more thoughtful. "Let's walk."

"But I'm freezing," the whine slipped out; I held my arms and shuddered.

Lydia's eyes narrowed. "Walk."

With a sigh, I fell into step beside her.

After a few footsteps, Lydia determined we were far enough from the command tent to resume. "Did they know you were you when they saw you?"

I shook my head. "Not at first."

"Oh."

"Yeah," the weight of that hung between us. "Then I Shouted to get us away, and they – well, there was no pretending otherwise then, and they assumed I had come with the Legion to capture him."

"You Fus'd the Stormcloaks and ran?" Lydia choked.

"Not exactly," I winced at the memory of Gro-Shub's howl of horror. "I...set fire to the books."

Lydia clapped her hand to her mouth, then lowered it hastily. "By the Gods, Celeste – you terrify me."

The incredulity of the escape – and how I had failed to bring Onmund with me – weighed me down, and I couldn't stop a bleak laugh, rife with absurdity. "How did you get away in the middle of a battle?" I countered.

Lydia's look told me she wasn't done with my story, but she let it go – for now. "They weren't interested in attacking civilians, only capturing the Jarl and securing the College."

"Which they are yet to accomplish," I hummed.

"Correct. So I packed our gear, settled our account, walked straight to the nearest officer and told them who I was," she tilted her head toward me. "That is, your housecarl," she confirmed. "And that you were in the College, on Dragonborn business."

"Too easy," I squinted at her.

"It really was that easy," Lydia shrugged. "When I learnt Hadvar and Farkas were part of the detail, I came here to meet them," Lydia grinned at me. "They're too important to be sent to the front lines, and as Farkas is still his own man in a way, I asked him to go get you."

"And Hadvar?" I feigned a calm I didn't feel. "Is he...?"

"He's on watch at the perimeter," Lydia assured.

"Thank the Divines," I lowered my eyes. "Let's go to him."

"Little one," Lydia said haltingly. Her smile was apologetic. "He's on duty."

"So?" I stood taller. "I have information for the Legion that I need to share with him."

Lydia eyed me, clearly not buying it. "He's managing twelve other soldiers on watch, and coordinating a handful of scouts and messengers," her eyebrows rose. "There's an invasion, remember?"

"Ugh," I closed my eyes in defeat, and felt Lydia's arm cross my shoulders. "When does his shift end?"

"They change at dawn, I believe. A few hours," she said kindly.

"Hours?"

"Some perspective please," she laughed. "The Legion have supplied us with another lovely tent; why don't you get some sleep?"

I sulked, leaning my head against her. "I'm not tired," I murmured.

"Well I am. We're going back to our tent," Lydia stressed, giving me a little squeeze. "Besides. Hadvar knows you're on your way here. He'll find you when his shift is over."

Palming my eyes crossly – maybe I was tired behind the annoyance of having to sit in a tent and wait to see him – I nodded swiftly. There was no point in arguing with her.

Our tent was one of the triangular cloth types strung over a length of rope and propped at each end with pikes. The canvas – or perhaps they used leather up here – was covered almost entirely by several bear pelts, sewn together and nailed through the snow and into the frozen earth below. The door flaps puffed up lazily as a breeze carrying the tang of sea fluttered by, sending flurries of white swirling around the base.

Lydia pulled back one side of the triangle. "Welcome home," she drawled.

I crouched and crawled inside, led by the light of a small lantern. Once I was far enough in to let Lydia follow, I sat back on my feet and looked around as Lydia crawled in to the other side.

It was actually bigger than I had thought it would be, though there wasn't any hope of standing.

The squishy floor was alarmingly dry and cosy; there must have been several layers of netting and straw and pelts between me and the earth. Thick, standard-issue orange bedrolls took up most of the space, unrolled and ready to climb into, and Lydia had assembled our packs, my armour, and my lute at the rear of the space. Between the two beds was the lantern, a couple of wrapped food parcels and a canteen, sat on a short plank of firewood.

With a weary groan, Lydia crawled toward her pillow, shed her sword belt, then lay down in her armour, shuffling as she drew the covers up and around her. "I didn't tell them about Onmund," she admitted quietly.

I nodded, rubbing my chilled hands together. "Thank you."

"What are we going to do about him?" Lydia winced as she eased onto her pillow.

In the soft lighting, she did seem very tired; the skin under her eyes was very dark and puffy. A wave of concern washed through me and I offered a smile. "We'll figure something out. Don't worry about him for now."

Lydia frowned at the tent roof. "I'm not – worried about him, not exactly," she shuffled again and closed her eyes. "But if the Legion get wind of who he really is..." she yawned.

"I know," I finished softly. "I'm surprised they don't already know since they have a Thalmor in there," I mused, recalling how Delphine had mentioned a Thalmor working at the College, too – the one who falsified my sister's term reports to our parents while she worked at Ulfric's side. Perhaps the agent had different orders regarding Onmund, or they might have already used him to flush out Giselle. Maybe they thought if they kept him in the College, she would simply eventually come to him. Or perhaps they had different orders entirely, and both Onmund and I were irrelevant to them.

Lydia nodded, though her eyes remained closed. "We could send Farkas in to drag him out," she murmured.

I huffed bleakly. "It might come to that."

Lydia talked a little more, but I urged her to sleep and climbed into my bedroll, promising I'd try do the same.

My mind ticked over as I stared at the inside of the tent roof. I had never felt so awake, and I wondered if Farkas' army-grade stamina potion was at least, in part, to blame. Agitation pooled, driven by an urgency I couldn't quite catch. I longed to see Hadvar; just to be in the same space as him. Knowing he was nearby and I wasn't allowed to go to him was maddening.

Turning my head, I watched Lydia. She looked comfortable; her breaths came slow and deep.

Easing the bedroll aside, I sat up and stared at her. "Lydia?" I tested.

My housecarl remained silent.

I knelt and rummaged around in my pack; layered my cloak on top of the borrowed mage's robes; there was no point in changing out of them, as they were both warm and comfortable.

Automatically, I reached for my quiver and bow, then faltered and frowned.

What was I doing? Where was I going, exactly? To find and interrupt, probably embarrass and distract Hadvar while he worked? To the command tent, to pretend I was qualified to plan the attack on Winterhold with the Legate and Farkas? To storm Winterhold and retrieve Onmund on my own?

I huffed at my audacity and grabbed my lute instead. I had to go somewhere – to do something.

I stepped out into the dark, icy pre-morning, and made for the flutter of warmth at the camp's centre. Perhaps I could offer the tired soldiers around the campfire a few songs to while away the hours.

–

The sun did its best to drag colour across the sky, but as day approached it thickened with fog, obscuring the brightest of stars and rendering dawn a pale, dream-like affair of dull golds and long, strange purpled shadows.

But, glorious or not, dawn brought with it the change I'd been waiting for while I'd distracted myself and performed for the trickle of soldiers coaxed to the fire by the music.

There was no bell or announcement, or anything really to mark the change in shift; the soldiers just seemed to know when to move, which, coupled with the fog, was quite eerie. My nightly companions departed for their shifts or beds with thanks and smiles, and I nodded graciously, sternly telling myself to remain seated. I was not in the army, and didn't have anywhere else to go.

Resolutely turning my eyes to the strings, I picked out another distraction to keep my mind busy while I continued my vigil. The song I had started forming in Ivarstead was ready and waiting to be played, and as I gave the notes their voice, a simple phrase wrapped around a harmony plucked at my mind.

Aav ko kruziik kiindinok pindaar,
Zu'u los hin spaan, hin dwiin, ol hi los dii.

Of course, a song whose origins swept across my mind on the winds of the plains would only accept the language of the dovah.

United on ancient birth-death plains,
I am your protection, your steel, as you are mine, I considered the translation.

The common tongue didn't work; it made less sense, but more critically, the song lost its feeling, its potency. I hummed the harmony on my next pass, for the words felt private, and it was then that the buzz of returning soldiers drifted to me through the shroud-like fog.

The quandary of the song fled. While I kept playing, I stopped humming and perked my ears, straining to pick out Hadvar's voice amongst the chatter and groans of weariness.

Soon a deep, less accented voice than his spoke; "Does anyone else hear a lute?"

I bit back my smirk and continued playing as though I hadn't heard them, letting the notes do their work and resonate through the mists.

For a heartbeat there was only the song, and then the sound of footfalls pounding through the snow – followed by amicable laughter from the many.

My heart hammered as I stood and turned; my lute, secure on its strap, swung around to snug against my back.

Hadvar burst through the fog and drew to a sudden halt. His shoulders relaxed and a beautiful, utterly relieved smile lit up his entire face.

I laughed softly as tears of joy welled in my eyes. It was so good to see him, and nothing I could say would do this sweet feeling of coming home justice.

Hadvar echoed my laugh, letting out a huge breath, eyes briefly turned skyward. He stepped closer – and I remembered I had feet and was capable of moving, too. Our fingers twined and the space between us closed and I couldn't stop looking at him and grinning like an idiot.

"You're really here," he managed, other hand rising to cup my cheek as he leaned down to brush his nose against mine. "You're safe," he gave my hand a gentle squeeze.

Hadvar's presence filled my senses, and his hand and breath was so warm. The other soldiers materialised and drifted past us, settling around the campfire. If they said anything, I didn't hear it.

Nodding shallowly, laughing again – but still unable to find actual words – I turned my head and kissed his palm, squeezing my eyes closed as the ache in my chest overwhelmed me.

A muffled sound left him, and before I opened my eyes, his lips found mine; gentle, but certain. His warmth surrounded me; I gripped his armour to steady myself and leaned up on the toes of my boots, releasing the deep-seated coil of love and longing within me.

Sounds of amusement and a whistle filtered through the haze.

"Oh, come on," Hadvar withdrew with a laughing glance toward the campfire, apologetic as his eyes returned to me. "Sorry about the audience," he whispered. He turned us, dropping my hand to put his arm around my shoulder, shielding me from their gazes and the worst of the weather. "I couldn't help myself," his breath fluttered across my ear. "I wasn't thinking about them-"

I gazed up in disbelief. "Never apologise for kissing me, Tribune."

"Oh, that," Hadvar ducked as he laughed at the snow. "You heard about that," he guided us away from the campfire.

"I read the report," I owned steadily, watching him closely as my heart swelled. "You saved the missing scouts."

"Farkas saved us first," Hadvar corrected quickly, throwing me a sideways smile that made my heart skip a beat. "Though...you sent him, so I suppose you saved us. Saved me. Again," he teased.

I leaned into him and muffled my laugh against his armour, my face flushed. It felt so strange to laugh over something that had brought only urgent panic at the time. "I'm glad you're getting along with him," I admitted, lost for a retort.

Hadvar scoffed. "He's the most honest man I've ever met. I assume you gave him an order, otherwise he would never have left you alone in Morthal, of all places."

I hazarded a peek, my embarrassment eased by the happiness I found in him. "I'm fine. Morthal was...fine."

"I can see that," he squeezed me closer, his eyes brimming with tenderness. With a sidelong glance ahead, he added. "You certainly know how to leave your mark on a place."

I opened my mouth to reply, but faltered. Whatever could he mean? My brows knit together. "Um. What?"

"Farkas and I passed through Morthal on our way here," he cleared his throat. "Your housecarl is making good progress on Windstad estate, though I would have thought you'd at least ask me if I wanted to live in Hjaalmarch."

Covering my mouth, my eyes widened. "That's not –!" I turned to face him properly. "I don't want to live in Morthal!"

"Hey," he laughed easily and took my hand. "I'm kidding. You can build wherever you want."

I shook my head swiftly – I had entirely forgotten about the house I'd tasked Valdimar to arrange. "I'm sorry. I never intended for us to live there," I covered my face with my hands, flushed. "I'm an idiot."

Hadvar placed his hands over mine, encouraging me to lower them. "You're not. You're creating work for those left behind during the war. And it's – it's nice. They're doing a nice job, though it's - really big," his eyes widened. "We'll get used to it."

I frowned; I couldn't help but pout. "But I want to live in our farmhouse somewhere near Riverwood," I owned quietly.

Hadvar's amusement ebbed into something softer. "Yeah. I'd really like that," he murmured faintly.

"Then it's settled," I twined my fingers with his, blinking innocently. "Windstad manor can...be nothing more than our Sun's height house."

He chuckled and wound his arms around my waist casually. "With it's spectacular marsh-front views?" he arched, the mischievous spark back as he drew me closer.

"Ungrateful, but true," I laughed softly against him, hiding my mirth. Morthal was near enough to Solitude that I assumed the season was as brief and rainy as my former home had been during Sun's height. "Perhaps one of our children will appreciate it more than us."

Hadvar managed a shaky laugh, his hands tightening around me briefly. He rest his chin on my head and sighed. "Perhaps," he conceded quietly.

With my eyes closed and face pressed to his armour, I could only feel his tension. "Oh," I withdrew to meet his eye, smoothing my palms to his shoulders. "I don't mean – not now," I swallowed thickly. The cool dawn breeze prickled against my warmed cheeks. "I'm not..."

"I know," Hadvar smiled wistfully, but it didn't reach his eyes. His hands drifted idly down my back, then he turned again, one arm secured around my waist, and we continued on.

I watched him as we walked, my head tilting. "I thought...you wanted...that with me someday?" I swallowed.

"I want that with you now," Hadvar replied too fast, and sent me a rueful glance, his cheeks pinking. "I want this war to end so we can stop having to say goodbye."

"So do I," I countered softly, leaving the whole Dragonborn portion of my life unacknowledged. Once we were alone I would have to explain to him what I had explained to Farkas mere hours ago. I would have to tell him the truth about Giselle and Onmund, and my hope to somehow free Stormcloak's son. I'd have to tell him about the quest for the Elder Scroll, and what that path might mean for me. But, beneath his fresh relief, he was tired, and for a heartbeat I convinced myself to let him rest instead of worrying him further.

"Nah, you're telling him. You're telling him everything."

Farkas was right. I needed him; I wanted him to know, to help, to be part of both the good and bad and the downright insane in my life.

And I wanted to be the same for him.

I cleared my throat and attempted a more casual air. "Is the war any closer to an end?"

We reached another unremarkable, triangular tent covered in furs.

"It's difficult to know."

He let go of me, only to drop to his knees in the snow and untie the fastenings; he'd brought me to his tent. My chest fluttered; the breeze buffeted the folds of cloak not held in place by my lute, and I held my arms around myself. It was so cold, and I longed to be back in his arms.

"Is it...classified?" I hazarded. "Or are you just...trying to protect me from the truth?"

Hadvar hesitated, then pivoted on a knee, holding out a hand. "A little bit of both," he offered a half-smile.

I knelt beside him in the powder, grateful for the layers of leather and wool between my knees and the ice, and gave him a small return smile. "I would like to know. If you're allowed to – and want me to know, that is," I clasped his hand.

Hadvar nodded, his eyes thoughtful, but faraway. "I do," he brushed a wisp of hair from my cheek, tucking it behind my ear. "I want to share everything with you. Including," his focus was back, his eyes sparkling, "this magnificent temporary home I have built with my bare hands."

I laughed, the uncertainty diffused as he lifted one half of the triangle up and guided me inside.

It was smaller than the tent Lydia and I had been given. A single lantern filled the sloped space with a warm glow, set on a crate supporting a camping mug, a few wrapped food parcels, and a small stack of books and papers weighted down with a leather helmet. Beside the crate sat his backpack and a couple of swords in their sheaths. As with Lydia's tent, it was impossible to stand; I crawled over the ready-made bedroll to make space for him to enter.

Hadvar followed me in, turning to re-tie the fastenings. "Make yourself at home," he murmured over his shoulder.

"Thank you," shrugging off my lute, I propped it carefully next to his pack, then pulled off my boots. "So much better than Morthal," I sighed blissfully as I stretched out on the bedroll; his scent was everywhere and I breathed it in.

Hadvar chuckled softly, and I grinned into the rolled-up pillow; it was good to hear him laugh again.

There were soft clanks and thuds for a time, then the bedding to my left shifted. Hadvar's warmth radiated as he settled next to me, and a soft kiss was pressed to the top of my head. I turned onto my side, meeting his close, fond expression with impish joy. He was wearing only his comfortable-looking under tunic and trousers; the clanks must have been him removing his armour.

"Did you miss me?" I bit my bottom lip to temper my glee.

With an embarrassed laugh, Hadvar lowered his eyes, and his hand found my waist, tentatively tightening, then relaxing. ""I am – so happy you're here," he admitted.

"I'm happy to be here," I mused, brushing the hair falling out of his binding back. It was noticeably longer than when I had seen him in Solitude – before Morthal, and Paarthurnax, and Winterhold. "There's so much to tell you," my fingers worked through his hair on their own, tangling into the strands at the back of his neck.

"Lydia told me..." Hadvar faltered, closing his eyes as he leant into my hand. "...some of it –" and his forehead pressed against mine; his breath was warm as it fluttered across my lips. "Gods, that is so distracting," he muttered.

"Sorry," I wasn't even thinking about what I was doing. With a regretful sigh, I leant back, my arm across my forehead to remove the temptation to touch him. Talk had to come first. "Where do I start?" I asked the tent roof.

"Anywhere you want," he lay his head on my shoulder; his hand rest on my abdomen, thumb idly drawing small circles.

I nodded, my mind tumbling with the memories of the past weeks. There was so much confusion, so much that I had trouble wrapping my head around.

"I wrote a new song."

Hadvar's thumb stilled its soothing motions.

I couldn't interpret his silence, and turned my head. "It's not finished yet," I continued quietly, drawing to a decision as I noticed the flecks of blue and darker grey in his eyes. "Can I play it for you?" I whispered.

Hadvar's eyes softened and he arched up to reach for my lute. "I'd...like that," he stuttered, his throat thick.

I eased myself into a sitting position and accepted my instrument. I knew I was in tune, but tested anyway, clearing my throat as I gave myself time to collect my thoughts.

I picked out the strange, haunting melody that had first happened upon me on the ride across the Whiterun plains. Hadvar settled back, an arm behind me for support. The notes resonated in the dull glow of our small space, absorbed by the thick hides sheltering us, and my chest swelled with brightness.

Hadvar's chin rested lightly on my shoulder; his quiet exhale brushed my neck. I felt his gaze on my fingers as they fluttered over the strings, recalling what I'd been given by whatever manner of muse had sent the song to me.

On my second pass, I added the dovah words I was still coming to terms with. I played for him; played for us, and poured the ache in my soul, the wish that we would never have to say goodbye again, into the notes.

The truth was I felt it cowardly to hide behind my music rather than find my words, but I couldn't bare to shatter the soft comfort between us so soon. I couldn't bare our few, rare moments together to be immediately filled with confusion and impossible tasks, and to leave him with nothing but more riddles and uncertainty.

So I gave him the unfinished song, as raw as it made me feel. I wished I could give him more. I wished I could give him forever.

When there was no more to play, I lowered my lute. I traced a silvery line worked into the woodgrain, anxious for his thoughts. "That's all there is so far," I admitted. "The words are...new. They only came to me this morning."

Hadvar made an incredulous huff of a sound. "It's...incredible," he murmured, his fingers brushing my wrist to settle over my hand holding the lute's body. "You're incredible."

His praise, the sight of our hands, his fingers twined with mine, drew a smile to the surface; I turned to face him, to thank him, but the words fled again. A shadow of stubble darkened his chin and lip and his cheeks were ruddy from exposure to the elements. He was beautiful; the affection in his eyes called to me, and I let myself fall into it, into a moment of indulgence, brushing his nose as I rose up to kiss him.

It was soft and sweet, and over too soon. His hand squeezed mine as we parted.

"I don't want to talk," I told him, untangling our hands to lift mine to his cheek. I spent so much time to making sense of everything else, I could spend a morning with him making sure he was okay. "Please. Kiss me again."

He opened his eyes slowly. "Didn't you need to...?" they flickered over me, searching, carrying a weight of devoted honesty that took my breath away.

"Later," I promised, shifting my lute as I turned and knelt so we were eye to eye. "I need you," I told him in quiet earnest.

He broke eye contact; looked down, huffing a shaky laugh as he leaned into my touch. "Celeste, you...don't need to convince me," he admitted; he steadied my waist, his touch feather-light. "I am yours."

With a small smile, I tilted his chin up and leant closer. "Likewise."

He closed the space between us; his hands tightened, and the moment was ours.

–

"So...you're...a Septim?"

Adjusting my head on his shoulder, I nodded, eyes on his trunk as it gently rose and fell. "Apparently so," I traced the curve of his chest with my fingertips, relishing the opportunity to just lie down and touch him.

His muscles twitched and Hadvar shuddered a laugh, rife with disbelief. "I just made love to the heir of the Septim dynasty?" he confirmed.

"You're engaged to her," I played along, though I did look up then and scrunched my nose at him. "Here I thought you'd be more interested in who's hiding out in Winterhold. Or my sister's whereabouts," I arched a wry eyebrow. "Or the leader of the Greybeards, or the search for the Elder Scroll," I teased, hand resuming its journey over his chest.

Somehow, telling Hadvar everything had made it surmountable.

"I am," Hadvar covered quickly, arm encircling as he encouraged me to lie back down. He smiled fondly, his eyes amused, and relief surged through me. "I'm really interested in these books the Greybeards gave you, the ones by your ancestor?"

"Oh," I sat up again, glancing around – but my pack wasn't here. "Vilkas has most of them, but I have two in the other tent, with Lydia," I settled again.

"Hmm," Hadvar mused. "I bet he wrote his conversations with Paarthurnax in them. Maybe your ancestor will show you your better way?"

I groaned, burying my face in his side. "I didn't even think of that." With everything that had happened since High Hrothgar, I hadn't found the time to open any of those books. "I am an idiot."

Hadvar's reply was amused. "Hey, you can't be blamed for being too close to that one."

I propped my arms on him to narrow my eyes. "Why can't I keep you with me to be my brains and voice of reason?"

He chuckled, arching back to release his arm from under us, to cradle me to him. "Don't get too excited. His books might not contain anything of importance."

"No, they must have something in them, otherwise Delphine wouldn't have bothered stealing one."

Hadvar's brows crossed. "I still don't understand her. She's just been the innkeeper for...forever," he drifted off. "But she was being hunted by the Thalmor, all this time...safely tucked away in Riverwood." His eyes followed the path his hand took as it stroked my hair, though seemed distant. "Are you really going to pursue an Elder Scroll?"

I smiled, though felt saddened by the reminder. "Maybe I won't have to," I posed hopefully, sitting up and searching for my clothes. "Stay here. I'll go get Master Vonius' books."

Hadvar leaned on his elbows with a small frown. "I'll come with you."

I shot him an endearing look as I wiggled to find room to tug my robes on. "I can't risk that," I flicked my hair out from under the neckline, tying the front together hastily.

He seemed more confused, and I couldn't mask my grin at how adorable he was with his mussed up hair and bare shoulders. I leaned over him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "Get some rest, love," I encouraged him to lie back down. "If anyone sees you walking about, they'll snatch you away for Important Legion Business."

Hadvar snorted as I withdrew to find my tights and boots. "I'm off duty for two shifts-"

"And when has that ever stopped them?" I cut in knowingly.

He closed his mouth and gave me an apologetic look. "Okay. I'll stay here."

"Thank you," I gave him another kiss, this time on his forehead, and crawled toward the tent ties.

The fog had lifted and the day was now bright and crisp. The camp was still practically empty with only a handful of soldiers camped out around the fire. By the light of day, it was still no easier to determine the size and extents, for most of the tents were camouflaged by the snowy pelts laid atop them.

The only easily-discernible tent was the command one, though it was empty, and I wondered what had become of Farkas. It had been hours since Telendas had asked him to explain the details of the tunnel system underneath the college. I did not doubt the Legion would take Farkas with them when they mounted that attack, for he was the only one amongst us who had a hope of navigating those twists and turns.

Perhaps they had seized the moment, and already departed. Lydia would know.

I hurried to the tent I'd left her to sleep in, but she was no longer there either, and that confirmed it for me.

She must have gone with Farkas and the Legion, and they were on their way back to the college. Between them, Lydia and Farkas would find some way to free Onmund, in the time that the rest of the Legion took the college.

A ready guilt speared me as I collected the books I'd carried from Hrothgar out of my pack, thinking of Mersten and the rest of Onmund's protectors, doing only what they'd been commanded to do. What would become of them? Some of them had been incredibly judgemental and rough, but my time with Onmund had shown me that Mersten at least was a good person.

I left the tent, clutching the books close to my chest. A nervousness prickled me and I lowered my gaze to the snow, my step quickening. We were on the eve of many victories, perched on a precipice attained after weeks of climbing, and soon some would topple, and some would soar.

Soon, Vilkas or a message would arrive from him, and I would know that my sister was secured. Soon, Winterhold would return to the Legion, and Onmund would be free. Soon, the war would be over, and Ulfric would have justice meted out to him.

A swift beheading for all he's wrought on the land and people you love?

That would be kinder than keeping him alive in some prison where he could be set free by his zealots some day to perpetuate his narcissistic cycle of revenge and death and whatever else motivated him.

And does he gain entry to Sovngarde for his crimes?

That was not my decision to make, but if it would make Skyrim safe and end the war, so be it.

The warm glow of Hadvar's tent eased some of the chill in my bones. I secured the tent ties behind me, then turned to look at him.

He was fast asleep, hair a rumpled mess, arm flung above him to rest on his forehead. Inching my way around the bedroll so as not to disturb him, I settled into his side. He shuffled to accommodate me, but didn't wake.

I could have very easily nestled into his arms, but I had put off reading Dante's books for too long and the effects of the potent stamina potion thrummed through my veins – or perhaps it was my own adrenaline, roused by the prospect of finding my alternative to throwing Alduin forward in time somewhere amongst these pages. Raising my knees to use as a stand, I propped the first of Master Vonius' books against my legs and opened it.

A series of indecipherable scratchy markings littered the title page. It was the dragon tongue, but in the script devised by man. No otherworldly glow highlighted the markings; they meant nothing to me.

With shuddering breath, I turned the page, grateful to find he'd not written the entire book in this script.

It feels appropriate to start a new book as Britta's training advances to the level requiring a vow of silence. I'm pleased she grows stronger, as it is what she has striven for, even if I will miss the sound of her voice. But nothing will keep her silent forever.

I still have Zeymah to speak with, until mama, papa and Callie arrive in Second Seed.

Zeymah; he wrote it as though it were a name and any reader would assume it was another Greybeard residing at High Hrothgar, but Paarthurnax's words drifted back to me as the word translated, bouncing between my ears:

Daanteyvo did not fear me, and when first we met, he named me zeymah.

Brother. Blinking slowly at the page, my eyebrow arched as I realised I was reading not some ancient tome full of wisdom and theories, but a personal journal much like Kodlak's – only I got the feeling from the tone that this Dante was still a youth.

I scanned pages of inner musings about research and training and the day-to-day monotony of life as a Greybeard, until I found another mention of Paarthurnax:

Since last I wrote, Zeymah has talked more of the rebellion. He doesn't like speaking of it, but says its a Greybeard's duty to know it, for I might be called to finish what the Ancient Tongues started at any time.

But sending a scholar to do a Dovahkiin's duty would be ridiculous. I suppose that, when Zeymah is gone, it will be my duty to remember for him, and explain what needs to be known.

My eyes widened; Paarthurnax knew Dante was dovahkiin, but here Dante was...skirting around it, perhaps even denying it. Surely he must have known, given he was able to instantly understand the language of the dragons from five years of age! And it seemed Paarthurnax assumed Dante would need to defeat Alduin; to 'finish what the Ancient Tongues started'.

Zeymah believes we are on the brink of war, despite Emperor Mede's reign bringing, according to Callie, the greatest stability to the Empire since Potentate Ocato's time.

I am not sure what to think, so I will merely write what I have been told. Alduin's banishment was 'zah' – I wish there was a proper word in our tongue for zah. The closest I can come is 'fixed', in both an infinite and instant manner.

I digress. Once thriving on his duty and establishing order and civilisation amongst his brothers and sisters, Alduin's pride poisoned him and he turned from the task given by Bormahu. As he betrayed his nature and Father, his power weakened, and his hunger grew, but in sating that he took the coward's path; devouring the souls of the dead.

Fod fin Hofkahsejun meyz nil do daanik kip, Alduin fen daal wah uth.

Frowning at the passage – wondering why anyone would bother noting down the dragon tongue phonetically, particularly when Master Vonius clearly understood how to write the dragon script that adorned the word walls – I read it again, and listened to the translation as it buzzed through me.

When the Halls/Tower/Palace grows scarce/empty of easy/doomed food, Alduin will return to command/overrule/guide.

I sat back, stared at the phrase. This wasn't telling me how to liberate the dragons from Alduin's control, but it was explaining, perhaps, why Alduin had returned at all.

It sounded like...he'd run out of food.

I glanced to Hadvar as an idea sparked; I was eager to ask him his thoughts, whether I was making connections hastily, but he was still fast asleep. I couldn't bare waking him, even for this, and regretfully turned back to the book as my mind reeled.

Paarthurnax had told Dante that Alduin was eating the souls of the dead instead of doing whatever he should have been doing, which had weakened him, for any who turned from their Akatosh-given task invariably was. Alduin was robbing those in Aetherius of their promised afterlife; for those killed in battle, it meant they were being hunted and devoured, instead of revelling in the glory they had been promised in Shor's Halls of Valour.

This meant that Alduin must be able to travel between Mundus and Sovngarde. It meant that he'd probably stopped Stormcloak's beheading in Helgen only to ensure a steady stream of souls would continue to flow into the arms of Aetherius as the war progressed. The World-Eater was hungry and he was vying for the easy option, to conquer humanity in both life and death.

My eyes slammed shut as dread filled my veins.

You have to stop him.

I pressed a hand to my mouth as the enormity of my task was laid out before me; the lives, the sheer number of entities who were dependant on my success, both living and departed. Stopping Alduin from resurrecting and controlling the other dragons wouldn't be enough for he would simply disappear into Aetherius again and feed off the souls he had already gained through the current conflicts. All he would have to do is wait.

So, stop him from travelling between realms somehow?

I shook my head at myself. How?

Figure it out. Read Master Vonius' books, a calm, patient voice wisped through my thoughts. My eyes drifted to Hadvar again, wondering if he had woken; if it was his voice that soothed me.

Talk to Hadvar, I watched his sleeping form; the gentle rise and fall of the blankets over his chest. Talk to Paarthurnax. Consult the Greybeards. Don't give up.

This might be the path to your better way.

Okay, I took a deep breath. Cut off Alduin's access to the afterlife, break his hold on the dragons, then...

Then what, exactly? If robbed of his abilities and failsafe, was there any reason to kill him? Could such a being be killed – and at what cost? He was an immensely powerful creature in his own right, the son of Akatosh if many of the myths were to be believed. It may have been my task to stop him from dooming so many lives, but that was where the Dragonborn's duty ended; I did not feel it was my right to judge and execute him.

As I turned back to the book penned by my ancestor in his – what I had to assume was teens, if Titus Mede the First had recently begun his reign – I wondered what Dante had written in the book Delphine had stolen.

I was going to have to retrieve that book – or at least convince Farengar to give me a copy of his work – the codex he was working on for the dragon-script parts. Perhaps there was more hidden for me in these books, for hadn't I just read that Dante felt it his duty to record Paarthurnax's words to pass on?

Master Bendir has signed that I might meditate with Britta of a morning to progress her training so we can avoid another accident, but I believe she will advance faster with Zeymah than I. I will ask what she wants to do.

After hours of reading I started to droop, and I drifted over the same passage about Britta's struggle with remaining silent again and again.

The potion must have finally worked its way out of my system and my body was demanding rest. Admitting defeat, I set the books beside my lute and gave in to the welcoming warmth of Hadvar's arms.

–

My eyes fluttered open and through the daze of sleep I saw Hadvar, propped on his elbow, watching me with pure love on his face.

I smiled; for the first time in the handful of times we'd slept in each other's arms, Hadvar had woken before me.

"Good morning," I arched sleepily onto my elbows to meet him, but my hair fluffed around my face as I moved. I eyed it critically.

Hadvar chuckled and brushed it back gently for me. "It's afternoon," task completed, his hand settled on my shoulder. "The sun is about to set."

Groaning, I sat up and palmed my forehead. "I shouldn't have slept. Is there any word from the others?"

Hadvar eased up a little further, his tone more amused. "You needed to sleep. Don't worry about the others," he encouraged; his hand tightened briefly before he released and sat forward. "Did you find Dante's books?"

The covers slipped down as he sat up properly and my mouth went dry. He was still naked. With a slow blink I dragged my eyes upward; met his curious steel-grey with a small flush.

"Yes," I returned, nodding for emphasis, focussing on his face and definitely not the dips and curves of his collarbone and shoulders, and his arms – the urge to reach out and touch him was strong.

Hadvar ducked and smiled in an adorable, lopsided way that told me he knew exactly what he was doing to me. "Great," he supplied quietly, mostly to his lap. "I have about...four hours before my shift starts," he eased the cover of the bedroll aside and – regretfully – reached for a bundle of clothes.

I nodded idly and watched him tug on a pair of trousers, shaking myself hastily. "I – started reading," I admitted.

Hadvar shrugged a thick tunic over his head; glanced at me across his shoulder. "Read anything interesting?"

"I think so," I sighed and reached for the first of the two books, flicking until I found the right place. "I can't be certain – but I believe Paarthurnax might have told Master Vonius why Alduin would eventually return."

"Wow," Hadvar turned, crossing his legs under him to sit opposite me, attention rapt. "What did he say?"

I swallowed as I looked down and read; "Fod fin Hofkahsejun meyz nil do daanik kip, Alduin fen daal wah uth."

The translation thrummed through me, and I repressed a shudder as I glanced up to gauge his reaction.

He shrugged apologetically. "I'm...sorry. I don't understand."

"It means..." I whispered, stalling. Alvor, Kodlak, High King Torygg, Ralof, my parents – perhaps even little Helgi – with Alduin flitting in and out of the various afterlives – had they found any peace in their passing? Had Alduin devoured their souls already?

Just tell him. See if he comes to the same conclusion.

"It means – though, some words are difficult to translate, there's no single word for them," I bit my bottom lip.

Hadvar half-shrugged. "What does it mean to you?" he gave me a regretful smile.

I steeled myself. "It sort of translates as, 'when the Palace Halls run out of easy doomed food, Alduin will return to command'. But – there's more," I winced, turning down. "Paarthurnax also tells Dante that Alduin turned from his proper duty to conquer humankind instead, and feeds his hunger with," my eyes roved over the relevant passage, "...the souls of the dead."

Hadvar was silent for a moment. "And...the part you read in dragon speech. It says...when he runs out of souls..?" he confirmed quietly.

I nodded, glancing up to meet his eye. "Paarthurnax said Alduin would then reappear to...gather more."

"Right," Hadvar's eyes widened. He sat back to look at the inside roof of the tent. "How lucky for him there's a war," he murmured.

"Actually," I winced again, regretful. "Maybe what happened at Helgen..." I trailed off.

Hadvar looked back to me, his expression as troubled as mine. He nodded swiftly, rubbing a spot between his eyes as though to work out the crease. "Yes. That would make sense," he sighed, lowering his hand to reach out and tentatively take mine. "Should I – may I?" he motioned for the book.

"Of course," I handed it over. Yes, he should read it himself.

Hadvar studied the book, eyes scanning back and forth with a crease in his brow; his hand remained twined with mine all the while. After minutes of silence, he passed it back.

"Didn't Paarthurnax tell you the Tongues sent Alduin forward in time?" Hadvar met my gaze with nervous shudder. "Isn't that the reason you're looking for an Elder Scroll?"

"Yes."

"But...nobody really knew where or when he would emerge again?"

"Apparently," I half-shrugged.

"But," Hadvar's shook his head, vexed, "To Dante, Paarthurnax suggests Alduin was in Sovngarde, feeding on souls, and would return when he ran out of food?"

"Oh," my eyes widened.

"Yeah. It sounds like he had enough souls to feed on that he didn't care," he seemed unimpressed. "Maybe you were told the same information, and interpreted it differently. Maybe, what they thought sent him forward in time merely stopped him from being able to travel here, for a time?"

"Oh," I repeated, drawing a hand to my mouth in realisation. "Like how Martin Septim banished Mehrunes Dagon back to Oblivion and closed his gates!"

Hadvar and I looked at one another in shock; my mouth snapped shut. Martin Septim, my ancestor, Dante's father, a Dragonborn himself, who had sealed the gates of Oblivion with his life.

"This is different," Hadvar assured softly. "Very different," he leaned forward and cleared his throat; glanced over the open pages on my lap. "The Tongues did banish Alduin, but they knew it couldn't last. They didn't send Alduin forward in time, they just delayed his invasion for future generations to deal with by closing off his access."

"Why would they banish him to Aetherius?" I exclaimed to the book as though Dante could answer. "By protecting the living, they doomed the dead."

"Either they didn't know," Hadvar consoled; gave my hand an encouraging squeeze. "Or they were desperate. They probably just wanted to make Skyrim safe again for their families and end the war."

Glancing up, I found worry in his determined, steely depths. Guilt washed through me; had I not come to exactly the same thought when I considered Ulfric Stormcloak's fate; so long as Skyrim was safe, what did it matter where he was?

I shook my head in regret; the last thing Hadvar needed was more worry. "Okay," I acknowledged. "So this time, I cut off access, but trap him here," I vowed.

"Okay," Hadvar accepted quietly, his eyes watchful and serious. "Then we're still going to need that Elder Scroll," he reminded reluctantly.

"I know," I cursed. "And I still have no idea where to find one. Or how to break Alduin's hold over the other dragons."

"One problem at a time," Hadvar's hand found mine; he offered a supportive smile. "You managed to break Hircine's hold over Farkas and Vilkas' wolves," he pointed out. "I'm sure you'll find a way to unbind the dragons, when the time is right."

I huffed momentarily – then choked as what he said properly registered. "You know?" I gaped.

The corner of Hadvar's mouth rose. "Farkas told me."

Covering my eyes with my hand, I shook my head. "Hadvar, I wanted to tell you, I really did-"

"It wasn't your story to tell," he laughed softly. "And honestly?" his fingers were on my chin; he encouraged me to look up again. "I owe them a debt," he shrugged bashfully. "If they have to be cursed, at least they can use their abilities for good, and protect you when I cannot."

"But – we're using them," I burst out, relieved to be able to discuss this fresh regret with him. "When we're done with them," tears pricked in my eyes. "Something about me compelled those wolves, all they have ever done is try to protect me...and I'm just going to...cast them off."

"Peace, love," Hadvar reached out to cup my face; his thumb brushed my cheekbone. "The...wolves have been with them," he frowned thoughtfully, "for much longer than they have known you," he leaned a little closer; lowered his tone. "Farkas and Vilkas are good, honest men. I...don't know enough about what's happened to them, but – if they are willing to sever that link, I would follow their lead. They know better than you or I who they're dealing with. Your job," he lifted his eyebrows, "is to make Sovngarde safe for them, when they make that final journey."

His quiet confidence in me, and the thought of losing Farkas and Vilkas to anything, drew a tight sadness to my chest. "I will."

"And I will help you in any way I can," his eyes flickered to my lap; to the open book. "Let's do this."

–

The time passed quickly. We immersed ourselves in Dante Vonius' books, propped against one another, reading in companionable silence for long stretches and discussing and theorising whenever we came upon anything interesting, or when Hadvar located passages written in phonetic dovah for me to translate.

While much of what we read was interesting though irrelevant, largely detailing Dante's life as a Greybeard, the small snatches of dialogue with Paarthurnax or writing related to Alduin told a familiar tale; merely a version of what Paarthurnax had told me when I'd visited him on Monahven.

Too soon, it was time for Hadvar to go back on shift.

"It should only be one this time," he encouraged, shrugging into his cuirass, tying hastily, eyes on his task. "One eight hour shift on the borders," he smoothed a folded bit of leather down, then looked up to give me a tight smile. "Will you wait here for me? In the camp, I mean?"

I couldn't help but pout at the sight of him ready to leave, but nodded. "Of course."

"Thank you," he knelt to sling a small pack across his shoulder. "Try to get some rest, love."

"I'll try," I promised, watching glumly as he shifted away.

He collected two of the food parcels, tucking one into the pack, then tentatively passed the other to me. "I'm sorry I don't have something more appetising to offer you," he murmured regretfully. "I'll bring back something better from the command tent," he resolved.

I shook my head, giving him a small smile as I accepted the food. "Go, love. I can take care of myself."

His brows crossed as he strapped on his sword belt, and he leaned toward me, steadying my waist as he kissed my temple. "I want to take care of you," it was almost a whine.

I laughed softly and pushed his arm. "You do take care of me. But we're a team, are we not?" I arched playfully.

Hadvar's eyes shone as he sat back, though his hand remained, rested lightly on my waist. "Always."

"Then it's settled," I continued quietly, attempting lightness. "You go and do your," I waved my hand toward the exit, "heroic management, and I'll keep reading through Dante's journals."

"You mean you'll rest?" Hadvar lifted an eyebrow, shifting into that efficient, commanding tone I had only ever caught glimpses of. "I have it on good authority that somebody kept you up most of the day," he teased sternly, "and you are yet to take your required eight hours rest between duties."

"Then it's a good thing I'm not in the army," I opened the book in my lap, grinning at the pages of Dante's scrawl. "We would never resolve this dragon issue with so many mandated rest periods," I sighed dramatically.

Hadvar chuckled; I looked up as he leaned closer. "I don't want to leave you," he all but groaned, brushing his nose against mine.

I didn't want him to either, but I also didn't want to get him in trouble for being late. I wasn't sure how the army worked, but I assumed lateness would result in the allocation of extra work or shifts.

But his lips were right there. I closed the space and kissed him softly, slowly; a promise, not a goodbye.

When I withdrew, his eyes fluttered open, and he just stared at me through his lashes.

"To be continued," I tapped his nose gently, "in eight hours."

A/n: It's been a strange year full of unexpected grief. Thanks for sticking with me. I had to take a break from this story, but I am determined to finish it - some day. This chap is for Failisse, over on Ao3, for her kind words and encouragement when I needed them most.