Chapter 67: The Next Right Thing

Low clouds closed in, making the world feel smaller for lack of sky, and the sun had set by the time we stabled our horses behind the Vilemyr Inn. The air was dry and cold, and somehow heavier, all precursors of snow. Ordinarily I would welcome the beauty of fresh powder, but inwardly I grimaced, for it would only make the climb more perilous tomorrow.

"Gods, I haven't wanted to lie down so much in my life," Jon moaned, strapping his lute about him listlessly.

"Our kingdom for an ale, hey?" Idolaf threw an arm around the smaller man's shoulders and jostled him fondly.

"No, a bath," Saadia sighed, rubbing her shoulder and tilting her head to stretch her neck. "My kingdom for a hot bath."

"You think…I could have an ale?" Jervar asked quietly, hopefully. "Tilma never lets me drink anything interesting in the mead hall."

"Tilma knows your mother," Idolaf pointed out, droll.

"His mother isn't here," Jon inspected the teenager as we made our way to the entrance. "I'm sure we can arrange something, little brother."

Jervar flushed, ducking his head to hide a wide grin, murmuring something that nobody heard.

"C'mon you lot, the ride wasn't so bad," Erik encouraged, flickering me a worried glance.

I wrinkled my nose at him. "Aren't you cold? Tired?"

"Me? No, I mean. I guess? I didn't think about it. But -" Erik stammered. "I kind of like the cold. It's refreshing."

"Is there nothing in this world that vexes you, Erik?" Saadia sighed as she shivered, tugging her cloak close around her neck.

"Oh, sure," Erik flushed, half-smiling to the deck as out boots beat uneven rhythms across it. "I don't like cabbages."

"Who does?" Jervar scoffed.

Saadia faced Erik, deadpan. "Then you haven't had it properly prepared. Marinated correctly, cabbage is delicious."

"I mean, you're probably right?" Erik sent the young woman a glowing smile. "I'm always willing to try new things."

Saadia blinked at him once, then turned away. "You are incorrigible."

"Enough chatter," Idolaf murmured, reaching for the door. "Let us see what we're dealing with here."

"Oh - you don't need to worry about Wilhelm's patrons," Erik piped up. "They're all farmers and miners. Everyone in these parts is."

Idolaf, fingers wrapped around the handle, turned to stare at the young man. "Anything else we should know?" he drawled, unimpressed.

"Well, okay!" Erik carried on brightly. "Dad says Wilhelm's in love with his bard, Lynly, but he thinks he's too old for her."

"Why, how old is he?" Jervar asked.

"Dunno," Erik shrugged. "Older than dad. He hasn't got any hair, so maybe, I dunno. Fifty?"

"Hairlessness is no mark of agedness," Saadia pointed out flatly. "Where I am from all men and women of class shave their hair when they turn fourteen."

"Wow," Jervar's eyes widened and shot to her hood-covered head. "Didn't you do it?"

"I most certainly did."

"But…you have hair."

"I am no longer fourteen."

"Are we really doing this, out here?" Idolaf grated, hand still on the door knob.

"Well, it grew back really nicely, all silky and -" Erik faltered, clearing his throat, oblivious to Idolaf's glare. "Anyway. That's really interesting. Is it a spiritual thing in your culture? Why fourteen? Is it like a birthday tradition?"

Idolaf groaned in defeat and pushed open the door.

Saadia narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, trained on Erik. "You ask a lot of questions."

Erik's response was lost to the noise of the tap room.

As with my last visit, most of the tables were occupied, but then I supposed it was suppertime. A wall of blessed warmth rolled over me like a soft wool blanket, and we began to shed outer layers. The hearth's roar provided a rumbling undercurrent, and all of the horn lanterns were lit, bathing patrons and pub in a pleasant yellow glow. Somewhere behind us, the bard was singing in her soft, sweet voice, with finger-picked lute accompanying her.

"This is more like it," Idolaf said in a pleased tone, eyes roving the room.

I glanced around hastily too, and determined not to panic as I failed to find the Nords my sister and Etienne were disguised as. Chances were they kept to their room when the inn was this busy. All I had to do was wait, and my sister would surely hear I'd arrived, and find me.

I did spy Wilhelm bustling toward us though, and raised a hand in greeting.

"Lady Dragonborn, welcome," Wilhelm clasped his hands together, taking in my travelling companions. When his eyes fell on Erik, they widened. "What are you doing here, lad?"

Erik's grin lit up his face. "I'm a Companion now. Travelling with the, you know," he puffed, thumbing toward me with evident pride. "Told you I'd get out of Rorikstead one day."

Wilhelm barked a laugh and clapped the young man on the shoulder. "I never thought your da would let you go. You writing to him?"

"Of course - every three days or so."

"You're a good boy," there was a fond glint in his eye as he patted Erik's arm and glanced back to me. "Whatever you need, Lady Dragonborn - a room, food, drink - it's on the house. For you, and your friends," he gave my companions a small, cordial nod. "The Companions are very welcome at the Vilemyr."

My shield-siblings made sounds of gratification, and I bit my lip, unwilling to put the man out of legitimate business.

"You are very kind," I nodded my thanks, for now. I would press some money onto him tomorrow morning.

Wilhelm beamed then directed a boy about Jervar's age to lead us to our rooms; a private suite for me, and a shared room for my shield-siblings.

Ordinarily I would have protested about the segregation, but given I needed to locate Giselle and Etienne, and conduct very private conversations with them before the morrow, I let the innkeeper give me some special treatment.

Lugging my backpack and weapons, while I carried just my lute, the boy unlocked a door then passed me a key, large and shiny, attached by a piece of string to a wooden tab with '2A' painted on it.

The lad flushed when I thanked him, and hastened inside to carefully deposit my bag, bow and quiver on a chest of drawers at the end of the bed.

He turned to me, wringing his hands, and his mouth opened momentarily. "Will…do you need anything else, Miss?" he asked. "I mean -" his eyes grew larger. "My Lady. Gods - sorry," he bowed his head.

I put on the friendliest smile I could muster and held out some gold.

"You've been a great help. Here - for your trouble."

The boy's eyes widened further and he shook his head frantically. "You can't give me that, you're the Dragonborn," he hissed, as though it were a secret. "Wilhelm said you stay for free!"

He was painfully anxious, which in turn made me feel awkward, and I frowned. "I'm just a girl, and I'm still a customer. Please, will you let me thank you?"

"You're not just a girl," he said with stuttered vehemence, backing out of the room. "You're our hero," he added in a rush, cheeks the colour of flames.

Before I could reply he closed the door behind him, a little too loudly.

I stared at the wooden panel, heat rising to my cheeks as well, and heard a quiet, muttered curse, then hurried footsteps recede.

I muffled a nervous laugh into my hand - this special treatment was bizarre - and tucked the money away. I'd pay Wilhelm tomorrow.

Contented to be on my own for a moment, I changed out of my Whiterun armour and made use of the room's bathing water and cloths, changing into more comfortable brown leggings, tan tunic and burgundy vest, releasing my hair from its travel-worn bun and combing it to leave it curly and unadorned. With a brief clean to my armour, I set it on the stand by the dresser, rest my bow beside it, and propped my lute on the side table where it would be safe.

With the room and myself in order, I slipped into my soft house boots and returned to the tap room.

I glanced around, searching for my friends. Wilhelm must have been on lookout for me, for I saw him flick a signal toward one of his serving men, and in no time I was shown to a large, lavish table close to the bard's station, where all my travelling companions already sat in more casual clothes with drinks in their hands.

The server whispered something in Lynly's ear before he headed to the bar, and the woman's eyes widened, taking me in briefly.

I cast her an apologetic smile. I wondered if I should pay her to not play that Dragonborn song she had sung last time; most of the patrons were already casting our table furtive glances and the talk had turned to whispers.

Perhaps I managed to convey my wish somehow, for she gave me a small smile and nod in return, her blonde curls brushing against rosy cheeks, and turned her eyes down to start playing again.

It took me a moment to recognise the song as an instrumental take on Tale of Syrabane; it was lilting and melancholy and simpler in its loveliness without lyrics.

Jon leaned forward, speculative eyes on the woman, resting his chin on his hand as he studied how her fingers moved across the strings. "I've never heard it played like this," he murmured.

"You're right," Jervar scoffed in a low voice, elbowing Erik beside him. "That Wilhelm's way too old for her."

"Shush," Saadia pinned him with a stern glare.

Jervar sank lower into his seat. "I just mean," he defended, waving his hand toward the bard, as though the gesture offered an obvious explanation.

Saadia arched an eyebrow and waited.

"She's really pretty," Jervar puffed eventually. "She could do heaps better than that old man."

"Aw, give him a break," Erik whispered, mediating. "Wilhelm's a really good man."

"You presume to decide what is best for a woman you do not know, based on her appearance, no less?" Saadia arched an eyebrow, deceptively toneless.

"No," Jerver mumbled, flushing. "I just meant-"

"Shut up before you dig yourself into a hole you cannot climb out of," Idolaf growled. "Our shield-sister is right."

The boy closed his mouth and had the grace to look abashed. "Sorry, Saadia."

I turned my attention to the song, and before it ended, a bottle and a fine, glass goblet was placed before me by the server from before.

He leaned close as he poured a pale, golden wine. "If this vintage ain't to your fancy, the Lady might find a more palatable bottle in the cellar. I'd be happy to show you the way?"

I certainly knew that voice, and turned to the serving man to inspect - and frown at him.

He was a young Nord with dark red hair in plaits that framed his cheeks. Not at all who Etienne had been, last time I'd seen him. The man cast me a cheeky smile and an unsubtle wink.

I rolled my eyes. "I don't remember seeing you last time I stayed here," I commented loftily.

"I'm new, aren't I?" he stood, placing the bottle into a bucket of ice he'd positioned between Saadia and I. "Right good of Wilhelm, isn't it, to employ my sister an' me in shifts so we can nurse our sick mama back to health."

I picked up my wine and sat back, wondering what exactly Etienne was trying to convey by that. "How noble of you both," I murmured, and took a sip.

I wrinkled my nose at the sour liquid and put the glass down at once. "You mentioned I might peruse your other vintages, mister…?"

"Tor Thorsen, my Lady," he dipped his head in greeting. "Of course. Only the best for the Dragonborn. This way."

Inwardly wincing, I stood to follow, explaining to my shield-siblings I was going to the cellar to find a better wine.

Once we were in the hall, Etienne put his serving tray down and collected a lantern from a stand, wiping a hand on his apron idly. "Glad to see you finally made it," he murmured. "But why'd you bring the cavalry?"

"They're not involved, I was just travelling with them," I sighed, throwing him an arch look. "Tor Thorsen?"

"What's wrong with it?" Etienne quirked a half-smile.

"Oh, I dunno," I breezed, descending the stairs after him. "You could have gone with something a little more Nordic, like Nord Nordersen."

"Maybe next time," Etienne stopped before a closed door.

"And an ailing mother?" I asked. "Why the intricacy? Is she playing two people while you're here?"

"Ah," Etienne's currently brown eyes widened, and his mirth faltered. "Yeah, okay, about that. We, um," he winced, rubbing a free hand across his temple. "Hang on. I'll get your sister. I mean, Thora."

"Tor and Thora Thorsen?"

Etienne only grimaced and held up a hand. "Wait…just wait here, okay?"

He slipped inside, and I caught the flicker of orange flame within, before he snapped the door shut in my face.

For a minute I stood, staring at the door, wondering what on Nirn the man could have meant.

In less than a minute, it opened again, and a young woman with a freckled face and ginger hair peeked out, then stepped out.

She looked like the feminine version of Etienne's disguise, down to the age; Thora and Tor must have been twins. How original.

"Hello, Lady Dragonborn," she said quietly, leaning against the door. She was dressed in a neat green and cream tunic with a serving apron slung around her waist.

"Hello, Thora," I returned, crossing my arms and raising my eyebrows. "How fares your ailing mother?" I pressed.

"Mm," my sister's voice left a foreign mouth and she did the same grimace Etienne had a moment ago. "There's been a complication."

"When is there not one?" I nodded to the door, growing a little frustrated. "Can I come in?"

"Wait," Giselle's hand reached out, faltering a beat before it rest on my shoulder. Brown eyes met mine and I could still see Giselle's fierceness behind the disguise. "It's Delphine," she whispered.

A thunderstorm of voices swirled in my mind, demanding to be let loose on the loathed Blade. I closed my eyes and clenched my fists to suppress a Shout rising in my throat.

"You didn't end her on sight?" I confirmed, remembering Giselle's last words to Esbern.

"Of course not," she huffed, crossing her arms and glancing away. "That was a warning. I'm not a monster."

My eyes flashed with anger. "And Esbern?"

Giselle shook her head. "She was alone."

"Did she follow you here?"

"I don't know," Giselle admitted. "Naturally, she said she'd only speak to you."

"That's all she's said? You couldn't just," I waved a hand at my sister. "Make her tell you her truths?" I grumbled.

"I tried," Giselle hissed, glancing toward the stairs. "It didn't work on her. Keep your voice down, okay?" she reached for the handle.

I pursed my lips as we entered the room.

It might once have been part of a wine cellar, wrought of stone and with a couple of small, high, barred windows along the back wall, opening to the air just above ground level - but it had been made into a spare room a while ago, for it had a lived-in feel to it. A brown carpet covered the floor, its fringes a forest green, a little ratty and worn away in places. A couple of rudimentary beds were set along one wall, dressed in lighter moss-green covers, with a wooden dresser in between bearing a vase of lavender and red mountain flowers. There was a small hearth fire below one of the windows, and beside it was another bed and chair.

Etienne hovered by the bed, casting a guilty look my way. "We…tied her up."

"I can see that," I strode over. Giselle was by my side, step for step.

An old woman I didn't recognise sat in the bed, propped up on pillows. A piece of cream-coloured cloth was tied around her nose and mouth, a common precaution to stop the spread of nastier diseases. Her hands were tied, one each, to the bed legs, in a way that would have made it simple to hide that she was bound at all, should anybody else visit the room. She would have looked frail and utterly harmless to anyone who didn't understand what lay behind the avid glint that appeared in her eyes when she caught sight of me.

The look made my skin crawl, and I had to push away the instinctive suspicion that Delphine was here to trap me. She was in no position to do such a thing, and I would not give her the opportunity to spring one, no matter what she wanted to talk about.

I stopped beside the bed and Giselle reached forward to lower the cloth from her nose. "Okay, she's here. Time to talk."

Delphine made a frustrated, mutinous noise around a gag the cloth had hidden; a gag preventing her from speaking, or Shouting.

"Yes, we're going to take this off, but first," Giselle continued, holding a hand close to Delphine's temple, palm open. A ball of purple energy swelled into existence, crackling sickly in her grasp. "If you Shout at her, spit at her, do so much as bare your teeth at her, you're going to lose something," she said in a calm, patient tone that sent a chill down my spine. "Understand?"

With a mutinous glare at my sister, the old woman nodded once.

Giselle signalled Etienne, and the man stepped forward and undid the knot holding the gag in place.

The woman swallowed then worked her jaw for a moment; red lines dug into her face where the gag had been tied, making the her mouth longer than it really was, grotesquely out of proportion.

I waited for her to speak for as long as I could.

"Didn't I banish you?" I murmured finally.

Delphine huffed at the bedspread, but still said nothing.

"You have two minutes to convince me why I shouldn't hand you over to the Oculatus, for orchestrating the assassination of the Emperor of Tamriel, and his heir," I said in a cool, clear voice.

She glanced up with something akin to triumph in her eyes. "You don't want to do that, Dragonborn."

"I really, really do," I assured her, lowering into the seat beside the bed, feigning nonchalance while my insides raged. "One and a half minutes."

The woman chuckled; a dry, calculating laugh, shaking her head in disbelief.

"One minute," I snapped. "Keep wasting my time, Delphine," I warned.

"All right," she drawled, dragging her eyes back up to meet mine. "I have your Elder Scroll."

"Erm-" Etienne's eyes widened in panic, and beside me, I heard my sister suck in a sharp breath.

"She's lying," I scoffed, heart clamouring in my chest.

Could she have it? But no. She couldn't. She couldn't possibly have it. Delphine always manipulated to get what she wanted. This was just more of the same.

"We searched you," Etienne accused, confusion to his tone.

"You did search me," Delphine conceded, nodding once, eyes never leaving mine. "But I wasn't fool enough to have an artefact of such importance on my person when I came to tell the Dragonborn I have what she needs. All sorts of undesirables in these parts," her gaze swerved, briefly, to my sister. "But I hid it somewhere safe. Somewhere you'll never think to look for it, on your own."

"How did you capture her?" I glanced to Giselle as well.

My sister looked unimpressed, eyes fixed to the old woman as the ball of energy in her hand crackled and grew a little larger. "She turned up, three days ago, asking for a room at the inn. I…watched her, paralysed her in her bed, and brought her here, late that night. She had a bag but no scroll in her possession, and said nothing of it to us."

"Why would I? The Elder Scroll has nothing to do with you, you little whore," Delphine drawled.

"How dare you?" I snapped. "Disrespect my sister again and this conversation is over."

"But it doesn't," Delphine replied, annoyingly calm. "The Elder Scroll is part of your destiny. It's for your hands, your eyes only, isn't that right?"

"As fun as this conversation is," Etienne cut in. "Why don't you just tell us where you hid it, and Selly won't have to throw all that dark magic into your face?"

The corner of Delphine's mouth rose. "Untie me, and I'll take the Dragonborn straight to it."

Giselle cast me a brief glance. "Let's entertain the old bat for a moment, as though she actually has it," she posed sharply. "What do you want in return?"

"You were always such a clever girl, Giselle. You'll work out what I want."

"Well that's too bad," Giselle's dark magic filled her hand as her fingers arched with restraint. "I don't like guessing games, and we don't negotiate with traitors."

"That's rich, coming from you-"

"Shut your mouth!" Giselle grated. "You lost the privilege of setting your terms a long time ago."

"I'm not as smart as she is," I spoke over the shouting. "If you do mean to give me an Elder Scroll, just tell me what you expect me to do for it?"

Delphine's eyes flickered toward me, the same icy-blue as always. Giselle hadn't bothered to change their colour when she'd disguised her. "As you wish, Dragonborn," she offered a mocking head-nod. "It's quite simple. I want you to take me to the Throat of the World, and I mean all the way to the top. I want your oath that any Blade who makes the journey after me will be offered sanctuary at High Hrothgar. Assure me of this, and I will take you to where I hid the Scroll."

My hands shook with restraint as I bit my tongue to keep from Shouting at her. She wanted refuge at the Throat of the World!?

"The Greybeards won't take you back," Giselle laughed mockingly. "They know what you are now."

"And what am I?" Delphine's eyes swivelled to my sister, though she didn't dare move her head, or Giselle's spell would clip her. "The last of a loyal order, hunted and punished for believing in something. For believing in you," her eyes were back on me, and she narrowed them, shaking her head in disgust. "A coddled, ungrateful little girl, who doesn't deserve-" she grated.

"Enough," Giselle snapped.

"Why bring me what I need if you hate me so?" I asked, unwilling to argue with her.

Delphine's teeth clenched, and her eyes briefly glanced to my sister in annoyance.

"You didn't think she'd be here, did you?" I sighed, recognising Delphine's behaviour for the pattern it was. "You meant to meet me alone en route, and keep the Scroll until I agreed to whatever it is you really want."

"How do you know that?" Etienne murmured.

"It's not the first time she's stolen an artefact to get my attention and ensure my cooperation."

Delphine growled, eyes lowering. "I gave you my terms. Accept them and obtain your precious Scroll, or kill me, and never find it."

"Oh-ho, no," Giselle scoffed. "The only other way this ends, is with me dumping you, bound and gagged, on the Thalmor's doorstep."

Delphine laughed again; a low, dangerous, growling thing. "Do that, and I'll sell you all out," she said. "I'll tell them everything. I won't have a choice," her eyes found mine, narrowed and dark. "Three of us in this room know firsthand how skilled they are at getting information out of people. And I know enough to ensure everybody you've ever loved is hunted down and killed."

"Getting real tired of all this death talk," Etienne sighed, leaning against the wall and glancing to the ceiling. "Tell you what," he quipped. "Draw us a map to where the Elder Scroll is. If we find it where you say it is, we can talk more about the Greybeards," he flickered a glance my way.

"No deal," Delphine grit. "I will take only the Dragonborn to it, and only after she has agreed to my terms."

"I have no authority to offer you or anybody else sanctuary there. The Greybeards rule High Hrothgar. I can't make them keep you, Delphine," I said.

"Are you sure?" her gaze held mine. "Word has it, you're friends with their Grandmaster. Pretty sure that means you can convince them of anything you set your mind to."

My eyes narrowed slightly, recalling with dread how she'd specified going to the top of the mountains. "What do you know of the Grandmaster?"

"I know enough."

"No, I'm not sure you do," I pursed my lips. Surely Delphine couldn't be aware of who Paarthurnax really was; surely she had not learnt the necessary Shout to clear the way to the peak, when she'd lived there. That path was for Dragonborns alone. Wasn't it?

Perhaps she was merely fishing for information about him. Whatever her reasoning, there was no way I was going to take Delphine anywhere, let alone High Hrothgar, where I meant to take my sister.

Remembering what Delphine had taken during her last stint with the Greybeards, I sat back and squared her. "I have an alternative deal," I murmured. "You give me your Elder Scroll, and you tell me where Dante's journal is, the one you stole," I confirmed.

Delphine arched an eyebrow. "What do you want with that?"

"I'm not finished," I cut. "After those two items are in my possession, you will be ensured safe passage back to Sky Haven Temple, and you will stay there. Let it be your refuge for the rest of your days, and we will tell nobody of where you are serving your banishment."

"I can't go back there," Delphine chuckled darkly. "Without the blood of a Septim, the way is sealed. Are you offering your blood for the rest of my days?" she drawled.

I'd forgotten about that weird entryway. "Live in the ruins outside of the Temple, or knock a hole in the wall. I don't care. That is my offer."

"I don't think so," there was too much smugness to Delphine's tone. "This is the last time I'll say it, Dragonborn," she glanced up, and there was that flash of victory again. "I'll take you to your Elder Scroll, and then you will take me with you, to the Grandmaster of the Greybeards."

—

We were getting nowhere with Delphine and I'd spent too long in the cellar, so Etienne saw me back upstairs to return to his work, grabbing a dusty bottle of wine from a nearby shelf.

"Hey," he stopped me in the hall with a cautious hand on my arm. "We'll work something out, okay?"

I nodded to the floorboards. "We have to. I can't have that woman at High Hrothgar with…Thora."

"Yeah, I'm with you there. C'mon. We have time. This is actually a really good one," he showed me the bottle. "And your friends will be missing you."

We returned to the warmth of the tap room, back to my shield-siblings' table. I sat down between Saadia and Erik, and faced a steaming bowl of stew, delivered in my absence.

Etienne - Tor - uncorked the wine with an expert pop and poured it into a carafe. "Give it ten minutes to breathe, my Lady."

I murmured my thanks, staring at the bloody-red liquid as it filled the glass vessel.

"One day - it was just after the Embassy party - I started bleeding. I don't know why. I fainted, and when I woke, the baby was...gone."

"Hey, Celeste?" Erik's tentative touch to my shoulder made me jump, and I glanced quickly to him.

"You okay?" he whispered, nothing but concern in his kind eyes.

As the world started to realign and Lynly's song brushed against my thoughts, I pushed away the knowledge that Delphine was bound and gagged below us, with my sister watching over her.

"I'm fine," offering the young man a smile, I picked up my spoon. "I'm just tired, and hungry."

"Well, dig in," he encouraged merrily. "Wilhelm's stew is probably the best in all of Skyrim. Well - okay no," he leaned a little closer. "Dad's food is the best in Skyrim," he disclosed. "But Wilhelm's stew is still really good."

I was unable to stop my huff of laughter and narrowed my eyes. "I see your father's cooking and raise you Sigrid's," I pointed my spoon at him.

"I dunno, I'm not really a betting man," he stuttered, eyes glinting with laughter. "Who's Sigrid?" he asked cordially.

"Hadvar's aunt," my mouth tilted up as I blew across a mouthful. "And creator of the best food in all of Tamriel."

"She must be good, to earn your praise," he commented brightly. "Maybe - you think she'd teach me? I'd love to be able to take some new recipes home for dad to try-"

"Shut up and let the woman eat," Idolaf drawled across the table.

Erik grinned into his drink and I laughed into my stew, quite unable to believe I was laughing at all.

After dinner and a few more songs, I bade them farewell and excused myself, as I had quite a climb ahead of me in the morning and didn't see any reason to wake them before I left.

Of course, I was no longer certain we would be travelling to Hrothgar at all tomorrow - but for my Companions' sake, and for Vilkas and Lydia's, who would doubtless ask the returning whelps for a report - I needed them to believe all was normal.

With a pang of irony, I wished that Vilkas and Lydia had insisted on accompanying me, for they would have been involved, and able to see a path through this fog of uncertainty.

When I opened the door to room 2A and stepped within, I found my sister on my bed with her ankles crossed and arms stretched out behind her, still disguised as the red-headed Nord woman.

Her eyes were on the plush, cream-coloured carpet that covered the floor, but whipped up to me when I clicked the door closed.

"Do you think she really has it?" she asked at once.

I locked the door behind me. "I don't know. But she took the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, before I could get to it. Then used it as bait," I muttered, unimpressed.

Giselle said nothing and watched me as I placed the key on the nightstand, and sat next to her on the bed. "Do you think she has it?" I countered.

"Oh, she'd tear Skyrim apart to find an Elder Scroll, if she thought it'd make you listen to her," Giselle murmured, picking at a small, splotchy stain on her serving apron. The corner of her mouth tilted down. "Are you…very certain you can't learn the Shout you need, without the Elder Scroll?"

I nodded to my lap. "The Shout was formed by those who weren't dragon or Dragonborn. There's a…wrongness to it," I shook my head briefly. "Its knowledge was buried through the ages. So, unless you know of some other way to see into the past…?"

She shifted, turning toward me and lifting her knee, her falsely-brown depths shimmering with unspent emotion. "You know those things send you blind if you read them, don't you?"

I'd been warned of that fate and worse in the books I'd read at Winterhold, and I'd long since come to terms with the risk. "Past Dragonborns have lost their lives fulfilling their duties to Tamriel. If my sight is the only price…I'll be one of the lucky ones."

"Celeste," Giselle admonished.

"And maybe I don't need to read it?" I pushed on with a half-shrug. "Maybe I just need to…stand where the battle took place with it in my arms, and the Time Wound will appear. I don't think anyone really knows how it works."

Giselle scoffed, disbelieving. "How does bloody Delphine know you need an Elder Scroll?"

"How does bloody Delphine know anything?" I countered wryly. "Esbern heard us talking at Sky Haven Temple, he probably told her about it."

My twin said nothing for a beat, though I felt fresh anger roll off her in a wave.

"She's probably hidden the Scroll wherever Esbern is hiding," she murmured darkly.

"You think they're still working together?" I asked carefully.

"Oh, I'm certain they're both in on this."

"So the others she spoke of in her demands," I sighed. "She means to spirit him to High Hrothgar, too?"

"She doesn't want sanctuary," she dismissed darkly. "She wants to control you, and if that means controlling the Greybeards…I know how they work, Celeste," Giselle said. "He'll be waiting, wherever the Scroll is hidden. Waiting to spring their trap," she finished quietly, then turned to face me suddenly, eyes wide.

"Get some sleep."

"What?"

"Sleep," she stood, waving toward the bed idly, blinking hurriedly as she stood in front of me. "I'll go - I'll pretend to be you. I'll get the Scroll," she confirmed.

"No!" I rose, hands balling into fists by my side. "You said it yourself. It's a trap."

"Yes but they won't know I'm me," she insisted with a small, desperate laugh. "I won't even have to use alteration to go with her," she waved her hand over her face, and a pale green mist shrouded her form. After a second it cleared, and my sister looked like herself again.

Looked like me again.

She smiled, her now sea-blue eyes so sad and scared and pleading that I felt tears rise in mine. I had never seen so much of my sister's heart, than in this past week.

"Can I borrow your armour?"

Her image blurred, and I reached out to hold her shoulders. "No, you cannot. Put your disguise back before somebody sees us," my voice wavered.

Giselle laughed quietly. "I know what I'm doing, Celeste. This path, at least, is clear to me."

"You can't possibly know what they're planning!" I insisted. "What if they…?" I searched, desperate, but I had no idea what the Blades really wanted of me any more to complete the sentence.

"I want to do this for you," Giselle's gaze hardened with resolve. "This way, if it's a trap - at least you are free, still have a chance to do what you need to do -"

"No!" I screeched again.

"- and if it's not a trap - if they really have it? You need that Elder Scroll - Celeste, this might be your only chance to get it!"

"I don't care!" I insisted. "I'm not losing you again!"

"You won't! I give you my word, I'll-"

"Stop!" I pleaded, closing the space between us to envelope my sister in a fierce hug. She tensed and drew a breath, before her arms relaxed around my back.

"You can't," I persisted, words thick in my throat. "You've already done - too much in the name of Dragonborn."

"Yes, and everything I did was monumentally wrong," Giselle scoffed. "I can't make up for the deaths I've caused, but I can actually help you now-"

"You don't have to do anything alone any more," I insisted with a shaky breath. "If we must spring their trap, we do it together this time."

Giselle let out a long, shuddering sigh, and her hands squeezed as she rest her cheek on my shoulder, her face toward the room.

"Celeste," she said in a soft, steady voice. "Did you read the story of how Martin Septim saved the Champion of Cyrodiil from Mehrunes Dagon's attack on the Imperial City?"

I squeezed my eyes shut, a desolate huff escaping me. "He saved all of Tamriel with his sacrifice," my voice cracked.

"Yes, but," she laughed quietly. "He saved her, first," she said wryly. "By all accounts, she was prepared to die defending him. But…"

My sister loosened her hold, and she straightened, to meet my gaze with a small, sad smile. "He knew the world needed her," she whispered.

"The world needed him, too-" I began.

A teal-green light flashed in my vision, and I stilled.

Literally, stilled. As in, I couldn't move.

"Not as much as the world needed her," she whispered.

She's paralysed me!

"He couldn't bare to see her hurt, when he might do something to prevent it," Giselle's glowing hands moved around me, guiding my stiff form onto the bed, laying me down on top of the covers.

The last thing I saw was her hand, as her fingers gently closed my eyes, to make it look as though I was sleeping.

Giselle! How could she do this to me?

I couldn't see her any more, but I heard the rustle of material and clank of chainmail as she undressed and re-dressed in what I knew would be a perfect fit: my Whiterun armour.

"She was our ancestor too, you know," Giselle kept talking as buckles clicked closed. "At least, the original Champion of Cyrodiil was. There were others after her who took on the mantle, but…Delphine's research showed me, the first bore the name Passero. If he hadn't loved her, hadn't paralysed her to keep her from following him into fire, we would never have been born, and the world would have fallen to Dagon."

I wanted to scream at her, and through my eyelids, I willed her to unbind me - for my body to move on its own accord, but even my dragon spirits, even my Voice was out of reach.

I felt a hand on my forehead, and my sister's voice came once more, closer than before. "The spell will wear off in a few hours," a blanket settled around me. "Rest now, while you have the chance, for you have a long journey ahead. Look after Etienne for me, and go to High Hrothgar tomorrow, okay? Go there and wait for me, with your mentor, where it's safe."

Footfalls receded, and a key turned in the lock.

"I'll see you at the Throat of the World with your Elder Scroll."

No, I internally screamed. Don't do this - don't go. Don't you dare leave.

But there was only silence, and darkness.

The spell preventing me from chasing her even managed to stop my tears before they could fall.

Exhaustion and despair eventually sent my body into a fitful slumber plagued by horrible, frantic dreams of nightmarish creatures who ignored me but clawed at my sister, tearing her to shreds while I stood, forced to watch and listen to her screams.

When I woke, I startled up - I could move again - and immediately leapt out of bed, crashing down onto my hands and knees. I grabbed frantically for the chamber pot as I heaved, and promptly threw up.

The spasms only stopped when I'd vacated the contents of my stomach and there was nothing left. I pushed the pot away, covering my face with my trembling hands as I knelt, crumpled, on the floor.

She really did that.

I was so angry and terrified, my whole body shook, but I had to move - I had to do something.

I darted up. Stumbling over my feet, I threw open the door and ran away from the warmth and quiet laugher emanating from the tap room, bolting toward the staircase. The window at the end of the hall was dark, and a fresh spray of ice clung to the glass.

It had snowed while I was frozen, but I had no way of knowing how long it had been since she had left. She said it would wear off in a few hours.

Had it really already been a few hours? Did Etienne know what she'd done? Surely not, or he would have come to my room by now.

I tried the handle on the lower level - it was locked of course - and beat my fist against it desperately before I remembered who I was and-

"Yol!" I Shouted.

The warmth rippled out of me, and flames exploded as they collided with wood.

"Fus!" I followed.

The door buckled and cracked, forced inward, shattering into splinters.

Tiny pin-pricks of flame scattered, withering and dying out almost at once when they met dry flagstones.

I pushed through the gap, staring at the empty room, the fire beneath the window only a pit of waning embers. The covers of the bed Delphine had been in were messy, scrunched up at the end, and the bindings that had held her down were nowhere to be seen.

I turned, not knowing where to go next - but I had to keep moving.

As I darted up the staircase, I ran smack-bang into a solid body rushing down.

"Hey - whoa! Steady, it's just me. Shift's over-"

I recognised the voice and grabbed his arms. "She's gone!"

Etienne held me up, ducked down to meet my gaze, his brows crossed with concern. "She escaped?" he snapped. "Where's Sel? Is she okay?"

I shook my head furiously. "No, Giselle paralysed me and took my armour, and is pretending to be me to get the Scroll -"

"Shor's balls," Etienne let go and brought his hands up to cover his mouth, dragging them down his face in despair. "Why would she do something so stupid?" he fired.

"We have to go after her," I said, steadying myself against the wall.

"Oh, so you know where they went?" he snapped.

I shook my head, knees buckling, and sank to the step. "I have no idea," my voice trembled. "She left hours ago. They could be half way to anywhere in Skyrim."

Etienne cursed and darted toward their room.

I didn't know what to do; all I could do was hope she'd come back, but the deep-seated fear, so certain this was a trap, told me she wouldn't.

It's the two of them against her. Again.

Minutes passed, and Etienne returned.

I glanced up as he stopped at the bottom step.

He looked torn between confusion and desperation, and held a piece of paper in his fingers.

"Make anything of this?"

"What is it?" I frowned at the hasty scrawl.

He sighed, sinking onto the step beside me and pressing his face into his hands with a grunt. "She hid it for me to find. What's she doing?"

I read:

Tor,

Mother needs urgent medical attention. Don't worry like I know you are - just trust me with her. We'll be fine, and I know what to do.

I'll see you soon. Stick to the plan, and look after our mutual friend for me, okay?

Thora

"She's doing what she believes is right," I murmured, passing the brief message back.

"But why's she gotta do it on her own?" Etienne fixed me with a pained expression. "If Delphine figures out it's her…" he warned, trailing off. "And what does she mean, 'stick to the plan'?" he hissed. "What plan? She was the plan - she was going to be safe!"

I huffed and stood, guilt spearing me. "She means…she wants us to go to High Hrothgar," I told him quietly. "You can't stay here without her - your disguise will wear off."

"I've got a day, at best," Etienne murmured, shoulders dropping as he rest his elbows on his knees. "What're we going to do?" he asked the staircase.

"Do you have any idea where they could be going?"

He shook his head grimly. "Like you said, they could be half way to anywhere in Skyrim by now. How are we going to find her?" his voice cracked.

I thunked my head against the wall, squeezing my eyes closed with regret as realisation filled me.

There was only one way - one person - I could think of who could possibly track her down.

Because he'd found her before.

—

I prevented Etienne from coming with me - barely. His disguise wouldn't hide him for much longer, so I convinced him to go home to Riften instead, and wait for news. We snuck out the back of the inn, through fresh powder to the stables, and solemnly parted ways at the southern crossroads, hours before dawn.

Then, in the black of night, I rode as fast as I'd ever ridden in my life.

The roads were neither empty nor friendly, but I was moving so fast that nobody could hope to catch me, not even those at Helgen who gave chase for a good ten minutes when my horse thundered past the town-come-bandit territory.

The sun had been up for mere minutes when I arrived in Whiterun.

I leapt down and ran, startling the stable hand. I left my pack and lute on the mare's saddle and called to Jervar's father that I'd be back within the hour, if he could please ensure this mare was watered and fed and left to rest, and his fastest was prepared for my return. My feet and legs and back ached and my chest felt tight, like I couldn't take deep enough breaths no matter how I puffed, but still I ran to Jorrvaskr, bolting down the stairs and throwing open the door to my shield-brother's room.

I launched myself onto his bed. "Please, you have to get up!"

Vilkas shirked upright, bare chest heaving and hair whooshing around wide, startled eyes that flashed gold. He stared at me and blinked, and his eyes shifted to moonlit silver again. "What happened?" he asked, throwing the covers aside and swinging his legs around quickly. "What's wrong?"

A sleepy groan cut across the last, and Lydia sat up, holding her head. "What's going on?" she yawned.

I did a double take. Yes, it was really Lydia in his bed, wearing an oversized tunic that slipped over her shoulder - so that's where Vilkas' shirt was. But the severity of Giselle's situation turned this revelation into a footnote. I sat back on my feet and blinked, despairingly, to the ceiling. "Delphine was in Ivarstead-" I stammered, my breath coming in gasps.

"What?!" they both roared.

In a heartbeat, my housecarl sat next to Vilkas, green eyes glaring as she furiously tugged on her leggings.

"I can have the Oculatus there in less than a day if we-"

"Wait," Vilkas rest a gentle hand on Lydia's shoulder. "There's more," he said softly.

She hesitated and stared at Vilkas with worry in her eyes, biting her bottom lip. Something unsaid passed between them, and Lydia's shoulders marginally relaxed. She faced me, her expression calmer, but her voice shook with restraint. "Okay, little one. We're listening."

I nodded, eyes burning with unspent tears. Through a thick throat that eventually broke me and became sobbing breaths, I outlined all that had occurred at the Vilemyr Inn, and what my stupid, stubborn, brave sister had decided to do for me.

"If it's a trap," I swallowed, squaring Vilkas. "If they find out it's her, not me - " my teeth and eyes clenched shut, the tears leaking down my face regardless. "Which they will, when she can't Shout - I don't know what they'll do to her," my eyes shot open, pleading. "Can you track her?"

"Okay," Vilkas murmured, rising and arching his neck. "Give me a few minutes to get dressed."

"Thank you," I sagged in Lydia's grasp; she'd wrapped me in her arms the moment I'd started sobbing.

Lydia eased back and reached down, to pull on a sock. "I'm coming too."

"Please, Lydia. You must stay in Whiterun," Vilkas turned to her fully, brushing a hand through her hair as he leaned close and kissed her forehead.

"Vilkas-"

"You promised your daughter," he murmured, pulling back to stare into her eyes again.

More unspoken words passed as they stared at each other, then Lydia closed her eyes and huffed, pressing her forehead to his, a form of concession. The corner of Vilkas' mouth rose.

My cheeks warmed and heart sang as I took in how close they'd become in my brief absence. And now I was pulling them apart. I averted my eyes; I wiped my nose and wanted to cry anew.

"Don't get caught this time," Lydia said, voice steady as they parted.

Vilkas resumed pulling his armour over his underclothes. "I didn't plan on getting captured last time."

"But still," Lydia insisted with a small laugh, glancing to me. "Write to me, every day, okay?"

I smiled sadly, willing to give her anything she asked for. "Okay."

"I mean it," she lifted her eyebrows, added sternness to her tone. "If I don't hear from you every day, I will have Aela turn me into a werewolf and hunt you down myself."

My eyes widened and I choked on a breath.

"Don't joke about that," Vilkas made a wounded sound as he strapped on his bracers.

Lydia moved to him, brushed his hand aside, and took over securing the metal plates to his arms. She met his eyes while she buckled and knotted, and there was no trace of amusement in her gaze.

"I'm not joking, Vilkas."

"Lydia,-" Vilkas whispered, a desperate hush.

"I'm not losing either of you again," she said, austere, patting down the black fur that hid the stays.

"You won't," I assured, collected my shield-brother's travel pack. "What else do you need, to be ready?"

Vilkas finally took his eyes off Lydia for long enough to regard me, and after a knowing pause, he frowned. "When did you last sleep?"

"When my sister paralysed me," I didn't falter. "What do you need?"

Lydia pursed her lips, but Vilkas rubbed at his brow and shrugged. "Spare clothes, food for a day perhaps."

"Writing paper, ink," Lydia added pointedly.

"Yes, those."

"Got it," I marched off, knowing I could find all of it in the mead hall.

"Celeste, please be careful," Lydia called out.

I stopped, hand on the door arch, to meet Lydia's pleading eye. "I have to find her," I whispered. "It's my fault if she gets hurt."

"It isn't-"

"But it is," I cut her off, recalling the brief, quiet story Giselle had told me before she put me under her spell. "She's only doing this to protect me, because she thinks my life is more important than hers."

"Just promise me," Lydia insisted. "Don't blindly run into a trap like she has because you're upset. Talk things through. You're both so good at talking."

"Okay," I agreed shakily.

With a sympathetic frown, she crossed the room and hugged me again.

"And, take care of him," she added with a quiet huff.

"Of course I will," I muttered.

"Good," she sighed, squeezing me gently. "Because, as it happens," she whispered, "I am rather fond of him."

Across the room, Vilkas rumbled a warm, quiet laugh of astonishment, and sat to put on his boots.

—

I'd not been in Whiterun twenty minutes, and I was leaving again. In the time it took to rouse Vilkas and drag him out the gates, the stablemaster had shifted my belongings to a tall, pretty mare whose coat shone like molten silver in the morning light.

Vilkas retrieved his mount, and we departed Whiterun and headed along the western road in silence.

I flickered glances his way, wondering when he would do...whatever it was he did, when he was tracking.

Hunting, I reminded myself with a shudder.

All the times I'd relied on my shield-brothers to use their wolf senses to locate someone, I still didn't understand how their ability worked.

We arrived at the ruins of the Western watchtower and Vilkas brought his mare to a halt. I stopped mine too, staring at the bones of the first dragon I had absorbed, yellowed with age in places and bleached white from exposure in others. Its giant, sightless skull had moss growing around the base of its pointed teeth, and as I watched, two tiny lizards chased one another through the gaps, then disappeared further into the skeleton.

Within my mind, recognition briefly flared, like a tiny spark dancing across the night's sky.

Mirmulnir, the flicker whispered. Allegiance Strong Hunt.

"I'm sorry, Mirmulnir," I spoke, the regret making my throat tight. "I didn't know how to help you, back then."

Vilkas cast a swift, warning look my way and put his finger to his lips for silence.

I nodded, subdued, and watched him for further signals.

My shield-brother's eyes flashed gold, right before he closed them and took a deep, focussing breath. He seemed to breathe in for longer than was possible, and when he finally exhaled, he opened his eyes.

He cursed, glaring to the east, eyes still aglow with otherworldly amber.

"Where is she?" I asked.

"That way. She's muffled," he murmured, a low growl in the back of his throat. "I don't like it."

With a swift press of his heels, his horse leapt into a nervous run.

"What does 'muffled' mean?" I called as I gave chase.

"It means she's not alone," Vilkas grit over his shoulder.

I brought my horse level with his, fighting to dispel the fear. "She's with Delphine, possibly Esbern," my words shook.

"Not what I mean," Vilkas grumbled, gruffer than usual. "Muffled means more. Muffled means she's in a city."

I glanced to him in horror. We were riding east.

"Which city?"

His eyes narrowed with frustration, the irises like embers. "I'll know more the closer we get."

He urged his horse into a canter, and I pushed mine to keep up with him.

Our horses ate up mile after mile at speed, making conversation impossible. The sun crept over the pale, wintry sky and my mind reeled, desperately trying to figure out why Delphine and Giselle were in a city. A city to the east.

It could only be one of two places, and I kept assuring myself it was Winterhold. Delphine had surely hidden the Scroll in an ice cave or abandoned house in Winterhold. Giselle would be fine. She'd retrieve the Scroll, maybe even visit Onmund in secret before we caught up with her and journeyed back to the Throat of the World.

The alternative was all too painful to examine: that Delphine and Esbern had taken my sister back to Windhelm.

Back to Ulfric.

You know I'm never going back to him, right?

They would gain nothing from such a move. They weren't in Windhelm. They couldn't be.

Trap, my mind taunted.

Windswept plains gave way to rocky mountain passes, which briefly gave way to the damp fug of hot springs, and then changed again, the path clear and dry, and everything else, from mountains to bushes to riverbanks, choked with thick snow.

We had to rest the horses at midday, and stopped by a stream that was vaguely familiar, surrounded by woods teeming with spiky evergreens that all bore mounds of old snow at their bases.

"Do you know which city she's in yet?" I huffed as I leant against a tree, taking a gasping drink from my water skin.

Vilkas met my gaze and said nothing. His eyes had returned to silver the moment we had dismounted, the beast so obedient to our needs that shame rippled down my spine.

But the regret, the truth I found in his eyes made my chest tighten even more. "You've known for a while, haven't you?" I asked. "Just say it," I pressed quietly.

Vilkas looked down, into the mouthpiece of his water skin.

"Windhelm," he confirmed, quiet and oddly emotionless. "Your sister's in Windhelm."