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.

66. Safe

Chapter 66: Safe

"A Legate?" the courier frowned.

"Yes," the coins were poised in my palm. "Is that a problem?"

He lifted his eyebrows swiftly, peering at the third envelope I'd offered. "Reidarsson," he murmured. "It might take a while to find him, and that's if he's with a troop, and the troop wants to be found. Hope your news isn't urgent."

I masked my wince and lowered my coins. "It's very urgent. How else might I get word to him?"

"You'd best use an Imperial scout for anything urgent," the courier returned the third letter. He seemed apologetic. "I'll have the other two in Solitude by day's end."

"Okay," blinking at Hadvar's letter, willing myself not to cry, I handed the courier the agreed upon amount. "Please, hurry."

The man shirked the coins in his palm with a brief, metallic chink, then closed his hand and smiled. "I'll have these two delivered to the Palace by three o'clock, ma'am. Should I wait for a response?"

"That won't be necessary. Thank you."

The courier nodded briefly and departed at a jog.

And I glanced down, to the letter that would let Hadvar know Farkas, Vilkas and I were safe in Whiterun, not kidnapped by the group that had orchestrated the Emperor's assassination.

Hadvar had always been reluctant for me to send him mail via Castle Dour, and I understood why; it would need to pass through several hands before it reached him, and our letters had a habit of disappearing in transit.

I hadn't thought about using an Imperial scout, but that notion brought with it another complication.

With a mighty sigh, I made my way to Dragonsreach.

—

"A messenger?" Legate Cipius frowned, both dubious and confused.

"Yes," I confirmed, stoic. "This letter must reach Legate Reidarrson as soon as possible."

Cipius' eyes darkened. "Urgent business regarding the war should be related to me, Lady Dragonborn."

"This is personal," I lowered the letter.

"Then I suggest you hire a courier, ma'am," he dismissed, turning back to his table-sized map.

"The courier told me to use a scout," I returned.

Cipius grunted in disbelief. "Sorry ma'am, I can't authorise the use of Imperial resources to send your fiancee a love letter."

"It's not a-!" I burst, cutting myself off.

He wasn't even looking at me any more.

I stared at his pointedly dismissive expression, wondering when and why the man had grown so resentful of me, as he'd been amicable enough during the Battle for Whiterun.

Though perhaps it was I who resented him, for Hadvar was supposed to take his place after Whiterun had been won. That he hadn't was not Legate Cipius' fault. Perhaps my regrets had created animosity between us.

Or perhaps Irileth had been in his ear; Gods knew that woman still only barely tolerated me.

"Don't worry about it," I turned to leave, unaffected to him while my insides raged.

A bored, knowing, 'Mm-hmm,' sounded from the table.

I'd find some other way. If the courier couldn't help me and the Legate wouldn't, I…

I groaned. I could reach Hadvar through Farkas or Vilkas.

I was loathed to ask my shield-brothers to play messenger again.

Brimming with frustration, I stormed down from the war room. I heard Farengar call to me from his alcove, but I was too angry to reply. The Jarl was the only person whose call would have stopped me, but he wasn't in the hall; I doubted he'd risen from his bed yet.

Giselle and Etienne had departed about an hour before the sun rose, as once Vilkas returned with the horses, we had woken, and they had seen no reason to remain. My sister assured me they would wait in Ivarstead maintaining their guise for as long as it took us to follow, and when I confirmed the plan with Etienne, the man waved my concerns away.

"I owe Selly my life," he said. "She says we stay in Ivarstead pretending to be tough, pretty Nords who don't speak a whole lot, that's what we'll be. The Thalmor want me too, you know."

His loyalty to her was a comfort; at least somebody in Skyrim had her back.

Vilkas, Farkas and I had entered Whiterun before dawn, and after a happy reunion with a sleepy Sigrid and over-excited Dorthe and Lucia, I had written from my bedroom in Breezehome, pleased that all the wheels would be set in motion before first true light.

It was still early, but the delay in sending Hadvar's letter ate at me.

I descended and turned toward Jorrvaskr, tugging my coat collar around my neck; the air in the shadows was biting, somehow colder for the impending light.

The sun rest on the horizon, hanging below thick snow cloud, and naught but towering Dragonsreach was touched by the bright morning rays, making the structure glow like a beacon. In contrast, the Gildergreen was shrouded in pale hues, hazy from the mists collected at its base.

I checked the training yard then mead hall - both were empty - before I stomped down to Farkas' room. After a brief hesitation to collect myself, I rapped my knuckles against the wood.

"Yeah?" he croaked as he opened the door and propped against the arch.

I gave him a small, rueful smile. "Nobody will take my letter to Hadvar."

He nodded, rubbing a hand over his face; he seemed tired. "Want me to take it to him?"

There was no frustration in his tone, but I flushed nonetheless. "I mean - no - I don't want you to go anywhere, and the Penitus Oculatus will still want to speak with you, regardless of what the Blades' did -"

"Celeste, slow down -"

"- but the courier said he'd be lucky to find him if he takes it, and Legate Cipius hates me for some reason so he refuses to send a scout, and everything we send to each other by regular post gets mysteriously lost, and I just-" I made a noise of frustration. "How am I supposed to let him know I'm okay?" I implored.

"It's okay, I'll do it," Farkas chuckled, opening the door wider.

"But - we just got back - and we have plans-"

"Nah," Farkas waved a dismissive hand. "I don't like High Hrothgar, remember?"

Closing my eyes with relief, I nodded. "I remember. You really don't mind?" I whispered.

I heard him shift, and when I opened my eyes he was next to me, looping an arm around my shoulders.

"Why would I mind?" he drew me into his room, closing the door.

"Thank you," I exhaled. "I owe you."

"Nah, you owe me nothing. I like working with Hadvar."

We reached his bar, and he grabbed a couple of meads with his free hand.

"You can stop worrying now," he poked a bottle toward me. "I said I'd do it."

I shook my head at the mead, my brows crossed. "Surely I have license to worry about this!"

"We've been travelling for two days," he put away one bottle then opened the other, flicking the cap off against a small metal angle secured to the edge of the bar. "Word gets around, 'specially news about you."

"Really?"

"Yes. And, even if he doesn't already know you're okay, Hadvar's too smart to do anything stupid."

With a flush, I held the letter out. "I still…don't want him to worry."

Farkas accepted the envelope. "Pretty sure he'll always worry about you," he took a swig of mead.

"I know the feeling," I murmured. "And I can't help it," I glanced up, wary. "Does this feeling ever ease?"

"You're asking the wrong brother," Farkas motioned toward the door with his mead hand. "I'm not the one pining."

"He's pining? I never…but he's so…"

"He's good at hiding it," Farkas smirked.

"Don't tease him," I pleaded.

"Haven't said a thing," Farkas held up both hands in surrender. "He can't help how he feels. Mostly."

"Exactly," I chewed my lip. "So don't tease him."

"Can't anyway," Farkas pushed off the bar, grinning. "Won't be here. Harbinger's put me on a mission," he waved the letter.

"I'm not your Harbinger," I breathed a laugh, incredulous, and the relief flowed through me. Farkas would get the job done faster than any other.

"Kodlak said you're Harbinger, and besides," he clomped across the room and hauled a bundle of Legion armour down from the top of a shelf. "It always makes you laugh, when we say it. It makes your heart smell all...nice, I guess."

I watched him unbind it in silence, mind wondering over the nuance to Kodlak's reasons for making me his successor. Had he known of the camaraderie, the laughter appointing me Harbinger would bring to our dear brothers?

Farkas spoke again after a beat.

"Time I got back to the army anyway. Better than idling at the Throat of the World. We were doing good work, to bring an end to the war. I'll look after Hadvar - and you'll look after Vilkas, and Lydia when she gets back," he extracted the Legion cuirass, tilted his head at it, then threw it to his bed to shirk out of the tunic he'd been resting in. "It's what we do, right? Look after each other."

I turned to give him some privacy. A lump swelled in my throat at the reminder of Lydia, left behind in Solitude, and of Vilkas, imprisoned for weeks with the Blades, even if he'd never been in any real danger.

"I won't let anything happen to them," I promised. "I think - it might be best if I go to Ivarstead on my own," I added quietly.

My shield-brother scoffed; the shuffles and jangles of cloth and chainmail continued. "You know they won't go for that."

"Probably not," I acknowledged. "But - I don't need constant monitoring - and they need time to themselves, to recover, and - to take some time with each other. Don't you ever want to be an uncle?"

There was a bark of laughter. "Vilkas, a father," he muttered. "That'd be something. But you know him, he won't stay home while you roam the wilds," Farkas appeared in the corner of my sights, now dressed in his Legion armour. He returned to his unfinished mead on his bar. "I don't think Lydia will either."

"But Lydia hasn't seen her daughter in ages," I lowered my tone. "And Vilkas said it would be good to spend some time at home," I reminded him. "I think they need to stay. Just for a little while."

Farkas tossed me a half-shrug and downed the rest of his drink. "It's their choice. Just like going to the Legion is mine, so stop your worrying about us. Save it for your sister."

I winced, glancing away, uncertain of how much of our conversation he'd overheard the previous night.

He slung a shoulder bag onto the bar and stuffed a few items, including my letter, within. "You want me to tell him about Giselle and…everything?" he asked, quiet and gruff.

I hesitated. So, he'd heard all of it. "No. I mean," I considered the position that would put Farkas in. Some of it was only hers to tell, to those she wanted to know.

"Just say…I am safe, and I miss him, and I will tell him the rest the next time we meet," I shook my head with dissatisfaction. When would we be at liberty to have that conversation?

My letter only outlined the basics, in case it was read by anyone else; we had been taken by the Blades who were masquerading as the Thalmor through the use of alteration magic, and we escaped and returned to Whiterun, when the Blades abandoned their base of operations. I included nothing about the murder of Lord Vici and the Emperor, but I had written of it in my letter to Jarl Elisif, to pass to the Penitus Oculatus as she saw fit.

The purpose of my letter to Hadvar was simply to assure him I was okay. The rest would have to wait.

Farkas left his room and I drifted after him automatically. He crossed the hall to Vilkas' door and thumped on it a few times with a closed fist.

"Hey mopey, get up."

I thwapped Farkas' arm, widening my eyes at him.

Farkas grinned but we remained silent as dull shuffles came from within.

Vilkas opened his door. "What?" he deadpanned, glancing from Farkas, to me, and swiftly back to Farkas. "Why are you wearing that?"

"It's my fault," I said quickly, realising he had never seen his brother in Legion armour.

"It's not her fault," Farkas eyed his brother. "I'll see you 'round. You're on Celeste duty," he poked Vilkas in the chest.

"Duty?!" I spluttered.

"He's teasing you," Vilkas drawled, sounding tired, moving forward to place a hand on Farkas' shoulder. "Be safe, brother."

"Yeah, you too," Farkas stepped in to hug his twin. "But, watch her," he grumbled. "Don't want anyone getting crazy ideas about going to Ivarstead on their own again, or something."

Vilkas scoffed as one might at a ridiculous prospect; I narrowed my eyes at Farkas' back. Traitor.

Once Vilkas went back to his bed, I walked Farkas to the gates. We ignored the furtive glances sent the Companion's way as he strode through the marketplace in Imperial Legion armour. Whiterun had been defended and won by the Empire, but it was no secret some of its people lay divided in their allegiance. My mind journeyed to one of the first conversations I had with Kodlak, where he suggested I find something other than Legion armour to wear, lest it be the cause of animosity between some of my shield-siblings and I.

"You're sure you don't mind going back?" I asked again, the calculating glare of Fralia Grey-Mane fresh in my mind. Eorlund was loyal to the Companions, but I remembered Hadvar telling his aunt that Grey-Mane wouldn't smith for any but the Companions, in case his work was sold on to the Empire, and now one of the Inner Circle was openly working with the Imperial army.

"Stop it," Farkas grinned, turning to face me and placing a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I want to do this, okay?"

I stared at him, unable to couple a reply around the thickness to my throat, and leaned forward suddenly, holding him tight and closing my eyes. I was encircled by warm strength, and squeezed in return.

"I'm going to miss you, brother."

"Me too. But the war'll be over soon."

"I hope so."

—

I treasured the time in Whiterun with my friends and loved ones, but unease built within me as the days lengthened with no word from Solitude.

There was too much to do - I had to get to Ivarstead as soon as possible, then to High Hrothgar, and then back to Winterhold. Then I had to find an Elder Scroll, open the Time-wound, and either send Alduin forward in time again, or find a better way to return him to his purpose.

But for the moment - I couldn't leave Whiterun. I had to 'recover' from the Blades' kidnapping and remain in place, in case the Penitus Oculatus wanted to question me again, and while I would perhaps be excused if I returned to my Dragonborn duties, owing to the lives at risk if I didn't, the Emperor's murder was not a matter to be swept under the rug, particularly for me.

And I did not want to risk having the Penitus Oculatus follow me to High Hrothgar in pursuit of answers.

So I slept in Breezehome, in the bed prepared for Hadvar and I to one day share. Breakfast was taken with Sigrid, Lucia and Dorthe, until both girls departed for their educations and I departed for Jorrvaskr. The days were spent with Vilkas, training with him, keeping watch over him, assigning jobs, and my evenings were divided between singing in the mead hall using the practise lute I left with Lucia (for my proper lute was with Lydia), and attending Jarl Balgruuf's formal dinner events when summoned.

It was occupation without urgency, and the normality was simultaneously a relief, and a curse. I longed for and dreaded receiving news, for the longer I remained in Whiterun, the more difficult I knew it would be to leave - and if I didn't receive word? How long could I permit myself to stay?

The day to day business of the Companions occupied much of my time. The incidents were small in comparison to the war and Alduin problem, which loaned me some perspective, but the matters were nonetheless important to the residents of Jorrvaskr and Whiterun, so I endeavoured to keep my mind focussed on them, while I could be with them.

The most notable event was Eorlund and Vignar Grey-Mane fell out, the second day I was back. I hadn't seen the start of the matter, but it ended with the master blacksmith throwing Vignar out of his home. Vignar departed Whiterun in an epic meltdown of curses and threats. Whether related or not, that night, Eorlund and his daughter Olfina were present at the Jarl's table during dinner, positioned next to Olfrid, Idolaf and Jon Battle-Born. They were more than civil to one another.

It was no coincidence that the very next day, Idolaf and Jon approached Jorrvaskr, requesting to join the Companions, though the latter seemed as woebegone as ever. It was clear Olfrid had instructed them to join our ranks, perhaps as part of this newfound truce between the Battle-Born and Grey-Mane families.

Idolaf passed his initial assessment, albiet stiffly, for he had experience with both blade and bow from his time in the army, before he'd been injured and retired from his contract. He was assigned his trial with Aela that same morning. The pair left before Jon's assessment began, Idolaf a large, friendly shadow on Aela's heels.

Vilkas took Jon through his assessment. The boy was light on his feet, but naturally in want of training, openly admitting before their bout that he didn't know how to hold a sword. Vilkas was patient with the young man, strict but fair, and once it was over, Vilkas assigned him to Eorlund, where he would remain and help out until he was told there was another job.

Jon left for the Skyforge without a word.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" I sent Vilkas a wry look as he took his seat, next to me. I was uncertain about putting him close to Eorlund Grey-Mane so soon. "He needs arms training. Why don't you show him the first sword forms, then he can practise them with Erik?"

"It won't work," Vilkas took a slug of water, then continued quietly with a thoughtful tilt. "He does not have the spirit of a warrior. Perhaps Eorlund might make a smith of him."

"I wasn't a warrior, when you met me," I smiled. "Your training changed that."

"I changed nothing," Vilkas chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "You knew nothing of steel, but you've always been a warrior at heart. Kodlak saw it, the moment he met you."

Our Harbinger's faith in me brought a familiar ache to my chest; his memory, bittersweet. I didn't want to talk about our past. "Jon told me, months ago, he wants to train as a Bard," I told my shield-brother quietly. "But his father won't let him apply to the College."

"Hmm," Vilkas drawled in an annoyingly knowing tone. "There's more than his father's wishes keeping that boy in Whiterun."

"What does that mean?"

"He's in love."

"Oh!" my eyes widened with interest. "Who is making him so miserable?"

Vilkas shrugged, dismissive. "It's not our business."

"You brought it up," I murmured. "Do you know who they are, or not?"

"No."

"Maybe it's someone stuck in Solitude at the Bard's college!"

Vilkas shot me a warning look. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything," he drawled.

"All right," I rolled my eyes. "I'll leave it," I promised. "I hope he finds some happiness with us."

Then Athis appeared, triumphant from his mission, and Vilkas and I returned to work. I paid him and marked his job complete, flipping through pages to locate him another as he regaled us with tales of his success.

I only half-listened, smiling and nodding where appropriate while my mind ticked over the quandary of Jon Battle-Born, and where he might fit into the Companions, if he truly wanted to stay. It was a fair idea to have Eorlund train him up, so we might have two able to work with Skyforge steel, but...

If he wished to be a Bard…

The thought entered my head and I couldn't help but smile, dipping toward the book to mask it.

"Stop scheming," Vilkas groaned as Athis departed for his bed.

"I'm going to borrow Jon this afternoon," I ignored his tone, meeting his gaze with a smile.

"You're not going to leave this alone, are you?" the Companion narrowed his eyes.

"Vilkas there is no harm in-!"

"Do you know how important it is to Whiterun that the Battle-Borns have joined the Companions?" he lectured. "As Thane and Harbinger you should-"

"I swear," I lifted my eyebrows and cut over his rant, "I will say nothing of what you told me in confidence. I mean to train him, if you will not."

Vilkas winced and rubbed at the side of his brow. "Celeste," he faltered. "If we send that boy out to fight, he might get killed."

"Not what I mean," my eyes shone with triumph. "I'm going to teach him how to play the lute."

Vilkas stared at me for a moment, then turned away with a chuckle. "Well played, sister."

And so my hiatus in Whiterun continued with the addition of teaching the second-youngest Battle-Born the fundamentals of music an hour before dinner each evening. Jon still largely spent his days at Eorlund's side, and seemed quietly baffled by our first lesson, but paid close attention and was not half bad at the lute already. Thoughts of being able to perform duets for the Companions soon entered my head, swimming hungrily like fish searching for crumbs on the surface, though I firmly told myself not to push him into something he didn't want to do.

Just because I missed performing with my peers didn't mean he had any interest in doing the same.

For now, I would be contented with being his teacher, and doing my small part to properly close the rift between the Battle-Born and Grey-Mane families.

—

Six days after I returned home, the door to Breezehome rattled, and the handle turned.

There was silence at the breakfast table, and I subtly shifted my butter knife into my grasp, ready to defend Sigrid and the girls.

"Hello!" Lydia stepped inside, clicking the door closed behind her. "Brr. It is icy out there this morning. But it's lovely and warm in here," she faced us with a bright smile.

Lucia burst into tears and I let out the breath I'd been holding, relaxing my grasp and leaning my forehead against the edge of the table.

It took a while to calm Lucia, and while the rest of us cleaned up breakfast, Lydia held her fiercely, promising they could spend the day together, and asking Dorthe if she could pop by the Temple of Kynareth to tell her instructors Lucia would not be in today.

"But you're going to leave again, and soon, I can feel it," Lucia sniffled, looking up to Lydia, her face clean but eyes puffy.

Lydia smiled sadly. "You wouldn't have Celeste out there on her own, would you?"

I opened my mouth to interject.

"No of course not, but-" Lucia's wide eyes flickered to me. "I don't want to be selfish, but I thought. Maybe. Because she's the Dragonborn…?"

"Lucia gets it," I chimed in pointedly as I scrubbed at a spot of egg on one of the plates. "The Dragonborn does not need babysitting. You should listen to her."

My heart hammered in anticipation of the discussion we would have to have about…everything, as soon as her daughter relinquished her.

"See?" Lucia faced Lydia again, hope in her eyes. "So you'll stay?"

My housecarl sighed and squeezed the girl closer, resting her cheek on the top of Lucia's head. "I'll stay, for as long as I'm able to. Certainly for now," a brightness entered her tone, masking deeper regret. "What do you want to do today?"

Lucia stared at Lydia's smiling face. "I…" the girl hazarded a tentative tilt of her own. "I don't know. What do you want to do?"

"You could go to the farms for me?" Sigrid returned to the kitchen, her arms bundled with laundry. "Leek and potato soup for supper?"

Lucia's eyes brightened and she sat taller, smiling at Lydia. "Your favourite! Yes, let's go to the farms! The Battle-Born's leeks are huge this season."

"Then to the farms we go," Lydia laughed as Lucia scrambled from her lap.

"I'll get the baskets!" Lucia replied. "I'll be quick! Don't go without me!"

"We're good for potatoes!" Sigrid called out as Lucia darted for her room. "But get some onions and chives while you're there! Actually, I'll write a list," she mused, to herself almost, and put down the washing to reach for notepaper and a quill.

Lydia stood. "I'm sorry, Sigrid. I didn't mean to be gone for so long, there were-"

"It's all right," Sigrid glanced up from her note to give Lydia a kind-hearted smile. "There were complications. Celeste told me. These things happen. It doesn't mean we miss you any less, but we do understand."

Lydia glanced down and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. "She just…she breaks my heart when she cries like that. I have a duty to her. She already lost her birth mother, I can't imagine…"

"Yes, you do have a duty to Lucia," Sigrid stood, stowing the quill. She held out the shopping list. "Your job as housecarl and your role with the Companions are part of that duty. You can't be everywhere at once," she insisted.

Lydia huffed a silent laugh, then accepted the folded note.

"Go have fun with her, you deserve a day off," Sigrid encouraged, stepping past and grabbing a dish cloth from the back of a chair, to add to her pile of washing.

Lydia sat down haltingly and glanced to me.

"Hi," I waved, soapy dish rag in hand. A few errant bubbles splattered onto the floor.

"Hi," she whispered, voice cracking with emotion.

Sudden guilt swept through me and I turned, occupying myself with my chore, and my resolve to convince Lydia to remain in Whiterun solidified.

"So, you're home," I mentioned, offhand.

Dishes finished, I returned them to their cupboards, feeling Lydia's eyes on me all the while.

"I'm home," she repeated. I heard her stand, shuffle toward me. "They're closing the enquiry. There's evidence enough against the Blades now that - they let me leave yesterday. Celeste - what really happened that day?" she whispered, pleading. "I was going out of my mind-"

"Ready!" Lucia chimed.

I flinched and quickly smiled at the little girl. "Later," I promised Lydia.

Lucia skidded to a halt, a basket on each arm, her good coat buttoned and her hair freshly braided. A wide, excited smile lit up her face.

My housecarl scooped her up into a hug, and Lucia giggled as she was carried to the door.

"I'll find you later," Lydia said over her shoulder.

"I'll be at Jorrvaskr," I called as they left.

The door closed behind them and I blinked back unexpected tears. A part of me wanted to chase after them, though I squashed it, wary of stealing more of their time together.

For the moment, I tried to ignore what Lydia had told me, but I kept circling back to it:

They're closing the enquiry.

My time in Whiterun was at its end.

But no; I still needed to speak to Lydia. I could stay for one more day.

I'll leave tomorrow morning.

Sigrid reappeared, full laundry basket and box of soap in her arms, and she offloaded it on the table to grab her scarf and coat from their hooks under the stairs. "Are you okay?"

"Mm," I realised I'd been staring, and gave Hadvar's aunt a smile, pushing down the storm of emotions I couldn't put a name to. "Here, let me take it today," I held my arms out for the basket of dirty clothes.

Sigrid scoffed and waved her hand, before tossing her hair out of the back of her coat. "You're needed at Jorrvaskr."

"At least let me help," I insisted, picking up the basket for her. "Vilkas won't mind if I'm a little late."

Sigrid laughed and motioned toward the door. "Sure. Some help would be nice, if you have the time."

"I do."

We spent the next half hour together at the public laundry house, talking about the big and small of her life; of Sigrid's worries about Dorthe, her pride in the girl's progress with Adrianne, and her bafflement at Lucia's adeptness in the healing arts, giving her cause to wonder if her father had been a Mage.

Once the laundry was clean and pinned on the wires strung between poles behind Breezehome, I left her to a cup of tea and her recipe book. She was writing her favourites down, to gift to Carlotta, and she had a little time before she planned to start lunch to work on it.

"Might I have a copy, too?" I asked, slipping into the boots Eorlund had made me, to complete my wolf ensemble. I found so few opportunities to wear my Companion armour that I was making the effort to do so while in residence. "I'm no good at cooking, but Hadvar will insist at least one of us knows some of your recipes."

"It just takes practise," Sigrid smiled, eyes glued to her work. "When the war is over and he comes home, I'll teach him everything I know. Then he can cook for you, no matter how far the world takes you from Whiterun."

A picture of domesticity appeared in my mind; Hadvar chopping vegetables while I sat on the counter making annoying suggestions, watching him laugh, his face and eyes relaxed - and a lump formed in my throat. Oh, how I wanted that future to be real.

"Thanks," I managed.

—

Vilkas was on accounts when I arrived an hour later than usual, though the yard was quiet but for the distant, rhythmic clang-clang of Eorlund's hammer against steel. At the far end of the yard, Erik sparred with Njada, holding his arms up again and again to block the woman's punches.

"Nice of you to join us, Harbinger," Vilkas drawled.

"Good morning, Harbinger," I returned, not skipping a beat.

I smiled, wondering if a time would come that we didn't find that amusing, and retrieved a practise bow and arrows from their alcove, taking up position before one of the training dummies. I needed to occupy my hands; I needed distraction. I had to leave tomorrow, but find some reason for them to remain in Whiterun that they would agree to.

"Apologies for my lateness. Lydia arrived this morning with news from Solitude, and I offered to help Sigrid with the household's laundry," temporarily, I placed the weapons on the ground, to stretch out my arms and neck.

Across the yard, Erik yelped as one of Njada's fists struck him square in the stomach, and I pursed my lips in Njada's direction; she was supposed to be teaching him to defend himself, not using him as a punching bag.

Vilkas remained conspicuously silent; it was a struggle to keep my attention off him. When I retrieved the training bow and slung the quiver over my shoulder, Vilkas finally spoke.

"Is she all right?"

I placed an arrow, biting my bottom lip to temper my response, and lined up my sights. "She's well. Lucia whisked her away before I could properly talk to her," I explained, loosing the arrow. It thudded in the centre of the target, to my immense satisfaction; the six days of practise had helped me to regain my form. I turned to throw Vilkas a smile. "She did say the Oculatus have enough on the Blades to close the enquiry. She will come by, later."

Vilkas couldn't hide his smile, full of relief, though he lowered his eyes. "No hurry," he made to jot something in the book; I wondered if he was just scribbling as an excuse to hide his expression. "Her daughter should take priority, of course."

"Of course," I echoed breezily, readying another arrow. With an exhale, I loosed, and smiled as the head split my first arrow in half.

Vilkas huffed, and I heard him stand. "Grab a sword, sister."

"I'm contented splitting arrows for now, thank you," I readied my next, lifting it to line my sight. "Unless that was an order, Harbinger?"

Vilkas spoke the moment before I loosed. "Afraid of a challenge?"

The bark would have once put me off, but not today; the arrow flew, straight and sure, splitting the second down its centre.

"Stop doing that, those cost money, you know," Vilkas growled. "Spar with me instead."

I raised my eyebrows at him; he was holding two practise swords, one hilt toward me, and I understood; he wanted a distraction, too.

My expression softened. He was nervous about seeing Lydia.

"Sure," I accepted the sword, returned the bow and quiver, and turned back to the yard.

"You two," Vilkas waved his sword in Njada and Erik's general direction, "give us the space for a bit."

"Y-yes, of course, Harbinger," Erik dipped a brief, uncertain bow and, with a hasty glance at Njada, scurried toward the verandah.

"Whatever," Njada rolled her eyes and sauntered off. "I'm tired of beating the kid up anyway."

I threw Vilkas an arched look, but he ignored it and adopted his starting stance.

When he met my eye, he nodded for me to do the same.

"Thank you!" I called over my shoulder pointedly to the pair now sat on the stairs.

"You're welcome, Lady Dragonborn!" Erik replied eagerly.

"You don't have to call me that!" I returned.

"Are we doing this?" Vilkas grumbled.

"Sorry!" Erik called.

I narrowed my eyes at Vilkas' rudeness. "We're doing this."

Close combat was still my weak point. Usually it took three or four strikes until I fell on the defensive, and I was lucky to last a whole minute before Vilkas disarmed me, making my ears ring and arms quake with aftershocks.

Accepting the inevitable, I centred my weight and lifted the practise sword. "Ready."

Vilkas stared at me in thought. "I want you to try something," he murmured, tapping my sword lightly once, twice, three times; a brief, gentle confirmation that my grip was firm.

"Beat you?" I hazarded. I returned the check, as was customary; tap, tap, tap.

"Perhaps," Vilkas chuckled, taking a single step back and lifting his sword into prime defence. "If you listen properly, you might. I have a theory."

"I can't wait to hear it."

"If you're going to be smart about it, I won't tell you my idea."

"Go on," I sank into prime attack. "I promise I'm listening."

Vilkas grinned from under his arm. "Use your thu'um when you strike."

I cocked my head. "Isn't that cheating?"

"No, that's combat."

"But it's not like you can thu'um me back," I relaxed my stance and frowned, so we could talk this through. "I'm not going to Shout you across the yard. It won't help me become better at swordplay."

Vilkas shrugged, maintaining his stance. "Wielding a shortsword like a longsword won't help you become an expert at two-handed weapons, either," he pointed out.

I thought I saw what he was getting at, and sank back into prime position. "That's different. We hold the same weapon, and it's down to us how we wield it. We are evenly matched, this way."

Vilkas smirked. "Wrong. I am at least three times your weight. And I have years of experience on you, years you'll never catch me up by."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered. "Are we doing this?" I returned his previous words.

"Just try for me," Vilkas urged. His arm muscles flexed as he tightened his grip. "Put your thu'um into your attack - release it as part of the strike. Might put a bit more force behind those limp noodles of yours."

I narrowed my eyes and nodded shortly, unwilling to bite. At worst, I would fling him across the dirt, instead of it being the other way around, and after the limp noodle comment, he would deserve it. I wasn't the weakling I had once been.

Squaring Vilkas, I breathed deeply, in through my nose, out through my mouth, and launched into the first attack formation.

Vilkas met my blade, his motions smooth, natural, requiring so little effort that he seemed almost bored. On my third strike - the moment where Vilkas often disarmed me - I mustered my will and on the exhale, puffed out a short, brief Fus as I swung.

It was just enough to push my shield-brother back a foot; his boots scraped across the dirt, but his stance held firm.

Vilkas laughed as he shook his hair out of his face and raised his sword. "I know you can do better than that, Dragonborn."

"I dunno, Harbinger," I crossed my feet to switch my stance, lowering into second position with the shortsword above my head, hilt in both hands. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Then don't," Vilkas drawled, adopting the defensive stance of the second form. "Control your thu'um; don't let it control you."

"My spirit controls my thu'um."

"But you control your spirit," his eyes narrowed. "No more stalling."

My jaw clenched; my exhale puffed out of my nose and rumbled in my throat, a dull growl. My first swing was on the low side, but as I stepped in for the second strike, I gave him what he wanted: "Fus!"

Vilkas laughed as the thu'um pushed him back again, two feet this time and it broke his balance; he skipped to regain his footing. "Don't stop every time you do it. Keep pushing, I can take it," he assured. "Go back to the beginning," he adopted the starting defence.

I huffed, eyes flickering to the verandah as I spied movement. Njada and Erik still sat, one bored and the other avid with interest, and one of the newest recruits, a teenager named Jervar, peered out from the door that led to the mead hall, eyes widening as they landed on us. Jon watched from a little further away, arms crossed with a leg propped against the side of the building, his expression carefully neutral.

I didn't let an audience unnerve me when I sang, so I wouldn't let their attention bother me now.

I stepped into prime and raised the practise sword, meeting Vilkas' amused gaze. "Remember, Vilkas. You asked for this."

"Make me remember," he chuckled.

Breathing always came first, and this time, on the inhale, both air and spirit filled me, warm and steady. On the exhale, I pushed forward, striking first, second—

"Fus!" I threw the thu'um into my third strike, but Vilkas was ready for it and met the blow, digging his heels into the dirt as he was pushed, but not unbalanced.

"Good!"

I continued into the fourth formation, caught by Vilkas' wooden blade with a 'clack'. On the fifth strike, I stepped in and twisted, pushing him back a little more.

"Fus Ro!" came as naturally as breathing.

Vilkas grinned as the Shout pushed him further than my strike could have; he lowered his defence to rebalance, recovered by the time I ran to him, meeting my sixth strike with ease.

The brightness thrummed within me as the seventh struck true; I stepped back and half-turned to meet his reply, my first defensive position of the form. When he made his second strike, I was supposed to duck and block his blade, but an idea struck first.

"Feim," I huffed, my form shimmering as Vilkas' practise sword swished through me, meeting nothing but air.

Striking nothing overbalanced him, and I used the split second to dart around, twisting his hand into the wrist- and arm-lock Njada had shown me long ago; an adept move that used the attacker's own weight to pin them.

There was a whoop, a laugh and a clap from the direction of the verandah.

Vilkas' sword clattered to the dirt and my shield-brother chuckled again. "That's a very useful Shout."

I released him to let him retrieve his sword, and felt my body shimmer and solidify. "That one helped me to defeat the master vampire in Morthal."

Vilkas' mouth flattened. "I do not need reminding you faced a coven of vampires and Movarth Piquine on your own."

"It's no big deal," I returned, meeting his gaze as I shifted into prime defence. "I'm not useless," I huffed.

"Use has nothing to do with it. Those were very specific, fortuitous circumstances," Vilkas drawled, taking a deep breath before launching into the first attack with a grunt. "What if your fancy ghost Shout hadn't worked?"

I snorted at the name. "Why wouldn't it work?"

I shifted back so when our swords met I could diffuse some of the force. Pushing up to meet him, I let out another small Fus.

Vilkas dug his heels into the dirt again, sweeping into the second strike as he grit his teeth. "That was nothing. Control it."

"I am," I pushed off, correcting my stance when my trailing foot landed poorly.

Vilkas caught the moment and struck; I stepped back and threw my weight into my defence, sending out another Fus to brace me.

Only it didn't push him at all, and instead of a Shout, I coughed.

Vilkas' strike met my sword and the force staggered me. With a flick of his wrist, Vilkas sent the practise blade spiralling from my grasp, to clatter and continue spinning listlessly against the hard-packed earth.

I scurried back, falling hard onto my behind and hands, and winced up at the point of Vilkas' sword at my throat.

"What happened?" I accused.

His eyes were narrowed just enough to tell me he was annoyed, but it didn't seem to really be directed at me.

"Just as I thought," he lowered his sword and offered a hand.

Whispers from the verandah made me flush, and I accepted Vilkas' help to rise. "Well, I don't understand," I growled.

"Your thu'um has limits," he righted me, clapping a hand to my shoulder and ducking to meet my gaze, his tone softening. "I wanted to test how many you could do in quick succession, while your life wasn't at risk," he grimaced. "Get your sword. We have more work to do."

Scowling, I bent to pick up the wooden sword and repressed the urge to snap at him, because he was only trying to help. "Thanks," I grumbled, bristling. "I had no idea I couldn't just…keep doing it."

"Well, now you know," Vilkas said, positioning himself in prime defence. "We need to see out how long it takes for the power to come back. Work through to position fifteen with sword alone, then try a Shout on the turn."

Nodding, I positioned and calmed my breathing. Better I figure this out now with Vilkas, than in the heat of battle.

"Now, hit me like you mean it, sister."

—

We practised for so long that even Erik grew bored and went back inside, leaving Vilkas and I alone in the yard to test the limits of my abilities. After hours of practise, we figured out what was happening when I lost my thu'um.

It was possible to strain my voice if I sang for too long, or too loudly, or didn't warm up my vocal chords properly before performances.

So too did it seem that my Voice would thin, or strain, if I called on it too many times, too quickly.

The recovery time was not devastating; mostly, I was back to capacity after a few minutes, which was perhaps why I hadn't encountered the limitation before. This new information lead to an interesting thought that perhaps dragons had the same restriction, though there was no way to test that theory safely. I would have to ask Paarthurnax if he knew anything about it.

Vilkas thought it unlikely; dragons were born to Shout, whereas I was doing so from a human form with human vocal chords. He proposed the ability to minimise this down-time was probably what the Greybeards spent their time honing, so too might I learn to reduce it, if I asked them for exercises to strengthen my Voice.

So involved was our testing that I didn't notice Lydia's arrival.

Vilkas did, the moment before I let out a Fus Ro Dah and jabbed my sword at his chest.

He didn't block, instead taking the full impact of both, and flew back, slamming into the far wall of Whiterun with a grunt.

"Vilkas!" my eyes widened in panic. I threw down the sword and rushed to him. "I'm sorry!" I reached, tentative, for the back of his head.

He flinched and rolled his shoulder. "I'm okay-"

"Are you two completely insane?!" Lydia's bellow came from across the yard.

I sucked in a breath and glanced toward her, guilt flooding me. "I didn't mean to!"

"What did you think would happen if you Shouted at him?" hands out in exasperation, Lydia hurried over.

Vilkas groaned, and my attention snapped back to him; he pressed a hand to the back of his head, mussing his hair. "It's a training exercise," he grumbled.

Lydia called out something about exercises in falling properly, but I was more worried about Vilkas and reached up to prod at his skull, shifting the inky black around gently. "You're not bleeding," I confirmed quietly, praying to the Divines that his skull wasn't cracked. "Why didn't you block?" I whispered.

Vilkas met my eyes haltingly, peering through his hair. "I was distracted," he murmured.

"Oh."

My housecarl stopped before us, her ire seemingly worn away already. She crouched to our level, placed a hand on his shoulder, and gave Vilkas a sympathetic look. "You sure you're okay, Vilkas?"

With a nod, followed by a tiny wince at the sudden motion, Vilkas met her gaze and the corner of his mouth lifted. "Yeah. I'm good. Really good," he admitted, his voice a little distant. "How are you, Lydia?"

Lydia huffed soundlessly, unable to help but smile. "I'm good. It's good to see you."

I couldn't stop my eye roll as I stood. "I'm glad we've established we're 'good'," I mused. "How was your day with Lucia? Don't say good," I added quickly, when Lydia opened her mouth.

Her eyes laughed as she closed her mouth and considered. "We had a lovely day. She popped by the Temple to talk to Dagny, but she will meet us at home for supper at six. You had better be there," she nodded at me.

"Yes, I'll be there," I promised. None of them knew I had to leave in the morning, yet; I would have to broach the topic soon.

"You too, of course," Lydia turned her gaze back to Vilkas, her tone bearing the slightest hesitance that nobody else would have noticed.

"Me too what?" Vilkas tilted his head.

Lydia lowered her eyes to laugh quietly to the earth. "Dinner," she said, meeting his gaze again, her eyes bright with resolve. "You're invited to dinner at our house. If you want. Sigrid's making leek and potato soup."

"Your favourite," Vilkas murmured. A tentative smile emerged, and he gave her a small nod. "All right. Thank you. I'd…I'd like that."

It was simultaneously sweet and awkward to witness, and I side-stepped into the yard, stretching my sore arms before retrieving our practise things and arranging them on the rack.

Lydia and Vilkas spoke for a little longer, then she helped him to rise, an arm around his waist as she directed him toward the verandah, and eased the still-wincing (and possibly milking it) Vilkas onto the top step.

"So," Lydia sat beside him, arms stretched back behind her. "Now we've established we're all in one piece - should we talk about what happened with the Blades?"

I huffed in distaste, moving to stand before them. "Probably not in public," I muttered. "What did the Oculatus determine?"

The corner of Lydia's mouth tilted with distaste. "The letter you sent Jarl Elisif explained a few things, the one you sent me explained a little more, and then Farkas arrived yesterday, to confirm-"

"Farkas?" I squared her, heart thudding in my chest. "He was in Solitude?"

Lydia frowned. "Yes?"

I closed my eyes and held out a hand, to confirm before all else. "Hadvar?"

"Yes, he was there too," she said, brows crossed in confusion, then her eyes widened suddenly, and she reached into her pocket. "I'm so sorry. I completely forgot, this is for you," she passed me a letter.

Accepting it, my mouth dried as I stared down at Hadvar's neat handwriting on the slim envelope, and turned it with shaking hands. It was sealed with a spot of red wax, impressed with the signature of my family, etched onto the ring he wore about his neck.

I closed my eyes with relief and sank onto the stairs beside my housecarl.

Not only did he know I was all right, he had written a reply.

"Hadvar and Farkas were called back to Solitude when your letters arrived, but it took them a few days to return from the field," Lydia continued.

"Is he okay?" I clutched the letter in my grasp, determined to be normal despite wanting to open it at that instant.

"We didn't have much opportunity for talk, but he seemed fine," she shrugged.

"Farkas is with him," Vilkas reminded me.

"Yes, of course," I acknowledged hastily, dragging my mind back to the topic at hand, tucking the beloved letter into the front of my wolf armour. Later. Lydia and Vilkas deserved my full attention, and I wanted to read the letter alone. "Did the Oculatus question Farkas?"

"Not really," Lydia tilted. "More, confirmed everything they already knew, allowed them to join a few dots. Honestly," her gaze shifted to Vilkas briefly, "Captain Maro seemed relieved to talk to someone so quietly confident in a crisis. Farkas was so unfazed by the entire ordeal."

"He spent less than a day sleeping, drinking and playing cards," Vilkas murmured. "That's a vacation, for my brother."

"It was never their intention to harm us," the corner of my mouth twitched. I felt lighter; swept away by sudden levity borne of my relief. "If only Jarl Elisif appreciated Farkas' head for politics as Maro does-"

Lydia rolled her eyes. "I'm going to stop you there."

"Why? It's cute."

"What's cute?" Vilkas drawled suspiciously.

"Nothing," Lydia supplied.

"Farkas is in love with the High Queen of Skyrim," I whispered conspiratorially.

"He's not, you know," Lydia sighed, hands on hips as she shook her head, eyes trained on the ground.

"Oh - I am not surprised," Vilkas waved a hand, chuckling. "Farkas likes people. He is always quick to fall in and out of love. I guarantee you he has fallen in love with six other people since he fell in love with her. How is he?"

"I didn't realise Farkas was such a romantic," Lydia glanced up, meeting Vilkas' eyes with a nod. "He's good."

"Say 'good' one more time…" I hissed through my teeth.

Vilkas laughed quietly, eyes only for my housecarl. "His way leaves broken hearts in his wake. I suppose it depends on your definition of romantic."

"Mmm," Lydia wrinkled her nose. "I suppose it does," she mused.

A shyness thickened the air between them, and the note pressed against my skin felt hot, like an ember.

I rose suddenly, suppressing my smile. "I promised to help Sigrid with…food, didn't I? Can you tell Lydia what happened?" I asked Vilkas hastily. "Somewhere, you know. Private," I waved my hand. "Like your room."

Lydia winced at me, but Vilkas looked up and scowled, clearly sensing they were a source of my amusement.

"Okay thanks, I'll see you at dinner," I turned before they could respond.

As I fell into a jog, I caught Vilkas' muttered, "And that girl calls herself a Bard."

Lydia laughed quietly, and I rounded Jorrvaskr grinning, fishing the letter out of my armour.

I slipped my finger under the seal, breaking it, and all but skipped down the stairs to the Gildergreen, throwing myself onto a bench seat around it, holding the letter up eagerly.

Dearest Celeste,

Thank the Eight for the arrival of Farkas, and your letter. I was more relieved than you can ever imagine to see him, and to read your words. I cannot apologise enough for what occurred - their audacity, and under our noses! If only I had not been called for questioning at that moment, and left you in the care of that - blasted Blade!

I winced - the rushed handwriting - he had obviously scribbled hastily as words entered his mind. He had been blaming himself this whole time. But he must have known he could not have done anything differently - not without causing problems with the Penitus Oculatus, the Thalmor, the army - everybody. I wished he were here beside me, so I could reassure him of this, and started mentally writing another letter, though I had no idea how any future letters would find him. I read on:

I spoke to the General about assigning the remainder of my contract to your needs.

My eyes widened. He what?

If the Divines insist you and you alone have the power to end Alduin's conquest, then it is our duty to protect you while you do it. Alduin should be as much a priority as Stormcloak as both threaten all we hold dear.

Forgive me for asking so I might be with you - it is not a reflection on you. I want to bear your trials and walk each step with you, as I intend to do for the rest of my days - if you will permit it.

By the Gods, I loved him. I read on, expecting and dreading what I knew he would say next, or he might have been with me now:

The General says the Empire intended to help you with their full might, but the assassination of the Emperor has complicated the issue, again. General Tullius' eyes are staunchly fixed on Windhelm for the immediate future, and so, he says, must mine be. The finer details are classified, but we are bound for Windhelm soon, to bring an end to this pointless war.

He added that once Stormcloak has been dealt with, he will reconsider the terms of my contract in light of my request.

I could write you all day but the time I took to write this much is at its end and I'll be called at any moment - I must give this to Lydia before she departs.

Until you are in my arms again, all my love,

Hadvar

I lowered the letter to my lap and stared at the words, tracing the loop and curl of his hand, imagining how he would have looked penning it, a tuck of concern in his brow as the quill scratched at the paper.

The words blurred, and my eyes stung, suddenly full of tears. Exasperation filled me. Why was I crying? I had gotten everything I desired; Lydia and Vilkas were here, and those I loved would no longer worry I was missing.

Closing the letter in my hand, I rose swiftly and took the back streets to Breezehome. At every step I pushed down a thick, shroud-like sadness, and I made myself focus on the feeling of the wintry breeze on my cheeks, dry and biting cold, pushing my tears away before they had a chance to spill.

—

"It needs a little more apple," Sigrid swallowed a taste of the mixture I was reducing. "Try it," she suggested.

I did, and winced. "Bitter."

"A handful of sweet apple will fix it," she assured, shifting back to the enormous pot of soup, using the base of a ladle to shift the chunks of vegetables and herbs around. Steam wafted between us, making the woman's features hazy.

"The sugar in the pastry will help too, so once it's ready, it should still taste a bit tart," she laughed, suddenly and fondly. "The smell of juniper and apple stewing used to bring Hadvar running when he was little. For a few weeks, when he was about Dorthe's age," she quipped, tapping the ladle gently against the edge of the pot, "it was the only way I could encourage him to come in from the river bank and wash up for dinner."

I smiled at the thought of a Dorthe-sized Hadvar running around Riverwood, and sliced a pinkish-red apple into little cubes. I longed for her to speak more about Hadvar's past; longed to speak of him at all, really, to feed the ache settled in my stomach since I read his letter.

"What was he like when he was little?" I tested.

Sigrid hummed in amusement. "Alvor's late sister thought tenacious the best word to describe him. Kara was so proud of her bright, happy little man, but his willpower was something else," she laughed. "He didn't like to sleep, as though he thought he would miss out on something if he did. When he was a toddler, she would turn up at my doorstep at two in the morning, and there he'd be, a cuddly little bundle with bright, wide owl eyes, clinging to his mama as he peeped a smile at me. There was no convincing him midnight wasn't play time."

The picture made my chest flutter. "I didn't realise Hadvar's parents lived in Riverwood. Hadvar only said they were Legionnaires."

"Kara was made Tribune, just before she passed, when Hadvar was…oh," Sigrid glanced to the ceiling, considering. "Five? Six? Goodness it's so long ago now."

"And his father?" I asked sadly. I hadn't realised he'd lost his parents so young.

Sigrid nodded, pursing her lips as she returned to stirring the soup. "Aye, he was in the Legion."

The change from forthcoming to regretful was so swift I had to bite my tongue to keep from apologising. I turned my attention to the bubbling pot of stewing crostata filling, sprinkling in the extra sweet apple. "You didn't like him?" I hazarded, confused.

Sigrid sighed. "I'm being unfair. I didn't truly know him. The one time we met Reidar, he seemed so…reserved. Alvor thought perhaps he was shy. They were set to marry in Last Seed, but he passed to Sovngarde before Kara knew she was carrying Hadvar," her eyes remained on the bubbling soup.

"Kara stayed in the barracks in Solitude, but rented a house on the outskirts of Riverwood, the one Faendel now owns, in fact. She'd live there with little Hadvar when she could, and he stayed with us when she couldn't. She always used her leave the moment it was granted, to come back to him. She taught him to read by the time he was four, she was so…so focussed on him, when she was actually permitted to be a mother. But the demands of the army, even during times of peace, are…fierce. Particularly for a woman like her," she sighed.

That was a feeling I understood; the General had spoken of Hadvar's importance, too. Hadvar's mother seemed like a safer topic, though my heart twisted with regret to understand Hadvar never knew his father.

"What was she like? His mother?" I managed a smile.

Sigrid moved to a mixing bowl to resume kneading a ball of dough. "She was the smartest person I've ever met. Could have been anything she wanted - but Kara wanted to protect," she mused. "If you ever wondered where he gets it from," she shot me an arch glance.

My smile was brief, woven with the bitter ache. It was no wonder Hadvar hadn't considered going to Riften until the war ended, until I had convinced him otherwise. No wonder he was so keen to start our family together, to rearrange his career to bring us together, to be present for those he loved despite the army.

I had no doubt his childhood had been happy with Alvor and Sigrid in beautiful, peaceful Riverwood, but he clearly wanted more - and planned for a future where I would not be alone, and where his children would know their father.

As his mother and father would have planned for too. But sometimes people die. Particularly people contracted to the army.

I breathed in the smell of the spicy, fruity mixture and was struck with longing, wishing the smell would draw him home, as it had when he was young, so I could just hold him, reassure him. Protect him. When would the blasted war just end and stop taking people from us?

During my week in Whiterun, the Jarl's dinner guests had been full of news on the war, and I had listened rather than risk speak anything that might be classified. The Empire was sending legions of Imperial soldiers from Cyrodiil to assist the army in the final push for Windhelm, in effort to finally bring an end to Stormcloak's tyranny. Half of those with news (or gossip) were convinced the Stormcloaks had orchestrated the murder of the Emperor and Lord Vici, for to blame the Blades, who were as good as ghosts, seemed too convenient a distraction. All surmised their tellings in the same way: the final battle for Windhelm, and thus the final battle in the war, would be mounted soon.

Hadvar had confirmed the same in his letter.

And according to Jarl Balgruuf, Ulfric knew he was being backed into a corner.

Windhelm had been locked down; nobody was permitted to enter or leave but for his most trusted Generals. His army's recent battles were desperate and random, likened to the work of bandits and mercenaries, the act of soldiers who knew they would not win their war. Entire mining camps were slaughtered, tiny hamlets were razed, and travelling merchants and bards had been robbed and beaten to within an inch of their life, all in the name of Stormcloak, and sickeningly, in the interests in keeping Skyrim for the Nords.

How many more lives would be destroyed or lost in the push to bring Stormcloak down? How many children would never meet their fathers or brothers or sisters, or lose their mothers before they could remember anything about them?

The thought made me want to abandon the dessert I had promised to make under Sigrid's guidance and ride for Windhelm; to face Stormcloak, and with the authority both my blood-name and Akatosh-given titles owed, demand Ulfric surrender at once.

And then Shout him into Oblivion anyway, for daring to touch my sister.

My eyes narrowed; thoughts spiralled over who should answer for what had happened to Giselle, and a desperate voice insisted that mother and father would have known what to do. But no matter how I circled between blaming Esbern and Delphine, Ulfric and the Thalmor, a small, dark voice told me that meagre vengeance would not erase the past. Even if I went the legal route and involved our family's lawyer to pursue justice, it would not bring back what had been stolen from her.

For now, all I could do was help her with her future, if she let me.

"Mind the pot," Sigrid's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Those bubbles get any fiercer and the base will never be the same!" she laughed. "Ask me how I know that."

I watched the reduced fruit and berries bubble and pop, and removed it from the heat. "Sorry," I murmured, my voice strange and distant to my ears. "I wasn't thinking. What do I do now?"

When I glanced up, Sigrid was staring at me with worry in her eyes. "What's wrong, sweetie?" she asked quietly.

I glanced to the ceiling, blinking as the tears rushed back into my eyes. Why did I suddenly feel so powerless?

Without waiting for response, and I wasn't certain I could give her one anyway, Sigrid stepped around the hearth fire and folded me into her arms.

"Hey," she crooned. "You don't have to say anything. You've been through so much - and must feel as though the weight of the world is on your shoulders."

"Because it is," I blubbered, turning my face into her as a sob grabbed my chest and squeezed, choking me. The tears flowed, staining the front of her apron-dress. "I couldn't protect any of them. I should have been there for her, for mum and dad - the Emperor of Tamriel was murdered because of me, dragons are killing people before I can do anything and-" my voice cracked. Alvor. I couldn't say it. If I was better, your husband, Dorthe's father, would still be alive.

Sigrid only tucked me closer. "Celeste, I'm so sorry," she said quietly, "I'm not going to lie to you. Of course there has been death. Death is part of life during a good season, and we find ourselves plagued by war and dragons in the same year. But," she squeezed a little, "if you must bring up the loss, you need to balance it with the good your actions have wrought, too. Your courage, your determination to find the right way to solve the problems the Gods threw at your feet, means many live, because of you."

I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut as my chest ached anew. "It is not enough."

"I respectfully disagree," Sigrid returned, encouraging me to move. "Come on."

I let her lead me to the table, sit me down. After a moment, she pressed a mug of warmth into my hands. "If only a cup of tea could solve the world's problems, hmm?"

I blinked slowly, stared down at the milky liquid, brushing my finger around the edge of the earthenware rim. In the corner of my eye, Sigrid sat also, and raised a twin cup to her lips.

She didn't press me, which I was grateful for, and in the silence the fierce ache dulled and weariness slipped into its place.

Eventually I took a sip of the drink and placed the cup on the table so I wouldn't fidget with it.

"I have to leave in the morning."

Sigrid nodded, and sadness settled on her face. "Can I help?" she swallowed.

The question hurt for some reason, and I wanted to cry again. "I don't know," I admitted, longing to tell her why I was going. But that would mean telling her about Giselle, which would lead to explaining too much - and I hadn't found the courage to talk to anyone about it yet, really. Besides, it felt wrong to make her carry a secret that might put her or Dorthe at risk, should the Thalmor understand I had my sister, and I meant to hide her, until I could absolve her.

"Where are you bound?" she asked in her calm voice.

I reached for my tea again. "Ivarstead."

"And you mean to journey on your own?"

I glanced up to meet her gaze, guilt spearing me. Was I that transparent?

She smiled sadly, and waited.

"Yes," I admitted softly. "I haven't told them. I want them to remain here and take a break from this…constant madness I drag them into."

Sigrid sat back and addressed a long, thoughtful sigh to the cooking fire, fingers tapping the side of her mug briefly. "You want to release them from their duty to you?"

"No!" my eyes widened in horror. "No, I want everything to stay the same between us. But - Vilkas was sent on a mission by me, and ended up kidnapped and imprisoned. Lydia has been picking up after me, all over Skyrim," I explained reasonably. "I want them to have a break from - what being with me does to them."

"When will you tell them?"

"Tonight," I promised. "I won't just sneak out on them."

"No, I expect that would make them do the opposite of what you desire," the side of Sigrid's mouth quirked.

I groaned, leaning forward to bury my hands in my hair. "What can I say to them? I am more than capable of defending myself yet…"

"They accompany you because they love you and want to protect you," Sigrid chided, though not unkindly. "And you want them to stay in Whiterun where it's safe, because you love them," she shrugged a little.

"Because I have taken so much from them!" I insisted, staring into the still-steaming mug. "This…insanity has put their lives on hold for no reason other than I asked them - don't they deserve a little normality for a change?"

"Sure. Of course they do. And then what?"

"What do you mean?" I frowned.

"What comes after that? Will you return to them in a week? Or wait in one place long enough for them to come to you?" Sigrid asked, leaning forward. "What will it do to them, if they let you go, and receive no word from you in the coming weeks? You may be too busy, too remote to locate a courier. What do they do then, other than grow sick with worry? It puts their lives on hold in an entirely different way."

I opened my mouth to tell her Vilkas could find me no matter where I went, but stopped myself just in time. That was beside the point.

Sigrid's brows wrinkled in sympathy, her voice adopting an earnest note. "Have you not yourself this week been reminded of what it feels like to hear about the war, about life outside these walls, but not be part of it? Your intentions are honourable, Celeste, but to people like Vilkas and Lydia - they can't just sit by and watch you do this on your own, when they are equipped to help. And you shouldn't have to do it on your own!" her voice rose slightly.

"Doesn't Lucia deserve to spend more than a few scattered hours with her mother?" I winced.

"I'm not disagreeing with you," Sigrid sat back, tapping her mug again. "Lydia and Vilkas would benefit from some time spent in Whiterun. But if you want them to agree, you must come up with a return plan before speaking to them. Be it in a week, two weeks, a month - you tell them you're coming back, specifically for them - or you tell them when and where to meet you," she insisted, her voice so strangely authorative that I understood with sudden clarity why Dorthe was so well behaved. "And then you be at that place, at that time. But you must not leave anyone you love…waiting indefinitely for you to return," she emphasised.

A string of replies queued in my mind: I should be nobody's duty; I would never leave them indefinitely; I would always find a way to communicate, but to Sigrid I just nodded, lowering my eyes. "Thank you for your advice. I will arrange for them to meet me in Ivarstead."

"What's so urgent in Ivarstead that you can't take another week here for yourself?"

I shook my head, my heart skipping a beat. It felt traitorous to not tell her about Giselle. "I am needed at the Throat of the World."

Sigrid stood, dusting her hands off on the front of her apron. "If only Hadvar were here to go with you, they wouldn't need any convincing," she sighed.

I rose too and drifted back toward the abandoned saucepan of stewed fruit, to resume dessert preparations.

If only.

—

Dinner was delicious, and my dessert wasn't a total disaster. After, I played lute and sang for my little family; a programme of soft, hope-filled ballads interspersed with lullabies that eventually had Dorthe and Lucia nodding off, each snug in their mothers' arms.

I saved bringing up my departure until after the girls were put to bed, when only Lydia, Vilkas, Sigrid and I remained around the hearth. I approached the topic as Sigrid had suggested; it was better they spend a week in Whiterun; better Lydia had a full week with Lucia, and Vilkas another with the Companions, than either of them idling at the Throat of the World while I spoke to my mentor. I proposed they meet me at Ivarstead in a week's time for us to journey on to Winterhold; a journey I would need their help with, for it would bypass a hostile Windhelm.

Before they could respond, Sigrid said it seemed like I had thought this through, and she for one thought it was a sound idea.

Vilkas and Lydia merely exchanged an expressionless look that spoke volumes.

I stood in the ensuing silence, needing to do something, and refilled their drinks.

Lydia's piercing green met my eyes as I poured her wine, and I realised while Vilkas had detailed what had occurred with Giselle and the Blades, we had yet to discuss the matter. My sister was, as ever, a sore point with Lydia, and my housecarl knew I was going to meet with her.

"Can I hire a bodyguard to see you to Ivarstead?" she asked.

"Thank you but that's not necessary," I assured calmly, turning away to stopper and replace the bottle on its side cabinet.

"A shield-sibling, then," Vilkas suggested, his voice gravelly, and he cleared it before continuing. "We aren't called Companions because it's catchy, and nobody should be travelling on their own in Skyrim right now, no matter what gifts the Gods gave them."

"Yes, I've heard this lecture before," I smiled, re-taking my seat across from the pair. "Were I travelling on Companion business, I wouldn't hesitate to take somebody with me," I took a sip from my cup. "But I'm travelling as the Dragonborn."

"What if you happen to be treading the same roads as a Companion on a different job?" Lydia asked quickly.

I blinked, my mind raking over who was on missions and who wasn't. The only people at home were Njada, Torvar and a handful of young, barely trained whelps who'd joined the Companions too recently to be allowed to take outside jobs.

But I had no reason to refuse them this. "That's different," I conceded, deciding to take matters into my own hands before I ended up travelling with Njada. "Actually," I pointed out, "that's an excellent idea. I can take Jon with me, for his whelp training."

"Not who I was going to suggest," Lydia glanced to Vilkas.

"You said yourself, you're on a mission already," Vilkas shook his head. "And Jon is no warrior."

"And what if something happens to him while you're in the field, or when you send him home? Or do you mean to take him all the way to the Throat of the World?" Lydia added quickly. "The Battle-Borns have only just conceded to join the Companions."

"All the better," I lifted my chin, determined to keep my cool. "We can travel as bards, and his family will know that the Dragonborn has seen to his induction personally. They will appreciate that. It proves to the Battle-Borns we are taking his application seriously. Let him come to Ivarstead with me," I insisted. "We can stay the night at the Inn, and I can send him home the following day."

"For what purpose?" Vilkas grimaced and rose. "Send him on a fools errand and they'll think we're mocking him."

"And sending him home by himself is asking for trouble," Lydia interjected.

"Travelling with the Dragonborn is suddenly a fools errand?" I arched an eyebrow. "Give him a proper paying job, then."

"I would sooner send Torvar to watch your back."

"I don't need anybody to watch my back."

"I thought we were past this, Celeste," Vilkas grumbled, rising to his feet. "I need to check the book."

"No, Vilkas stay," I insisted. "We can talk about it some more."

Lydia rose as well. "I'll check it with you."

"But I just filled your drinks," I pouted.

Neither took their seats, and Vilkas downed his tankard in one go. "I'd rather know there's a job on the books to suit our purposes than speculate, sister."

I frowned, watching the pair as they threw on their coats and made for the door, both thanking Sigrid for the food and apologising for their hasty exit.

Sigrid just laughed, waving her hand at them; she'd had a little more wine than we had already.

"Promise me you won't create a job in Ivarstead in the next hour," I met them levelly.

Lydia's mouth formed a straight line. "A job's a job."

"Yes but I am not a job! If I must take somebody, let me take someone I might be of use to."

"You are of use to every one of us," Vilkas' eyes narrowed, and he pointed a finger at me. "Promise me you will not leave Whiterun without seeing me first."

"Promise me I'm not the job!" I called quickly as they departed.

They didn't reply, and Lydia closed the door quietly behind her, so as not to wake the girls.

With a defeated sigh, I sat back and sent an exasperated glance Sigrid's way. "I tried."

"And you succeeded," she smiled with encouragement, rising to collect the last few dinner things. "You managed to distract them from insisting they travel with you," she offered. "Isn't that what you wanted?"

I closed my eyes. I supposed it was.

—

Dawn broke, clear and beautiful, and after saying farewell at Breezehome, I left a formal letter with Proventus for the Jarl, explaining that I was needed at the Throat of the World.

Then I made my way to Jorrvaskr, to find a veritable entourage clustered in the mead hall, strapping on backpacks and weapons, preparing for travel.

I had no doubt this was Lydia and Vilkas' doing, and I had to work to keep my expression from falling when I took in who they'd decided would accompany me.

It was all the whelps. All five of them: Jon, Idolaf, Erik, Saadia and Jervar.

Jon and Erik were the only two I knew, though I'd had brief conversations with Idolaf, who I'd occasionally found myself next to at the Jarl's feasting table. I knew little of the other two preparing to accompany me, though I was certain Saadia had been serving drinks last time I was at the Bannered Mare, granted that had been months ago. And the boy, Jervar? I was positive he was the stable master's son.

What had possessed them to join the Companions was between them an Aela, who had inducted them in our absence.

I located Vilkas. He was helping Jervar tighten his backpack so the straps rest evenly on his shoulders.

"Good morning, um..." Jervar greeted quietly. His leather armour seemed to swallow his thin frame.

"Hello," I returned airily, squaring Vilkas with a tilt to my head. "What do you call this?"

His silvery eyes swerved to me, and he patted the boy's back to indicate the job was done. "Off you go. Lydia will give you a sword and bow," he motioned across the hall.

I glanced up and saw my housecarl sitting by the armour rack on the far wall near the stairs, trying out a bow Saadia must have chosen, and shaking her head as she put it back on the wall.

Jervar left, and Vilkas turned to stand beside me, arms crossed as he oversaw the others preparations.

"This is a compromise," Vilkas rumbled quietly.

"Compromise?" I scoffed. "Will there be anyone left in the mead hall when we leave?"

"Safety in numbers," Vilkas murmured, eyes roving the crowd. "Take care of your shield-siblings, Harbinger."

I gaped at him; I couldn't help it. Instead of sending someone to baby-sit me, they were…

I didn't know if Lydia and Vilkas were punishing or rewarding me for suggesting to take Jon to Ivarstead for his whelp training. Perhaps they thought that, with so many inexperienced people in my care, I wouldn't do anything dangerous on the road. I would certainly not lead this band, most of whom were younger than me, into a confrontation with a dragon.

It was their way of ensuring I maintained caution.

"What are the details of their mission?" I asked quietly, determined not to be angry. We were about to say goodbye.

"Idolaf has the details," Vilkas said. "Someone lost an heirloom in the lake in Ivarstead. They're all going to search for it," he dismissed. "You'll take the northern pass and stick to the main roads. It'll take a little longer, but it's not wise to venture near Helgen these days," he added darkly.

I sighed. "All right, dad."

He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. "That's not weird at all."

"You made it weird," I waved my hand at the assembled crowd.

"What?" he defended, an amused lilt to his tone that hadn't been there before. "You wanted to take a whelp. Lydia and I discussed the matter, and decided you were right."

"So I take all of them?" I shot him a deadpan look, and while he smirked, he kept the rest of his thoughts to himself.

At least they're not insisting to go with you. They can have some rest here. This is a small price to pay to ensure they have a week of normality.

The whelps were soon ready to leave, and I hugged Vilkas and Lydia good bye in turn.

"Keep safe," Lydia pressed me close. "And don't take any risks. They're trusting you."

I bit my tongue and closed my eyes, sinking into her hug. "And you keep Vilkas safe for me, okay? I promised Farkas."

Lydia laughed quietly. "That won't be a problem," she quipped.

"I'll see you both in a week, at the Vilemyr," I assured her as I retreated to hold her arms.

"We'll be there," Lydia smiled softly.

With a few more farewells, I led the band of five to the stables, where we were delayed as Jervar's mother fussed over his armour and handed me a parcel of sweet rolls to 'brighten our journey'. Finally, we collected our horses, and made for the northern pass.

Erik drew his horse up beside mine as soon as the road widened. "So why are you bound for Ivarstead, Lady-," he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Er, I mean, Celeste? Nobody would tell us anything."

I gave the amicable young man a smile; he was too earnest and cheery to be frustrated with. "I need to speak with my mentor at the Throat of the World," I told him what I had told Sigrid and the Jarl.

His eyes widened. "Wow."

"What about?" Jervar joined us, his bay snickering softly as it pressed its nose affectionately into my mare's neck.

"Leave the Dragonborn in peace," Idolaf joined us, his horse on Jervar's other side. "Besides, it will be about Alduin."

"Are we going to see Alduin?" Erik asked hastily, eyes snapped back to me, agog.

I glanced to the horizon and considered telling him it was classified. "Mmm," I decided. "It's about Alduin. And no - nobody's going to see him. Not even me."

"What's it like to face him? I heard about Helgen - Lokir was from my village, you know-?"

"Who's Lokir?" Jervar asked.

"He was a man who...didn't survive Helgen," I murmured.

"Yeah," Erik's candour wavered, but after a solemn moment, it was back. "Reldith says she saw him one day-"

"Who, Lokir?" Jervar peaked.

"No no - Alduin!"

"Oh. Who's Reldith?"

"A friend, from home - anyway she said she saw Alduin, the day before the battle for Whiterun, right before that other dragon turned up in Rorikstead - La- I mean, Celeste - do you remember that one? I expect you've faced too many dragons by now to remember them all."

"I don't think you're supposed to call her Celeste," Jervar whispered.

"No, please it's fine. I prefer my actual name," I confirmed.

"But," the boy bit his lip, looking worriedly between me and Erik. "I know we don't, but Vilkas calls you Harbinger-"

I barely stopped my laughter. "I'm not! Don't call me Harbinger," I pointed at him. "Vilkas is our Harbinger," I smiled sweetly. A little revenge.

"Yes, ma'am," Jervar agreed hastily, then winced. "I mean, Celeste," he murmured.

"So...do...you remember the dragon at Rorikstead?" Erik asked hopefully.

"I remember them all. His name was Nahagliiv."

"Whoa," Jervar shuddered. "It felt like ice ran down my back when you said his name."

"That's because a dragon's name is really a Shout, isn't it?" Erik turned back to me.

"Is that so?" Idolaf asked quietly, and it was only then I realised he was avidly listening too, he was just better at hiding it than the boys.

I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Saadia and Jon were keeping up; they were. The young woman's head was ducked and covered by her pea-green travelling hood, her velvety eyes focussed on the four of us. Only Jon seemed to be in his own world, lounging in the saddle and plucking at the practise lute he'd acquired when we'd started taking lessons.

"That's right," I replied as I turned back, smiling at the picture he painted; a true bard, lost in song.

"See? So Reldith saw Alduin flying over the village, toward the ruins to the east, and when his wings flapped it was like thunder-"

"It Shouted thunder?" Jervar squeaked.

"Maybe," Erik shrugged. "The...Naga-liv Shouted a whole storm. I think anything is possible, with the right thu'um, don't you L-Celeste? So will we see any dragons, do you think?" he stopped for breath.

"I hope not."

"Oh. Yeah, that'd be bad. So what kind of Shout does Nara...gliv's name make?"

I winced. "Not like that," I had to insist. "Nah-ag-liiv," I emphasised. "Nahagliiv."

"Brr," Jervar shuddered again.

"His name translates to 'fury burn wither'."

"Wow," Erik hushed, shaking his head in wonder. "Can you teach us more?"

"Erik!" Idolaf hissed. "The dragon tongue is not to be toyed with."

"It also won't hurt him, or any of you, to know a little of their language and culture," I shrugged at Idolaf.

"He is not bothering you, truly, Lady Dragonborn?"

"Please, call me Celeste, Idolaf," I told him directly, feeling even stranger about a man old enough to be my father deferring to me. "And no, curiosity doesn't bother me. It can only lead to understanding," I turned back to Erik and was unable to help but smile at his enthusiasm. "What else do you want to know?"

"By the Gods, this is great!" Erik beamed. "Um, okay let me think-!"

Saadia's reserved tone entered the conversation. "What does Alduin's name mean?"

I glanced over my shoulder to offer her a smile; she was still meekly peeking from under her hood, her eyes wide, making her appear younger than her eighteen years. She offered a small, uncertain tilt in return.

"Yes! Good one, Saadi! Al-duin. Wait, am I saying his name right?"

I laughed, unable to believe I was not only having this conversation, but also enjoying it.

The chatter continued through the morning as we looped around Whiterun Hold and the plains turned into wooded, rocky dips and rises. We took the ascending mountain pass circling the base of Throat of the World that would have us enter Ivarstead from the north.

Occasionally we passed a pair of Legion officers marching in the other direction.

Toward Windhelm, I reminded myself the first time, with a shudder. Some merely nodded to us, but others saluted as we crossed paths, murmurs of "Hail, Dragonborn," in their wake.

Otherwise the roads were empty, and I had to admit my shield-siblings were good company.

As the sun sank in the west and the pass started to descend, my travel companions decided to stay the night at the Vilemyr, and commence their search for the heirloom in the morning (Erik's father was, apparently, good friends with Wilhelm, the innkeeper there).

My chest tightened, and I wondered how on Nirn I was supposed to keep the more curious of my shield-siblings from learning about the true purpose of my mission: to deliver my sister to Paarthurnax.

I had to hope she and Etienne were still waiting for me at the Vilemyr, and their disguise had been maintained for the week I'd spent in Whiterun.

---

A/n: Can the very long chapter possibly make up for the delay in chapters? The global pandemic has given a lot of people time to write, but for me it has been the opposite; the Covid-19 lockdown meant that I've become teacher and peer to my young child, with their school operating in home schooling mode, and he's my first priority in these strange and scary times/I've lost virtually any and all 'me time'.
I did, however, have most of this chapter penned prior to the lockdown, which means I've finally been able to edit and post it. And I promise you something very very big is happening in the next chapter. Stay safe everyone, okay?