A dreamless beginning unfurled like a flower, relinquishing her to an inn. The Bannered Mare—she recognized its rustic interior instantly. The table where she sat was by the doors. Late evening, if she wasn't mistaken, as the customers were less boisterous.

It didn't register that she had a companion until he spoke.

"I'll give it another moment and then I will complain to Hulda about our meal. We've waited long enough."

Farengar being here didn't startle her like it should. Worse, his hood was down! His black-brown hair touched his shoulders with a modest curl at the ends, outright begging for her fingers. And she even responded—

"I don't want to cause problems…"

"Nonsense! We're paying customers." He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "Though I do admire your compassion, my love."

My love!? But she didn't panic. No. She could feel the smile as it curved her mouth, the way her eyes warmed and gentled at the sight of him. Tender affection burst in her breast.

She possessed no control. It was as if her dream consciousness and her true self were separate—the former following the script, while her true consciousness could only look on as the audience.

"I have been looking forward to that steak," she admitted.

"As have I."

Her stomach should have recoiled at the mention of meat, but there was only an echo of repulsion, easily swallowed by a growl of hunger.

The moment was clearly gone, as Farengar scooted his chair out and rose. "I'll return soon." Then he walked towards the counter where Hulda attended.

She watched his back as he went, and his backside. Was it her imagination, or were these robes noticeably tighter?

That echo screeched in horror. She would never think that! The audacity of this version of herself! …Then again, wouldn't she, if she and Farengar were a couple? There was nothing wrong with admiring your significant other's assets.

From her seat she couldn't overhear their conversation, but she could see that Hulda retained a tight smile and was nodding often. Prejudiced against mages as she was, the Jarl's court mage was the exception, to a degree. At the very least, she wasn't ballsy enough to insult him directly.

Farengar removed himself from the counter and returned to their table, smiling as he caught her eye.

"It will be here momentarily," he said.

And momentarily it was. As soon as he said it, without her having an opportunity to respond, Saadia approached carrying a large platter with two plates. Two huge steaks with sides of roasted veggies and bread rolls were placed in front of each of them.

"Please let me know if there's anything else you need," she said coolly.

If her tone was anything to go by, Lynette suspected there had been a problem and she might have been scolded.

"Thank you!" she said chipperly, hoping her cheer might be contagious.

It was not. Saadia frowned harder.

"I wouldn't mind a refill of mead, if you would be so kind," Farengar said, nodding to his almost empty tankard.

"Coming right up." Saadia's gaze clearly narrowed as she snatched the tankard and marched back to the kitchen.

Lynette just hoped she wouldn't spit it in, or worse…

Farengar winked at her. "Don't fret, I'll check it before I taste it. But enough of that. Now we dine!"

There should have been eeriness at the fact that it seemed as if he read her mind, but dream Lynette didn't think anything amiss. She picked up a knife and fork and set about cutting a thick, juicy slice off her still-sizzling steak.

And that's when the horrors started. She wasn't crazy—the lights dimmed, becoming so dark she couldn't see beyond their table. Farengar paid it no mind, lifting his fork to his mouth and shoveling in a giant piece of meat. It was quite rare, almost…

No, it was definitely bloody. It wasn't even cooked! It…it…

Oh Divines. It wasn't a steak at all. It was clearly a large portion of a thigh, freshly cut from its victim. The blood was a vibrant red and the flesh was still pink.

"What's the matter, love? Eat before it gets cold!" He spoke with his mouth full and open, so Lynette could see the bits of partially-chewed flesh.

Bile climbed her throat, and against her better judgment, she glanced down at her own plate. It was heart, missing the piece she sliced off, oozing red liquid and…still beating.

"Eat. It."

It was no longer Farengar's voice leaving his mouth, but a feminine one. One dreadfully familiar.

"No… No…" Not again. Oh Divines, not again.

But she couldn't even try to move this time. She was glued to her chair, her body puppeteered by unseen strings.

"Eat it. Now."

And what could she do but obey? With her bare hands, she took the beating heart in her hands. It was warm and grossly fleshy, blood dripping down her arms as she brought it to her lips. The very essence of her being screamed in protest, but she bit into it anyway.

"That's it, my sweet. Yessssss…."

It tasted…good. The hot, sticky blood engulfed her mouth and settled on her tongue, tangy and sweet. The flesh tore smoothly beneath her teeth, tender and juicy as its flavor danced with her saliva. She shut her eyes, a noise of delight rumbling in her chest—

"LYNETTE!"

Her eyes snapped open. She was back at their campsite, and it was still dark, but Farengar's white face stood out, his wide and not horrified, but concerned eyes on her.

In her hands… In her hands was Farengar's arm, so tight her knuckles were white. The sleeve was rolled up to his elbow, and he was bleeding. An outline of bite marks stood out on his lower arm, puffy and dotted with blood, some trickling over the side and staining the dirt.

She felt the wetness on her mouth and chin. Tasted it, on her lips, on her tongue. Bitter and coppery and wrong. And that was it. That was what broke her.

As he yanked his arm out of her grasp, no longer trapped by an otherworldly strength, Lynette burst into tears.

She heard Vilkas jumping to his feet, rushing to their side… Folkvar paced behind her, paused to nudge her with his nose, whining…

"Oh Gods…" She sobbed.

"Lynette, hush. This isn't your fault," Farengar told her calmly, zero indication of pain in his inflection.

His palm already shone with golden-white healing magic, hovering over the wound, but it didn't make her feel better. Not even a little.

Vilkas's hands hooked her beneath the armpits and started hauling her back and away from Farengar. She didn't resist.

"The hell are you doing? Leave her be!" The fury in Farengar's voice took her off guard, but the reflection of it in his darkening visage was an even greater shock.

Vilkas stopped, but Lynette sensed his body tense. "She bit you."

"Lynette did not. The Daedric Prince's influence did. She is not to blame, and you would do well to stop man-handling her."

A thinly-veiled threat that concealed…what? Protectiveness? The downpour of distress in her heart was too heavy; she couldn't summon the will to wade through the storm and find joy, let alone hope, in his behavior.

Lynette heard as well as felt the growl that reverberated in Vilkas's chest, but he carefully let her go, only for her to stay where she was released while he put distance between them. Her sitting position was uncomfortable but she didn't care; she deserved every ounce of discomfort and hysteria that afflicted her.

She lifted her hands, staring at the bloodstains on her fingers like they were a disease. "I'm so sorry…" The tears welled, blurred, and slipped down her cheeks.

"Again, it's not your fault," Farengar repeated.

Folkvar nudged past her hands and nuzzled his way to her bosom until she, mechanically, ran her shaky fingers along his ears. Simply having there—receiving her pets and comforting her in the only way he knew how—it helped. He was the anchor that kept her from completely losing herself in the ocean of despair.

She couldn't look at Farengar, didn't dare, but she heard him rise and come over. Felt his body heat he lowered to a crouch in front of her. Shivered as his big fingers delicately touched her chin, grasped it, and ever so gently tilted it upwards to gaze at him.

When their eyes connected, Lynette could hardly make out the shape of his eyes, but their warm brown color was perceivable even through the blur. It jolted her heart and squeezed it in a tight fist simultaneously.

"We'll solve this together. I've got you." He said it so lowly, Lynette wasn't sure Vilkas heard.

No doubts, no wondering; only conviction. How could he be so together all the time? Bewildering as it was, it made her believe that everything might turn out okay. A strange and uncomfortable concoction, to have her mind swirl with uncertainty and dread while her heart remained enduring and…and faithful. A spark of hope was all one needed to keep going.

She wanted to hug him, so she let go of Folkvar—who protested with a low-pitched whine, the needy boy—and unsteadily picked herself up. Farengar helped her, taking both of her arms and giving her support. Once she was up, she stepped into his chest and practically threw her arms around him.

He stood there without any reaction for several beats, stiff as Brenuin's favored drink. Lynette's cheeks were already on fire and her heart was on a trip, but the fact that he didn't react to her hug, let alone return it, turned her insides to melted shame and she was prepared to retreat.

At least, until his arms surrounded her with unmistakable awkwardness. He gave her back a pat, seemingly for good measure—such an endearing unconfident side of him. The top of her head tucked perfectly beneath his chin, and he was so warm, warmer than she expected from his thin stature. His breath buffeted her hair, disturbing the unruly strands, tickling.

Vilkas cleared his throat, but they were slow to break apart. Lynette could almost believe hers wasn't the only side with unwillingness as he let her go and shifted his weight, but she was too much of a mess to trust her judgment.

She stooped back down to the pouting Folkvar and gave him some scratches under his chin, her back to both the men so neither of them could see her shy, delighted smile.

"Doesn't seem like we're making Whiterun today," Vilkas said stiffly, which was as fair as she was going to get for now. Any good mood he might have displayed was gone.

"No, I don't think so," Farengar said. Lynette glanced at him as he shook his head and folded his arms, but he didn't move away from her. She liked that.

"We could send you and the Siren on ahead, and you could bring aid, after delivering her to a nice ol' cell. Two birds with one stone." He didn't sound too thrilled about being left alone with her, but Lynette couldn't completely blame him. She wouldn't want to be either.

"Absolutely not. We don't have that sort of time. This…presence is aggressive and clearly intends to take total control of her. No, Lynette needs a mage."

She needs me, she hoped he would say. He did not, but that didn't stop her from imagining it there, albeit silent. It was the only thing keeping her from another panic. Namira was taking control of her. It was so obvious, but so horrifying, Lynette couldn't dwell at all without inching towards a full-blown panic attack.

"Then I'll take the Siren on ahead instead."

"I cannot keep the steed conjured for you so far away."

"So you're suggesting, we, what? We take her with us? We don't even have a plan!"

"I do."

"Well, sure glad am I you've shared– Oh wait!" Vilkas scoffed.

Farengar rolled his eyes. "I needed time to think, and I'm not even certain it will work, but I believe it's the best option we have."

Lynette's neck was going to be sore after all this jumping between staring at one then the other as they argued. She didn't know if wanted to laugh, cry, or all of the above as she hugged Folkvar around the neck and kept to herself. She'd caused so much trouble, she didn't think she had the right to even partake in the deciding of her fate.

"Out with it, then," Vilkas growled.

He began to pace, leaving tracks in the dirt. "There is a shrine of Namira located east of Bruma—I recall it from my map studies, and I do believe I can lead us there. A place of worship will be where her presence is strongest— "

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait." Vilkas held up a hand, his expression screwed up as if he sucked on something sour. "Are you bloody mad? You want us to go to it? Isn't the point to keep Lynette as far away as possible?"

Lynette saw Farengar's jaw muscles twitch. "That would be ideal, yes. But Namira has already taken root in Lynette. It won't matter how far we run, she will follow if we don't deal with this now. Head on."

"For a mage who I expect to be wise and cautious, you're sounding awfully brazen. Dare I say, like a Comp–"

"Absolutely not." Farengar scowled, but it lacked any genuine irritation. "Can I finish? Or is there more verbosity you need to get out of your system?"

The corner of Vilkas's mouth lifted into a smug smile and he made a shoo gesture. "Go on."

"We go to the shrine, then I'll use a sleep spell on Lynette." He turned his gaze to her, talking directly to her now, being sure she was paying attention. "It won't be as deep as the Siren's, but I need you to be relaxed and vulnerable. And I need you to trust me."

"Of course I trust you," she said quietly. "But what are you going to do?"

"I can't tell you that. We can't be sure Namira isn't listening."

"So you want us to follow your lead without a full explanation?' Vilkas demanded. "Without knowing the risks or what exactly we'll be getting into? No thanks."

"I will tell you the rest of my plan, but not Lynette. It could put her at risk. It could put all of us at risk if the prince is listening. We need to be smart."

He fell off, and then, he added in a much softer voice, his eyes back on her, pleading with her to agree, "I would not put you in any danger that I couldn't protect you from. You will be safe so long as I am with you."

A shiver of pleasure glided down Lynette's spine and she nodded. "Okay…"

It was the best she could manage, but if his slight smile was anything to go by, it was enough.

Why now? Why was he being so…so gentle and reassuring and kind to her now? Was it the kiss? Did it actually mean something? Or was this compassion only shown to her because in a sense she was dying?

None of her questions could be answered by her alone, but she couldn't ask Farengar. Not now, perhaps not ever depending on how everything went down.

"And what if the Siren?" asked Vilkas.

Farengar only glanced at him briefly before his eyes wandered to the Siren and narrowed.

"She stays comatose, but we must bring her with us."

A groan tumbled from Vilkas's mouth. "Well, then, I guess we're off to the Shrine of Namira."