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.

61. The Line of Succession

Chapter 61: The Line of Succession

Today I said goodbye to Britta. She has no choice but to leave the Throat of the World to give birth to our child. I long to go with her, to be a part of our family and prevent what I have dreamt. It is only by Paarthurnax's order that I remain on this Divines-forsaken mountain, as I am bound by my oath.

But why must I stay? Paarthurnax tells me only the same riddles, over and over. I have no need to meditate on my thu'um. For almost twenty years I have dwelt in the dark and cold, and I long to feel the heat of the sun on my face.

She tells me Kyne has Her reasons for keeping me here, and promises she will bring the baby as soon as it is safe to travel, though she can never live here unless our daughter is like me. My heart is at war, both wanting and not wanting her to be.

Brit is glowing with hope and I cannot bear to tell her what I have seen for the past moon. I try to ignore it, to reason it is an anxiety manifesting while I sleep.

But if my dreams show me truths, she will never return to High Hrothgar, and as I, she will never see our daughter take her first breath. Our girl will be raised by Brit's parents. She will never know me; never be associated with this curse that robs me of all I love.

Were I permitted to attend, I would ensure Britta survives the birth. Why show me these things if I am to do nothing?

I must take comfort in knowing they will be able to give her what I cannot; a normal childhood. She will be able to run through fields of sun-kissed wildgrass and climb trees and pick flowers. She will be able to stand outside at night and observe the constellations without freezing in minutes. She will be able to feel rain falling on her face and swim in the Sun's Height pools. She will be permitted to have friends.

I have given Brit a letter and asked she open it once she is safe in her parent's house. A cowards way of ensuring she doesn't ask questions that I cannot answer. It contains my love and wish that she name our daughter Sofia, and a request she arrange a priestess of Kynareth to assist with the delivery in case there are complications. I can't risk telling her about my dreams, for the stress would not be good for either of them, but I had to do something. I pray she reads it in time, and understands.

As for the girl's name, it will be up to them to honour my wishes, and I can't say why the name is important; in my dreams of our daughter, that is simply who she is. Should Britta survive, perhaps the nightmares will stop and perhaps I will be able to laugh over how worked up I have become over this.

I have not told mother or Callie about Brit and I. I feel it best they never know of her.

I turned the page with a frown. Hours had passed since Hadvar had gone and I'd and learnt nothing new to aid me in my quest for an Elder Scroll or knowledge to assist with trapping Alduin in our realm instead of Aetherius. Since Paarthurnax had ordered Dante to remain at Monahven, Dante had not visited him. The pages were full of regrets and fears that his nightmares would come true and Britta would not survive the birth, but I felt compelled to read them in case any hidden clues lay within.

Paarthurnax had told me Dante never knew he was a Septim – and so he couldn't have known that he was seeing snatches of the future in his dreams, just as Giselle said she had. It was the Septim's gift – curse, really – though not all with Septim blood possessed the ability. I dreaded reading on, wishing for some brightness to shine light onto the young man's life. It seemed such a waste to keep him locked away in High Hrothgar when, with his intelligence and compassion, he might have done some good in the world. Britta had been his happiness – they had gone from friends to lovers over their many years together – and now she was gone, and he was left again with the silent Greybeards, and Paarthurnax.

Of course, this had all happened almost two-hundred years ago, and everybody detailed in his journals but for Paarthurnax had passed on – but I still felt for him.

"Lady Dragonborn?" a commanding voice sounded from outside the tent, startling me to attention.

I glanced up, blinking as my mind returned to the now. "...yes?"

"Apologies for disturbing you ma'am, but General Tullius requests your presence at the command tent," the voice came again.

General Tullius? Why was he here – and what did he want of me?

"I – I'll be out in a minute," snapping the book shut, I hastily collected my warm outer layers.

When I emerged into the still, frigid night a pair of Legion officers were waiting for me. I thought I recognised one from the previous night around the campfire – the older, bearded man gave me a more welcoming smile and lifted a hand in greeting. The younger, clean-shaven man cleared his throat and stepped toward me, his posture stiff.

"Apologies for waking you, ma'am," he began officiously.

"I wasn't asleep," I assured, crossing my arms as the cold bit through my clothing. "You said General Tullius is here?"

"Yes ma'am. If you'll follow me, please."

"Of course," I conceded. "Lead the way."

The young officer started toward the command tent, and the older stepped up beside me. "Are you in need of warmer clothing, my Lady?" he asked in the soft, lilting accent of a midland Nord. "Pale's a miserably cold realm, 'specially at night."

I smiled gratefully at him. "Thank you – I didn't catch your name?"

"Officer Crisgun, ma'am," he nodded toward his fellow in front of us. "That there's young Averrus."

"Auxiliary Averrus," the man called over his shoulder pointedly.

The older man glared at the younger's back. "Aye, sir."

I cleared my throat to dispel the awkwardness and draw his attention back to me. "Is there a store of clothing that might fit me hidden somewhere in this camp, Officer Crisgun?"

He cracked a half-smile. "Not 'xactly," he tilted his head. "A few spare bedrolls and the like. But I was meaning – we could fetch something from town for you, if you were needing it," his smile turned into a grin as we bypassed the campfire, and he waved briefly to the four soldiers sat around it. "Can't have the saviour of Skyrim catching a cold, can we lads?"

"Hail, Lady Dragonborn," one of the campfire occupants called.

I waved, giving them a small smile. "Hello."

"Will you be in the mood for sharing a song tonight, ma'am?" another called out in a snatch of hopefulness.

Crisgun shushed them; "You leave her be, the General asked for her first."

The one who'd asked looked much like Hadvar's late uncle, and I couldn't help but reply. "Once I have seen the General, I would be happy to perform for you."

"This way, if you please," Averrus called.

We departed the campfire area and Crisgun shook his head. "You're a good lass, you know that? Didn't let your station go to your head, like some people I know."

The warm contentment shifted, and I looked out over the plains, uncertain of how to answer.

He seemed abashed when he changed the subject. "General Tullius shouldn't keep you long," he placated. "Always on the move, that one."

I faced Crisgun, amused that he seemed to treat everyone like favoured grandchildren, despite their age or rank. "Did he say what he needed of me?"

The man shrugged. "Brought you a proper meal, I think."

I coughed a laugh. "He...came here to give me dinner?" I confirmed, agog.

The soldier gave me a sideways look. "Right good of him too, if you ask me. You're all skin an' bones."

"I am not," I defended with a scoff.

There was a twinkle to Crisgun's eye. "Apologies, ma'am. Maybe he has questions for you about that sister of yours. General Tullius didn't tell us any more than to come get you."

"I see," I couldn't help but deflate; Giselle was the last person I wanted to talk about to the Legion. I didn't want to lie to them about what I'd learned in Winterhold, but I couldn't put Onmund at risk after all he'd done to help me. "Thank you," I managed quietly.

My escort directed me around the back of the command tent, and I spied the General leant over the war table.

He was alone and just staring at the map, clearly lost in some unpleasantness. His armour shone like molten copper where the lantern light caught its embossed design, but made his features harder and his nose more prominent.

Auxiliary Averrus drew to a halt and raised a salute. "General Tullius; Lady Dragonborn for you."

Tullius' head shot up; his eyes flickered from Averrus to me. The tension shrouding him was so thick I had to stop myself from shrinking back as it reached toward me.

Still leant over the table, he replied in that familiar, commanding tone; "Excellent. Dismissed to your duties, men."

"Yes, General Tullius sir," Averrus lowered his hand and marched off.

Crisgun offered me an encouraging pat to the shoulder. "Looking forward to your serenade, my Lady," he winked.

I cast the man a grateful nod. "I'll see you at the campfire," I promised.

The older soldier left; I watched him go, hesitant to proceed with what I knew was going to be a probing and frustrating conversation.

Heartbeats of silence passed and the hairs on the back of my neck prickled. I could feel Tullius' eyes on me all the while, but couldn't quite bring myself to meet his gaze.

Was he was waiting for me to speak, or had he slipped back into whatever thought had occupied him before I arrived?

Eventually, Tullius spoke. "It is good to see you again, Lady Dragonborn. Thank you for agreeing to meet with me."

I had to turn now, and folded my hands in front of me so I wouldn't give away how nervous I'd grown. He was being more formal than I'd expected, particularly given his withdrawn mood. "I am pleased to see you too, General," I went for the direct approach, since he would not; "though I am unsure why I am here."

"Let me enlighten you, ma'am," he stood taller, then motioned left. "Tea?" he offered.

I glanced to the side and noticed a small table and stumps with woollen blankets folded on them for chairs, almost completely obscured by the war table. Crisgun had been right; the table was set for tea with a variety of foods that definitely weren't army rations; sweetrolls and fresh, fruity breads and all manner of delicious, glazed baked treats.

It was odd to take tea with a General at all – not to mention in the middle of the night. "Thank you," I hazarded.

I endured the awkwardness of the General holding my chair out for me before I sat, then he took his place opposite me and reached for the teapot in the table's centre.

I expected the General's directness to return now we were seated, but his eyes remained glued to the teapot, and faraway.

"What brings you to the Pale, General?" I prompted.

Tullius finished pouring tea and passed my cup, his hand unnervingly steady. His amber-brown eyes flickered upward, meeting mine. "Treaties," he seemed to find the word bitter.

"Treaties," my heart beat a little faster, and I sipped a tiny amount of tea to give myself something to do. It was scalding hot. "Is Winterhold soon to be ours?"

"It is," the General sat back and frowned at me, without bothering to prepare a cup for himself. I wondered if my tea-drinking methods were under scrutiny. "When it is, I'll assign a Jarl who is loyal to the Emperor to stabilise the region."

That was interesting, but surely not why I was here. "There are many in Winterhold who will be grateful to be part of the Empire once more," I idled, thinking of Onmund and his friends. "Is there some way I may be of assistance during the handover?" I tested.

The General seemed to remember himself, and sat forward again to pour himself a cup. "No – thank you, but no," his eyes remained lowered as the strong, dark liquid flowed into it, steam rising as the hot tea spiralled through the cool night air. "I asked you here because – information has arrived on my desk, and requests have been made for your time. So before we go any further," he met my eye momentarily, "I need a better understanding of how you're getting on with this dragon business," he picked up a teaspoon of sugar.

I frowned, lowering my cup to the table. What an odd selection of words – what information had crossed his desk? Did he know where Giselle was?

Tell him, I prompted. Let him know exactly what you are up against.

Perhaps so I wouldn't talk of other closer-to-home matters, I decided to do just that. "Dragon business," I echoed with a sigh. "...it's complicated. At the moment, I am searching for an Elder Scroll."

Tullius' stirring motions stilled. His gaze flickered up and some conflict flashed through him. "For what purpose?" he almost spat.

"That's quite a long story," I cautioned.

"I'm all ears," he eased back, tea abandoned.

Laughter shot through me, and I bit my bottom lip to swallow my reaction. "As you wish," I stared at my hands and rallied my thoughts. "Do you remember the great black dragon, Alduin?"

"I am familiar with popular mythology," he drawled.

I pursed my lips; the storyteller stepped forward, and words rolled off my tongue. "No. You are familiar with Alduin, as it was he who fell upon Helgen the day the war with the Stormcloaks should have ended."

The General's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Go on."

I told him what I could; of Alduin's motives, how he was bringing dragons back from the dead to control them. I explained what I had lately accepted; Alduin had prolonged the war to ensure a steady flow of souls entered the various afterlives, and it was my duty to strip his power – to prevent him from travelling there to feed, and to sever his link to dragonkind, somehow.

Tullius listened, but his face adopted an expressionless mask.

"In the past, an Elder Scroll was used to banish Alduin to Aetherius," I summarised. Through his lack of response, my discourse felt more like a school report than a performance. "It is my intention to use the Elder Scroll I locate to do the opposite; to trap him in Skyrim, so he can no longer feed on the souls of the dead."

The General finally betrayed a grimace. "Assuming you are successful, what do you plan to do with a rabid dragon whose food source has been denied?" he asked dryly. "Will this dragon not simply fall on what remains of the living?"

I stopped myself from shrugging in time. "I am open to suggestions," I admitted quietly. "Everybody believes I should inherently know what to do," I met his eye, and held it. "But I don't. I am doing my best with the information available to me. What would you do with him?"

Tullius' brows crossed, and as he glanced away, I thought I caught a flash of anger. "We can't kill it?"

"I doubt it," I reached forward for a biscuit, tired now that the truth was out and open between us. "Legends would tell he's the firstborn of Akatosh."

"Do the dragons you converse with have any ideas?" he was definitely frustrated.

"Dragon. There's only one who has overcome the will of Alduin on his own, who I am able to ask questions of," I corrected, ignoring his tone, for it didn't feel as though his anger was directed at me but at the circumstances. "And no, he has not. I will ask him when I see him next."

"I...see," he straightened in his seat, eyes finding mine. "I will ask some questions on your behalf. You are right," he didn't seem happy to admit anything. "You should not have to come up with a way to close an immortal's access to anywhere alone," he muttered. "That kind of arrangement always ends badly for your kind."

My kind? My heart skipped a beat, but I made myself speak. "I – thank you," I hadn't expected anything from him, but here he was, pledging his assistance.

He nodded grimly. "It is my duty as General to protect the best interests of the Empire," he added, retrieving his tea and taking a sip. "And you are a part of that."

I couldn't help but arch an eyebrow. I had dismissed the curious phrasing the first time, but it was difficult to ignore a second. "I appreciate your...understanding."

"Speaking of understanding," he lowered his cup to the table, eyes glued to it. "I don't suppose you know where your sister is?"

This I had expected of him. "I wish I knew. I have questions for her."

"Hmm," he mused uneasily. "You may have to get in line."

With a small huff of incredulity, I cast my eyes down. He didn't have to sugar-coat it. "Won't the Thalmor just kill her?" I asked quietly.

"I'm not aware of their plans," he muttered. "But they are not who I speak for," he added thoughtfully. "No, if only we can get to her first, we can ensure she survives."

"We?" I glanced up, eyes widening in surprise. Did he mean the Empire? "Can you ensure such a thing? Would you? After all she has done?"

"That is a loaded question, but in short," the General replied in a flat tone; "Yes."

I let out a shaky breath; he did not seem happy about this, either. "But in your report-?"

"I asked for information, not her head," his voice rose, and hardened. "I told you, Miss Passero. It is my duty to protect the best interests of the Empire," his eyes narrowed. "And that is why I am here. Thank you for being frank with me about what you are up against, and doing about it. I appreciate your honesty. You are a credit to the Empire."

I took another small sip.

Tullius cleared his throat, reaching into a pocket on his sword belt. "To my reason for asking you here," he retrieved a small, slim letter and placed it on the table between us. "The Emperor has newly arrived in Solitude, and requests an audience," he continued with accustomed authority.

The Emperor? An audience with me?

I stared at the letter; a red seal stamped with the Imperial Dragon stared back at me.

Emperor of Tamriel? Emperor Titus Mede II?!

"Wh...why?" was all I could utter, unable to take the note. Was I to be held accountable for Giselle's crimes until she was brought forward?!

His eyes met mine, but he remained motionless otherwise. "Treaties," he repeated.

Swallowing my discomfort, I shook my head in confusion. I was in no position to make deals on my sister's behalf; she was her own woman. "I don't understand."

"I believe the letter will explain," Tullius continued. "Once negotiations are finalised, you are to return to Cyrodiil under the protection of the Mede family."

"Cyrodiil?" I gasped, eyes widening.

"Giselle will be located, and she is to follow under the full protection of the Penitus Oculatus."

What was going on?!

"I understand this might seem an inconvenience, but you are right-"

"No," I held my hands out, imploring.

"- you shouldn't have to overcome this dragon business on your own. With the might of the Empire behind you-"

"Please, stop speaking."

The General closed his mouth. It formed a straight line as he turned to meet my gaze.

His eyes spoke volumes; he had taken my desperate utterance as an order. A chill travelled down my spine. I did not have the authority to give the General of the Imperial Legion orders.

Yet, here we were.

I took a moment to breathe, to dispel the emotion from my words. "Skyrim is my home. I cannot leave everything I have worked towards to go to Cyrodiil," my voice trembled. "What you propose puts the lives and souls of everybody who lives and has ever lived at risk."

He continued to stare at me with that hardened, grim gaze. I wondered if he agreed with me – after all, he was only the messenger, relating the will of the Emperor, and he had been distinctly unhappy and uncomfortable for our entire conversation.

"What is this really about? Speak plainly," I sat straighter and commanded my heart to beat at a normal pace; my skin prickled with foreboding. "Why has the Emperor come now in the midst of – two wars?"

Tullius studied his tea as he swirled it in his cup. "Do not play dumb with me, Miss Passero."

I tried to fight down an incredulous laugh. "It makes no sense to hold me accountable for her error of judgement, given all I am expected to do-"

"You think this is about your sister's crimes?" he cut me off, eyes flickering to the sealed letter between us, before meeting me with a gaze as hard as steel. "You will look me in the eye and tell me you have no idea why the Emperor might want to meet with the last Empire-loyal, surviving heir of the Passero line?"

"I'm not-" I faltered back; scrambled for words as my blood turned cold. Oh.

Oh.

Had he – no, had the Empire discovered that we were descendant from the Septims? But – why would that matter to him?

"But – surely my grandfather-" I stammered, at a loss for where I was leading.

"He has been consulted and awaits your arrival," he cut in grimly. Downing the last of his tea with a swift flick of his wrist, he replaced the empty cup on the table with a musical clink.

"Grandpa thinks I should come to Cyrodiil?" I whispered.

"Naturally your grandparents want you out of a Skyrim at war," the General turned away, focussed on the horizon. "Was it not your desire to travel to Cyrodiil not so long ago?"

"My parents had just been killed. I was scared and alone," my eyes narrowed. "You know how much has happened since then."

"And to my knowledge," he continued, headless of my words, "there are Elder Scrolls in the Imperial City," he met my eye, and I caught a hint of pleading there. "This is not an order, Lady Dragonborn. The Emperor believes in you and the unfaltering loyalty you have shown to his Empire. This is a request from one who admires your forbearance to do what is right for your people."

I should have felt comforted, but my heart galloped with a panic I feared to grasp understanding of. My eyes turned to the letter between us; what must have been the terms he wished to negotiate.

"Meet with the Emperor. I'm sure he will give you the Elder Scroll you seek," the General continued, his voice suffused with logic and reason, "and protect what remains of your family. You might command the armies of a united Tamriel from the safety of Cyrodiil to fight this dragon battle for you, instead of risking your life against an immortal being you shouldn't have to fight on your own."

Command the armies?!

"But I'm not alone," I insisted swiftly, the words leaving my lips in a whine. My mouth snapped closed and my cheeks flared.

The General closed his eyes and seemed to take a moment to compose himself.

I had to calm down too; I was making a fool of myself. Everything the General said made sense. There were Elder Scrolls in Cyrodiil. I could see my grandparents – and continue my research, without the constant threat of being found by Stormcloaks who would drag me before Ulfric, or dragons under Alduin's thrall attacking me.

Perhaps I could ask for more than an Elder Scroll and the protection of my sister. I could ask for Hadvar's contract to be paid out, and bring him and his family to Cyrodiil, where they would all be safe and taken care of.

Something deep and certain tightened around my heart the moment I thought of Hadvar's future, but refused to explain its presence. Why was I suddenly so afraid?

Perhaps you are letting Dante's past effect your judgement. The Emperor just wants to talk to you.

And then take you to Cyrodiil.

Was I allowed to say no? Would that make me a traitor to the Empire? As the Emperor's representative, the General could simply arrest me if I refused a direct summons, but Tullius had made it clear this wasn't an order.

"Have you made a decision?" he murmured, quiet and cold.

The choice was an illusion, wasn't it? If I refused to meet with him I was putting what was left of my family's reputation – possibly their lives – in jeopardy.

I reached forward, took the letter, and tucked it into a pocket in the folds of my cloak.

"I would be honoured to meet with the Emperor in Solitude," words emerged, strange and flat and foreign to my heart. "I will tell him all I have explained to you, and the rest that I have not. He will understand why I must remain in Skyrim and see that my Dragonborn duties are completed. For the good of the Empire," I added hastily.

The General considered and gave a short nod. "I am certain you are right," he conceded.

I glanced down; I didn't doubt he was telling me what he thought I needed to hear.

"I will leave you to read the letter in the privacy of your tent. Can you be ready to depart by dawn?" he queried steadily. "A detail will escort you to Solitude directly."

The teapot shifted; I checked the General, wondering what he wasn't telling me. He was helping himself to another cup.

"I supposed so," I admitted. "But I-" I faltered.

The General met my eye, mid-pour.

"What about – my friends?" I asked quietly. "I promised to wait for them here."

The General shuffled. "They can follow you," he told me in a gruff voice. "It is best we don't keep the Emperor waiting."

"And Hadvar?" I couldn't help but ask. "Might he come with me?"

Tullius made a hmph sound. "Reidarsson is the most reliable man I have in this war," he declared. "I can't afford to lose him, not when we're on the brink of resolving this conflict."

"I know, but..." I searched, blinking furiously as the cold stung my eyes. My reasons for wanting him were purely selfish; I wanted him safe, and I wasn't going to get a chance to say goodbye. My heart clenched with regrets.

A silence settled between us. While not exactly comfortable, it felt as though our discourse was drawing to a close. I filled the space with another sip, and promised that I would find Hadvar after I had explained to the Emperor why I couldn't go to Cyrodiil. "What happens now, General?" I replaced the cup on the table; my tea was cold. "When might I see him again?" I added quietly.

Tullius hesitated, some dissatisfaction tugging at his brow. "When Winterhold is ours, we will mount an attack on the Palace of the Kings. Bring an end to this war. Once Skyrim's territories are secured and Stormcloak is dead, contracted soldiers of Reidarsson's rank will be offered a desk job, or a retirement package."

"You make war sound so civilised and simple," I posed quietly.

"It should be simple," the General hmphed again. "And it will be, unless this Alduin decides to interfere."

"That is why I must remain," I told him, glancing up swiftly. "I must be allowed to deal with Alduin."

This time I caught his incredulity. "Let me refresh your cup," he grumbled.

Before he finished pouring, a scout arrived with news from Winterhold and the General bade them talk, sparing me a flicker of a glance as he did.

The message was simple; the Imperials had taken the College of Winterhold with the support of the student body – and the Stormcloaks had launched a counter-attack on the Legion soldiers in the town.

"Is everyone at the College okay?" I rushed – it must have been Onmund and his friends who had helped. Lydia must have found them.

"Uhh..." the messenger gawped, flickering an uncertain glance the General's way.

"Understood," Tullius barked, rising to his feet and indicating the encampment. "Rouse the troops. We need everyone in Winderhold for the final push."

"Aye General," the scout raced off.

Tullius turned on me, his eyes sharp and focused. "I can't leave you here alone," he cursed.

"You're not leaving me anywhere," I stood to meet him in a huff. "I'm coming to Winterhold-"

"That won't be possible," he continued sternly, motioning for me to follow. "I'll spare an officer to take you to Dawnstar until this is over. Legate Tituleius will ensure no harm comes to you, and I'll send the detail to take you from there."

I frowned but walked with him none the less. "General, I remind you of my contribution in the battle for Whiterun, which you yourself-"

"I don't have time to argue with you, Lady Dragonborn," his voice was stern. "The Emperor will have my head if I take you into battle. Consider this a request from your ally."

As Tullius marched on and I hurried to keep up with him, the encampment grew busier and the air grew stuffy, humming with activity. Soldiers, roused by frequent hurried calls, emerged from their tents prepared for a fight; swords and shields and axes slung, quivers full of arrows over shoulders and helmets strapped on.

My head spun as men and woman darted around us shouting orders to one another; the subtle fingers of fresh fear closed around my throat.

Auxiliary Averrus was suddenly standing before us. "General, if I might-"

"Ah, Averrus, good," the General drew to a halt, motioning toward me. "Take Lady Dragonborn to Legate Tituleius in Dawnstar."

My heart sank. Why couldn't we have run into anyone else?

"Sir-?" the young soldier blinked.

"You are to remain by her side until you are relieved of duty by the escort taking her to Solitude."

"Aye, sir," Averrus' saluted obediently, then extended a hand to me. "We leave at once, ma'am."

I flashed the General a stern look. "Didn't you say you'd need everybody for this battle?"

The General returned the look, but addressed the officer before me. "You will defend the Dragonborn with your life."

"Of course, sir."

"This is unnecessary," I hissed.

Tullius gave me an unimpressed sideways glance. "Humour me."

Before I replied, he turned and left. Tullius went one way with a hoard of soldiers on his tail, and Averrus bade I follow him in another.

He seemed as rigid and haughty as he had been earlier.

Anger flashed through me and I cast the soldier an annoyed glance. "I need to collect my things," I announced.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible ma'am," Averrus predictably uttered. "The General's orders-"

"The General told you to protect me," I cut him off and made for Hadvar's tent. "I am not going anywhere without my effects."

Of course he followed, but to his credit, he kept his mouth shut.

I collected Dante's books and my lute, then crawled out again, striding for Lydia's tent without sparing a glance for the frowning soldier dogging my every move.

Perhaps it was vindictive, but I made him wait outside while I took my time to pack.

I shoved Dante's books into the bottom and piled in my clothing, dressing in my armour for the first time since I had journeyed to Winterhold with Lydia. It felt strange but good to wear it again, and my anger quelled as I threw my cloak back over my shoulders and smoothed out the thick fabric.

My hand brushed against the letter sealed by the Imperial Dragon, and I stilled; my mind blanked. In the commotion, I had forgotten about it.

I withdrew the letter and stared, sliding a thumbnail under the red seal to break it. My heart climbed into my throat.

Dear Miss Passero, it began in a curling, confident hand.

I write to you from my uncle's ship as we set sail from the port in Anvil to meet with you.

Uncle? The Emperor had no uncle.

Confused, I scanned the bottom of the letter for its signature:

Lord Alexis Vici.

My confusion deepened. Alexis Vici was Vittoria Vici's brother, and as the Emperor had no children, he was next in line for the Ruby Throne. I knew little else of him, only that he was younger than his sister, placing him in his 20's, and that he resided in the White-Gold Tower.

That explained the uncle part, for the ship belonged to the Emperor, but why would he be writing to me?

I made myself go back to the start and read hurriedly.

Your deeds as Dragonborn precede you and it is with gratitude and respect that I humbly approach you as a suit for your hand in marriage.

What.

It is my uncle and my belief that a union with your most noble family will secure a lasting peace across Tamriel for generations to come.

This wasn't real.

You have won Skyrim's heart through your indefatigable compassion, which is a feat unto itself in times of peace; near impossible during war, when fears and tempers run high and loyalties are questioned. Yet you have achieved the impossible with the radiant grace and courage of Saint Alessia before you. As Empress by my side, you would guide Tamriel into a golden age of peace and prosperity.

As a sign of my good will toward your family, the Emperor is willing to grant clemency and a future to your sister provided she willingly come to Cyrodiil and live the remainder of her life here. She will earn a place in my court, and be offered an auspicious union with my cousin Lord Medoria, currently fifth in line for the throne.

A splash of water landed on the note, startling me out of my stunned daze.

I was crying. When had I started crying?

I had to stop reading. Lowering the letter to my lap, I closed my eyes and took a breath; attempted to compose myself. He was being polite. Alexis was asking, not demanding. They didn't know about Hadvar – didn't know I was already spoken for.

They know, an unhelpful voice whispered through my mind like a ghost. If you decline, you will be perceived a risk to the stability of the Empire.

I covered my mouth with my hand; I was going to be sick. The Emperor wanted me to meet with them to negotiate the terms of a union with Alexis Vici, future Emperor of Tamriel. They wanted to merge the two possible lines of succession to remove any future threat; both my sister and I united with members of the Mede family. It made sense; while I might not step forward with a claim on the Ruby Throne, one of my descendants might, and if they were Dragonborn, they would probably win the support of the Elder Council.

As with the summons to meet the Emporor – and his heir! – was the choice offered in Alexis' letter not also an illusion?

The awkward conversation with the General knit together; the hard, watchful glances and grimmer-than-usual countenance and silence when I had begged him to stop talking of going to Cyrodiil. He knew who I was, what they were asking of me and why. Knew what choices I would have to make; knew who it would hurt if I accepted, or cost if I declined. It had not been his place to enlighten me, only to deliver the offer and ensure I be brought to the audience.

He had said I would be in command of the legions. When he said it, I had briefly wondered if the Emperor was going to encourage me to join the army; assign me an honorary rank for my services to the northern provinces. But of course he wasn't; the Empire did not offer roles to those who were not qualified to fulfil them. I needed no special training to marry someone, and it would put me in command of the armies – as the future Empress of Tamriel.

In my mind, Hadvar's beautiful, stormy-grey eyes found mine, his voice soft and pleading:

"You could marry a Jarl – or an Emperor. Are you sure you should be coming to Riften with me?"

He had asked it without knowing anything of my ancestry. I shook my head to will the pain away, but my heart clenched with sadness. Even a loveless political marriage required acts of intimacy to secure the line of succession.

The prospect was unthinkable. I was already engaged; whatever the cost and consequences, I was not going to give up Hadvar for anybody.

"Lady Dragonborn?" Averrus called uncertainly from outside of the tent.

For all my bravado, I clenched my eyes closed and willed my hands to stop shaking. "A minute more," I murmured. I doubted I would be able to stand without falling.

Perhaps he hadn't heard me; Averrus called again and I cursed in despair. I considered making him wait longer, but I was packed and had nothing to keep me in the tent but my thoughts and the rest of the damned letter from Alexis Vici, and both were terrifying company. I considered taking an arrow head and tearing a hole in the back of the tent, and running from the corner the Empire was backing me into. All the other soldiers had gone; I could Fus Averrus and run, and disappear.

Calm down. Yes, I needed to calm down.

"I'm ready," I lied.

Attempting to swallow my discomfort, I exited the tent. I would meet with the Emperor and his nephew, and listen to their proposal. I would remind them I was already engaged – surely, if every other scrap of information about my life had surfaced, this had as well! I would express humble honour at being considered, but explain I had already pledged my life to another and would honour my promises to him.

I would find a graceful way out of this.

"This way, ma'am," Averrus said.

"How far is Dawnstar?" I murmured idly as I placed a hand on his awaiting elbow.

"Three hours and sixteen minutes, provided the pace is maintained," the soldier replied.

I nodded, and he took it as a sign to proceed.

He was predictably silent during our midnight descent to Dawnstar. The moons cast sharp, dual shadows and gave the plains the look of a paper cut-out; the dusting of freshest snow glittered and every hard-edged purpled shadow was lined by a sliver of rich turquoise.

It was difficult to appreciate the view with my mind creating tumultuous disaster after disaster. While we walked, the cool air fanned the flames of fear buffeting against my calm, and I tried again and again to set my course. The Emperor might have plans for me – an agenda even – but he was not unreasonable. I would not walk into this audience wailing and fearful and put everything at risk.

And I would not have to face him alone. My friends would be told where I was – Lydia and Farkas would come to support me.

And Hadvar?

I swallowed my longing to run to him and stared at the snow. I had promised to wait for him at the camp. We hadn't even said good bye. When was I going to see him again? The General might not have liked what the Emperor was asking of me – but might he work with his Emperor to keep Hadvar occupied, and far from me?

Could I go to Hadvar after I had refused Alexis' offer? Would there be an after? My entire course had been thrown off by this request, and I had neither the heart nor the time for any of this. I was supposed to be finding an Elder Scroll and bringing an end to the threat posed by Alduin!

Who had betrayed our identity to the Emperor? Was it the Thalmor – or Delphine somehow – or Stormcloak himself, in another sly bid to control my family and hurt me?

Who else had known about us, and what did they have to gain by removing me from Skyrim?

We crested a final rise on the straight Imperial-built road, and Dawnstar choked the coastline beneath us in the distance. The smell reached me first; a salty sea, thick with high trails of hearthsmoke and low lines of fog.

It was a bleak, sprawling place pressed against and spilling over a dark, rambling shore. Tiny dots of light and grim stretches of shadow danced in the distance. Coloured lanterns marked the ships set to sail and those moored for longer, and a quarry to the west glowed with activity. The town itself was dark with only the rooftops lined by the light of the moons; it was still early morning and the sun would not peek over the horizon for hours yet. Everybody in town was abed.

Averrus made for the Jarl's longhouse and I told myself I was not being imprisoned.

She will never know me; never be associated with this curse that robs me of all I love.

Dante's writings floated through me, and I told myself I was panicking only because of the forlorn young man's words. His name had trapped him in a life of lonely solitude and he hadn't known why – I would not let our connection do the same to me.

Legate Tituleius swiftly set some of the servants to arrange my rooms when we turned up on the doorstep of the White Hall. For a few awkward minutes I idled out of the cold in his office, talking of vague nothings and asking polite, pointless questions. He was clearly uncomfortable making conversation with me, and the moment the servants announced the room was ready, Averrus and I left him to his business, to the palpable relief of everybody.

We were shown to a room on the upper levels, and I told Averrus to wait in the hall.

I could not lock it, for bath water, food and clothing were apparently on their way, but I let out a sigh of relief when I closed the door on the stuffy, smug young man.

Finally alone, I sagged onto the bed. I wanted to bury my face in the pillow and either scream or cry, but managed to hold back. Instead, I looked to the window. It was closed and the recently-lit fireplace on the far side of the room was already steaming the inside of the glass as the heat brushed the frosty panels, obscuring my view of what remained of the night and its flickering aurorae.

Hadvar, Lydia and Farkas were in Winterhold, fighting for their lives at this very moment. I should have been with them, not sitting on a warm bed angsting over a letter.

Mastery of a few dragon shouts does not make you a soldier, I told myself. You would only get in the way, put them in greater danger, as they strived to protect you.

With a curse, I lowered my eyes and stared at the plush, grey-blue rug positioned under the bed. Angled coils had been woven into it, presumably in sympathy to the Hold's signature crest. Beneath its neat, silvery fringe, the flagstones formed an artfully cracked, faceted surface.

They will fight better knowing you are far from the battle.

It was infuriating, but there really was nothing for me to do but wait for my escort to arrive and deliver me to this audience with the Emperor and his nephew, that, despite my assurances, I feared might separate Hadvar and I regardless of what I told them.

–

An hour after dawn, I caught the low, gruff tones of Farkas' voice talking to Averrus outside of the room.

I hastened to the door and flung it open. "Where's Hadvar?"

Farkas threw me a frowning look as he stepped inside. "Hello to you too, sister."

"Sorry," I turned. "Please, come in. Lock the door after you," I paced with the intention of moving to the table by the window so we could sit and talk. Lord Vici's letter was still clenched in my grip, and I had read the rest when exhaustion hadn't been kind enough to claim me.

As polite and proper as the letter was, Alexis wrote as though my acceptance of his offer was a moot point, and the presumption did little to settle my nerves. He promised the space and resources to complete my duties to Skyrim as Dragonborn and assured my safety, for I would be able to delegate much of it to others. He suggested I might like to complete my musical studies or undertake new scholarly pursuits under the guidance of the White-Gold Tower archivists and musicians.

He offered so much, too much, and all I had to give him in return was...

Everything.

I made it about three steps and spun around to face my shield-brother. "Is it over?" I swallowed, hands clasped in front of me, desperate to talk and think about anything but Alexis Vici. "Winterhold?" I bumbled.

"We won," he threw me a crooked smile. "General's sorting out the Jarl situation now."

"Good," I sighed. "And Hadvar?"

"He's fine," Farkas tilted his head uncertainly. "Don't you want to know what happened with Onmund?"

My eyes widened. Oh Gods, what happened?

Farkas seemed too amused for the news to be bad. "The General...kinda already knew who he was."

"Oh no," I muffled. Why was Farkas smiling? "Did they arrest him?"

"Stop your worrying," Farkas was in front of me, clasping my shoulder. Another crooked grin surfaced. "He's fine. Tullius is trying to convince him to become Jarl of the Hold."

The breath I'd been containing shuddered out as an incredulous, tearless sob. "What?"

"Yeah," Farkas patted once, then released me and made for the table where the servants had laid out a platter of breakfast foods and a tray of tea things. "Seems he knows about what Stormcloak did to him and Giselle."

I watched him pick up a piece of toast and sniff it as the information registered in my brain between everything else that had rocked my world in the past few hours.

Somebody had gone to the Empire with our family's secrets for Tullius to know of this as well. It had to be Delphine, but – what did she have to gain by exposing us?

The edge of the bed was closer than any of the chairs; I lowered myself and stared at the embroidered scrollwork decorating the coverlet under my hand. "Okay," taking a deep, calming breath, I closed my eyes and honed in on what Farkas had said. "For Stormcloak's son to publicly align with the Empire...it will...stabilise Winterhold and make Stormcloak's soldiers question their loyalties," I reasoned with a shudder.

"And it'll make Stormcloak really mad," Farkas supplied through a loud mouthful of toast.

It would. And if he was angry, he would make mistakes, and the Empire really would be closer to bringing an end to this war.

"Did Onmund agree to be Jarl?" I glanced up, disconnected from myself.

Farkas was now helping himself to a tankard of tea, and shrugged. "Dunno. Left before they figured that part out. He's pretty scared, though he's good at hiding it. Refuses to let Mersten be taken with the rest of the POW's," his tilted his head with a tick to the corner of his eye, like he was trying to figure them out. "If the Empire can win her heart, they'll win him. She's like a sister to him."

Hearing she had survived was a small victory. "Perhaps the General will let her be Onmund's steward," I suggested quietly.

"Yeah, it might come to that."

"But..." I frowned. "If the General is busy in this meeting, how did you know where to find me?" I asked, eyes suddenly brimming with despair. "How did you know I needed you?"

"Well," Farkas scrubbed at the back of his neck and winced. "That was Lydia's doing. As soon as she saw Tullius, she asked me to come find you."

"Lydia," I hushed in relief, blinking as tears leaked down my cheeks. "Where is she? Is she coming too? Did she speak with the General or just-"

"Celeste," Farkas cut me off quietly, voice closer than before.

He so infrequently used my name that I startled. I met the concern in his open, kindly depths and felt my bottom lip tremble.

He was standing before me. "What's going on?" he urged, eyes flickering to the letter I was twisting in my hands. "What you got there? Is it from Vilkas – did he find her?"

I shook my head. I had to tell him.

I couldn't tell him.

With trembling hands, I passed him the letter. "Please. Read it."

"Okay," he frowned at the slip of paper, so small and insubstantial in his large hand that it seemed ridiculous it might contain anything of consequence.

I couldn't watch him and stood, striding to stare out the window. The street was busy for the early hour with miners and sailors and townsfolk clogging the gritty street below the White Hall. Each was followed by brief, tiny clouds of white as they breathed, obscuring faces and making the scene unreal. Not for the first time, I wondered if I had fallen into some bizarre dream.

I pinched my arm, just in case, and flinched.

"Just say no," Farkas rumbled; the bed squeaked as he rose.

I held my arms; if only it was that simple. I counted his footfalls as he approached, and watched as my breath fogged the glass.

Farkas came to a halt beside me, letter in hand. "They're asking, not telling," he tried gently. "Can't blame a man for trying – you are pretty great."

I wanted to thump him for being so flippant, but kept my arms resolutely crossed and flicked a glare the letter's way. "And what is the price for just saying no to both the Emperor and future Emperor of Tamriel?" I asked stiffly.

In the corner of my eye, Farkas cracked a half-smile. "Let 'em down politely. You're good at polite."

With a huff I turned back to the window; deep indignation started to bubble.

"They're not going to punish you for saying no," Farkas assured.

"No," I turned to him finally, eyes flashing with restrained fury. "I'm sure they wouldn't consider a couple of Septim girls running around unchecked a threat to their reign at all."

"Huh?" Farkas frowned, lifting the letter again with a twist to his wrist. "Where's it say that?"

At once I felt wretched for yelling at him, even if he had let it roll off his back. Gripping my arms, I closed my eyes and tried to centre my focus. "The General implied that they know, and Alexis talks of Saint Alessia in a way that...they know, Farkas. Someone told them. That is why this request has come at all."

"So being the Dragonborn means nothing to them?" Farkas sounded unsure.

I grit my teeth. "I'm Dragonborn only because I'm a Septim," I bit out. "They don't want me, they want to rule out the competition and secure their reign by bloodright. They'd be the heroes of Tamriel for bringing a Septim back to the White-Gold Tower."

Farkas stayed silent, and I opened my eyes to check his expression.

He was staring at the letter, eyes scanning. "I dunno, hey," he sounded uncertain. "It sounds like they're on your side. They might be a bit put out if you say no, but they're not Stormcloak. They're not going to blackmail you."

"Then why offer to protect Giselle?" I asked hopelessly. "She will be left to be hunted by the Thalmor unless I accept!"

"What?" Farkas lowered the letter, eyes meeting mine. "They didn't say that. Why're you worried about her? Let her sort her life out."

"That's not fair," I pointed my finger at him, the anger now at boiling point. "She made some very questionable choices but you know what she was faced with. For years I could have done something and I didn't even try to understand what was happening to her!"

Farkas grimaced. "She could have asked for help – don't blame yourself for-"

"I should have known!" I insisted, cutting him off. "I should have asked – I should have cared enough to ask!"

"So what, this is your punishment?" he shot, eyes narrowing. "You're just going to do what she did without a fight?"

"What?" my exasperation peaked.

"Agree to be with someone you don't love to save someone else?"

The realisation hit like a physical blow. I faltered, reaching for the window frame to steady myself.

"This is different," I hissed.

But it wasn't. Not really. Farkas was right. Giselle had walked even this path before me.

A fierce yearning to see her flooded me – I wanted to ask my sister how she had done it – how she had bared Ulfric when her heart was with Onmund. I wanted to hold her and shield her and apologise for my stubbornness, my apathy, my anger. I was not responsible for her choices, but I was for my reaction to the change in her. I should have known something was wrong, but instead I took it personally, and withdrew.

"And – what about Hadvar?" Farkas asked quietly, sighing as he turned and leaned against the wall beside me. "The Celeste I know wouldn't do that to him, for anyone's sake."

"I'm not doing this," I assured him with a sideways glance. "I'm just – worried."

"There's a surprise," Farkas chuckled, shaking his head as he pushed off the wall and wandered into the room.

"But I am," I remained by the window, consolidating my fears. "If the Emperor believes we are a threat-"

"Then he's an idiot," Farkas laughed. "You're the least-threatening person I know."

I glared at the window and tried again. "If the Emperor believes we are a threat to the reign of the Medes, he will...find some way to remove the threat."

"Just tell him you promise not to become Empress some day," Farkas sounded amused.

"Yes but – he'll be thinking of the future," I turned to see him warming his hands in front of the fire. "What if – what if my grandchildren, or my great-great-grandchildren, or Giselle's great-great-grandchildren want it and raise an army to take the Ruby throne?" I implored.

Farkas shrugged. "You're not responsible for that future, you know," he turned back to me and dusted his empty hands off. "You're only responsible for what you do now."

I eyed him in incredulity. "Where's the letter?"

Farkas half-grinned. "What letter?"

I gaped.

"C'mon," Farkas returned to the window, motioning for me to go to him. "It was making you miserable. The note had to go."

"You burnt it," I confirmed, managing a half-step toward him.

"Yeap," he grinned proudly, closing the rest of the space to envelope me in his arms. "You're not going to be carted off to Cyrodiil like some prize breeding cow."

"I – I know I'm not," I spoke softly and unwittingly shuddered.

"Hey," he soothed in his gruff manner, squeezing me closer. "Just – tell him you're in love with someone else."

I huffed into his chestplate and let myself sink into his bulk. "Aristocrats aren't concerned by love."

"Fine," Farkas drawled. "If blood is all they care about, tell 'em you and Hadvar have been at it like rabbits for the past year. Tell him you think you're pregnant."

"Farkas!" I gasped, pushing against his armour to gape at him, cheeks flaring. "I can't tell him that."

"Why not?" he grinned down at me. "Way you and Hadvar are, you will be soon. Might make this Alexis guy change his mind," he arched an eyebrow, eyes teasing. "Aren't all those fluffed-up nobles obsessed with the virtue of their wives?"

"I'm not going to dignify that with a response."

He chuckled, all warmth. "That usually means yes."

"You are such a brat," I retreated to the breakfast table, sitting with my back resolutely to him. "And we're nothing like rabbits," I grumbled.

"You've given it a pretty good shot," Farkas slid into the chair beside me and started piling food onto a plate. "You know tents aren't soundproof, right?"

I buried my face in my hands and bit back a laugh. Not to his superior senses, they weren't. "By the Gods, Farkas."

"Here," he chuckled again.

A sliding sound encouraged me to lower my hands, and I frowned down at a plate of food before me; poached eggs and tomatoes and sausages and little bowl of spiced apples with a large dollop of cream in the centre. I glanced to Farkas; I'd thought he'd been getting his own breakfast ready.

"What?" he asked, another plate before him. He was loading it with enough enough sausages to make an entire pig. "You'll feel better once you eat. I always do."

Tears gathered in my eyes and I couldn't hold back my laughter any more – if not from his steadfast good humour, then at the incredulity of this entire situation. I shook my head in wonder. "How did you get so smart, Farkas?"

"Hey," Farkas shot at once, pointing his fork at me. "I'm not sitting here making fun of you."

"Oh stop," I insisted, leaning sideways to hug him. "You're one of the smartest, strongest, kindest men I know. And – you're who I needed to talk me down from the panic I'd worked myself into. Again," I squeezed him with a teary laugh. "Thank you."

Farkas' cheeks pinked, his expression adorably confused. "Well," he mumbled, spearing a sausage with his fork. "You do the same all the time for me," he inspected the sausage with a frown. "So. You're welcome."

I smiled through lingering tears of relief, and decided I could eat.

And when Tullius' promised escort arrived? I would go to Solitude. I would meet with the Emperor and Alexis Vici and politely explain that nothing and nobody could make me leave the people I loved. And I would accept wherever that choice led me.

---

A/n: thanks to everyone who has left their kindness and encouragement, it means so much. I'm really starting to enjoy writing this again, and it's hard to have to stop plotting to do work (such is life). Big, pivotal chapter coming soon, can't wait to keep writing it...!