Dear Pholeri,

It sounded cheesy. Way too cheesy. And cheese was a thing Pholeri despised. She balled up the paper, threw it behind her, and took another one off of the pile. With a breath, she began to write again.

To my Pholeri,

"Great, now it sounds like some love-lorn bard's letter," she muttered. Once again, the paper was balled up and thrown onto the floor. She snatched another piece from the pile, pen ready to write but stopped when she saw the tiny crinkles from where she'd grabbed it.

With a huff and a curse, she balled up that paper and gently took another from the pile. Her pen hovered mid-air as her eyes studied the blank sheet.

There was so much she could say on a sheet of paper, so much she could tell. But she didn't know what. What would be appropriate? 'Hello,' 'hi,' or 'good morning,' didn't seem to work.

She put the pen down and covered her face with her ink-stained hands. What to write, what to write? She could start off with a 'how's life been,' but that was too distant, too unfamiliar.

There was a silent sound of the front door opening and closing. A lock twisted and clicked and

twisted some more so someone could be sure it's locked.

Irina lifted up the sheet and leaned back into the chair. Perhaps some sort of divine intervention would give her inspiration for what to write, and her thoughts would elegantly flow from the depths of her brain to the tip of her pen. The eight owed her that much, at least.

A soft pat on a floorboard. Not soft enough to be considered a creak, but loud enough to be a footstep. The sound dashed from one end of the house to the other where the stairs were. Slowly, as to not make noise, it crept.

Or perhaps, one of them could write it for her. She did hear that ghostwriters were becoming a must in the Summersets and Cyrodiil, especially amongst the nobles. Maybe she could hire one herself and be done with it. She thought about it and grimaced.

One step at a time, not as fast as a skeever, but quick like a rat. They crossed the enchanting room and kept going until it reached the bedroom door. Long fingers, swaddled in black leather, closed around the door handle.

"She'd know in an instant," Irina said as she put the paper down. She dipped the pen in ink, ready to write something down.

Not a sound came from the door as it opened. Finally, the figure draped in black eased their way into the room. Slow, careful steps worked their way across the room to the bosmer sitting at the desk, too caught up in her letter to notice. Long hands shivered slightly as they reached to touch her neck. Not a single sound-

"Wouldn't you agree, Elle?"

The room shook as the tall figure stumbled for balance. She caught the bedpost before she could completely tip over.

"How long?" She asked.

"You had me until you reached the door. The hinges are a bit rusty,"

Elle let out a groan and pulled the mask down. She looked suspiciously at Irina, "You know, I am starting to think that perhaps it's not me, but you."

"Maybe," Irina replied. She turned around in her chair to look Elle in her eyes. "Or maybe you should admit defeat."

"You ask for too much, Irina." She kicked her shoes off and plopped down on the bed. She stretched out languidly and turned to face the wood elf sitting at the desk. A small smile graced chapped lips and complimented her mocking eyes.

"Oh?"

"For me to admit defeat would be for me to surrender, and as the saying goes-"

They both monotonously said it together, "A good Mer never surrenders."

"And I am a good Mer," Elle finished.

Irina laughed. "Whatever you say."

"What? I speak the truth."

"Good Mer, don't pickpocket."

"Good Mer, only need not surrender," Elle countered. "And I have never once surrendered."

"That botched mugging back in Cyrodiil speaks otherwise-"

"Doesn't count," Elle said quickly. "I was jumped."

"Is that what you call falling into a pit?" Irina asked.

"Oh, piss off," Elle said. Irina gave her a big smile before she turned back to her desk. She dipped her pen into the ink once more before she started.

To my dearest, Pholeri

It was an okayish start. Her left hand itched to ball up the paper. Her right forced itself to move down and begin on the body of the letter.

How is life back home?

Bland, really bland.

I do wish to know how you are doing. I, myself,have been fine,

Gods, it was like they were strangers.

Though the divines seem to switch between favor and hate, they have not stopped me from seeing all the beautiful wonders Tamriel has to offer.

She looked over her words before she continued.

The Grand Castle in Cyrodiil is as majestic as the storybooks say. "A twisting spiral full of history and wonder" is what I gazed at whilst walking around the capital. The trees were as green as the ones in Valenwood, and the summers were much kinder as well. The experience overall was pleasant. If I had one critique at all, it's that Elle wouldn't shut up the whole time we were there.

She took a sidelong glance at the woman on the bed, who was immersing herself in a thick book.

From Cyrodiil, we traveled to Skyrim. It is a place plagued by cold and harsh winds, but the Nords continue on with heavy cloaks and sturdy shoulders. The greeting here was… not a warm one,

"We were almost executed, Irina," Elle said.

Irina jumped. Her eyes met with the Altmer's. "When did you get up?"

"A minute ago," Elle said. "I have a few critiques. I never talked that much, and Skyrim should be changed to "Frozen hell."

Irina rolled her eyes. "It's not that bad."

"You are right. How about just "hell," instead?"

Irina used an ink-covered hand to push the Altmer's face away. Elle recoiled in disgust. "Go back to reading your book."

"But I already put it down."

"Then pick it up."

"But I don't feel like it."

"Then go home."

"It's cold."

"Why are you so difficult?"

"Such a great question, but I have a better one," Elle said. Irina followed her gaze down to her letter. Realization slapped her like the fist of a frost troll. Her cheeks flushed light red as she hurried to shield the paper with her black hands.

"You are writing?"

"Yes," Irina stuck her vision to the corner of the desk. There were small chips and scratches, put there from mindless tapping. She'd have to get another soon.

"Really?"

"Truly."

"Hmm," she could hear the displeasure laced into that hum. Elle was quick. "You've barely written before."

Irina shrugged. "I feel like I should get it over with."

Silence. A stark, tense silence that made neither party want to open their mouths. Elle didn't out of expectation, and Irina didn't out of fear of the inevitable confrontation. Both had a small amount of frustration weighing at the back of their minds, neither wished to voice it.

Elle walked over to the side of the room, where a certain wooden chest was pushed back against the wall. From the sun's rays that cast into the small space, thin broken spider webs dimly shimmered.

"You should clean it up," said Elle. She craned her neck to look at Irina, who was looking right back. She gave a small smile. "I hear spider infestations are a bitch to get rid of."

"I'll do it later," Irina responded. Her hands squeezed her writing feather. Shit.

Elle wasn't stupid.

The Altmer raised her hands to brush the dust off the surface of the box. They stopped mid-air.

"Odd," She said. She looked at Irina, her eyes were curved into crescents, but her mouth didn't reach her eyes. "I thought you didn't use this chest much."

She was found out.

"Okay," Irina said. "Can you stop beating around the bush and get to the point?"

Elle replied. "Sure. Where are you going?"

Irina let out a long sigh and lifted herself up from her chair to seat herself onto the bed. It felt slow. Everything felt slow now.

"It's hard to explain."

"Oh?"

"I'm not lying to you; it's just-" Irina said. "A mess. I don't even know myself."

Elle scoffed."A mess? Irina, we have been in a mess ever since we left Valenwood, and we have been with each other through every mess. I'm sure this can't be any worse than Alduin, or Harkon, or, hell, even the Thalmor."

"Of course, we've always been there for eachother Elle, but sometimes we have to do things alone." Irina said, it was more like a plea.

"How can I ever trust you to do something alone, when you always end up at Akray's feet when I let you?" Elle said. Her expression was incredulous. "Do you remember the celebration the Nords had in Whiterun after the death of Alduin?" She paused to let Irina answer. The Bosmer couldn't. "Of course you don't, because you were in and out of sleep for five days after he nearly tore off your leg."

"I'm so sorry but-"

"Do you remember how gracious Lord Falk was after you fought Potema? The crazy necromancer queen, who you insisted was no threat?"

"Elle please-"

"You don't remember, cause you couldn't. She had pierced you right in your lower stomach and I had to haul you over to Solitude in the middle of a damn blizzard."

"Elle-"

"Do you remember when you ended up in a prison cell, scared out of your wits and I-"

"Edelweiss!" Irina yelled.

"What Irina? Am I wrong?" Elle asked. She stalked forward and stood in front of the Bosmer. "Or have you put your head so deep in the sand that you've ended up in the past that you so deeply desire?"

Elle looked her in the eye. Irina looked back. Once again they were locked in a stalemate.

Elle was right. Elle was almost always right. Her words were venom, but she was.

But Pholeri had always told her she was pig-headed.

"Irina, do you know how the Bretons view Yff're?"

Irina lifted her head slightly.

"The spirit of the Now is what they call him. Pretty ironic, huh?"

It took Irina a minute before she opened her mouth. "How so?"

"When you look at the Bretons, they're always about old glory and valor," she gave a low chuckle. "Not so much different to us Mer I guess. It figures."

With Irina lacking a reply, Elle matched her silence. Her mouth was placed into a small, tightly pressed line, bringing out the few wrinkles she had. Her eyes, much like Irina's, searched the floor for words but couldn't bring anything forth. In the end, all she did was lean back on her wiry arms.

"Look Irina," she started. "I am not you. The divines and I do not have much conversation besides a one sided prayer." She looked at her companion. "But I can see that they request much of you. I suppose it is rather wrong of me to demand an answer for something I do not know anything about."

"Elle, I'm sorry."

The Altmer gave a smile. "It is not an apology I want Irina." She sat next to the Bosmer on the bed. "I guess this is not the first time."

Irina let out a sad laugh. "I guess it isn't."

"Do you know how long?"

"No."

"Do you know why?"

Irina opened her mouth but then closed it. "I don't know," she said. "I'm assuming I'll scout the place out, maybe."

"Can you at least tell me who?"

"Nah, that's all secret," Irina replied. "You'd probably freak out if told."

Elle took a breath and stayed quiet. Irina closed her eyes and bit the inside of her mouth. She imagined that they were near the border of Cyrodiil and Valenwood again, at some shabby inn Elle had found since she hated walking. She remembered how gritty the cold soup tasted on her tongue. She remembered how much Elle complained about it and how hard she fell on her ass because Elle couldn't shut her mouth.

A time before she almost got her head cut off. A long time before she stared down Alduin at Sovngarde.

The feeling of arms enveloping her was what woke her up. Her face was nestled in the crook of Elle's neck. She was wrapped tightly in her arms, leaving no room for her to struggle. Her nails, though short, dug painfully into Irina's wool sleeves, but she didn't complain.

Irina only lifted up her arms and wrapped them around Elle's neck. She could feel the small shakes in Elle's form, how her head was getting wet from tears, but she didn't mind. She held on tighter.

Elle wasn't right, she had written to Pholeri plenty of times under candlelight. The first time had been their departure from Valenwood, the second time had been just before that botched heist. The third would be before departing for the Forgotten Vale, and the fourth would be the night of Odahviing's capture.

Her eyes strayed towards the desk drawer. The corner of a piece of paper stuck out like a nail. The desk was full of papers abandoned to dust because her legs felt like air everytime she faced the courier.

Irina had a very bad habit.

Gently, she pushed Elle off of her. Irina used her sleeves to wipe her messy face, giving a short laugh as she did. "Gods, it's like we're children again."

"If we were kids, I would be the one wiping your face," Elle said. Her voice was strong and steady as always. However, there was a slight nasal quality to it.

"I guess so," Irina said. She could feel her eyes sting, but she refused to let her tears fall. Elle knew how to take advantage of that weakness.

"And you really can not tell me anything?" Irina could feel Elle's burning stare. Her disappointment, her anger, but, most all, her worry.

A hard bit to the inside of her cheek made her keep quiet. She loved Elle with all her heart, but she loved Pholeri even more. And most of all, she owed her.

She owed her a lot.

Elle kept it up for a while but finally relented when she realized Irina had made up her mind. She grabbed her things from off the bed and got up. She held Irina's hand and gave it a firm squeeze before walking towards the bedroom door but hesitated just at the threshold.

"If you need something, anything, please," Elle said. Though she didn't look back, Irina could see how her hand tightened on the doorknob. "Please, just write."

Irina considered silently before speaking, "I will. I swear."

Elle turned once more to give her a slight smile before walking out of the bedroom. It was only when Irina heard the heaving clank of the front door closing that she fell backward on the bed. She let the tears stream down her face. Her heart was heavy with guilt.

Irina truly did have a terribly bad habit.