The road to Redcliffe was long and by the eight was it treacherous. She felt like she could dodge arrows and swords in her sleep at this point. She didn't know why the damned armored dicks wouldn't mind their business, but if they were that suicidal then she wouldn't dissapoint. Soon, her trail was full of the aftermath of her thu'um. Fire, craters, by Oblivion even ice. She was getting real sick of hearing some off brand Vigilant of Stendarr shout at her about a staff that she didn't even own.

Gods, she hoped Alduin would pop out of his hole soon.

The more they walked, the more the road cleared up. There were no longer any long branches or burning rubble obscuring their way. Instead, it was a straight shot down a stone road, which was undoubtedly an improvement.

She first heard shouting, but this was different from a violent confrontation. It was more like the sort she heard in the Imperial army's quarters in Solitude around noon. "Whipping these men into shape," as Tullius would say. It was intermixed with the loud bustle of crowds. People, Irina thought.

She stopped and tried to look far ahead. Sure enough, off in the distance, hidden just behind a hill, was the outline of a great wall, not too dissimilar to the ones that closed off Skyrim's major cities.

"Sakn'vunen are we—"

"We're close," said the spirit. "It's a lot of voices. None of them bad."

Irina let out a breath. Thank the eight. "Rember out the first two rules?"

The mouse nodded its head. "No transforming, and be quiet."

"Good. Then we're ready."

As they neared the gate, Irina could feel the familiar pangs of nervousness in her body. She bade herself to calm down— going inside the city a jittering mess would do her no good.

It'll be fine. She told herself. Another breath, and then another.

Meanwhile, Sakn'vunen shifted around in her pocket until her tiny black eyes could see the world outside. She had the same eagerness, but this manifested in the only way it could in a spirit. Curiosity.

Finally, they reached the threshold of the gate. Outside was a woman clad in light armor. She was Nordic in appearance but spoke with an Imperial accent. She halted the pair, looking Irina up and down. Her eyes stopped on the staff on her back.

"State your business."

Irina responded. "Come to trade and hopefully stay for a while."

The woman crossed her arms. "A trader with no wares."

Irina gestured towards the staff of her knapsack. "I heard the mages were held up in Redcliffe. This here looks like a good staff, so I think they'd appreciate it."

"The mages don't exactly like to trade."

Irina shrugged. "Then I guess I'm just staying. Crazy out there, I tell you. Just had a run-in with some Templars. Only got away by the skin of my teeth."

There was a shift in the guard woman's expression. Sympathy. Just what Irina wanted. "Maker, they're still terrorizing the roads?"

"It's all fire and rubble out there," Irina said.

She put a hand on her head. "I thought the Inquisition dealt with them."

Irina raised a brow. "The Inquisition?"

"You coming from down south? "

Irina nodded. "Yeah, my father was a hunter there."

"Then you're out of the loop. Most are," said the woman. "Just a couple of days ago, one of them rifts appeared right outside the city. Nasty things, spewing out demons and all sorts of filth."

Like the cave portal.

"Good gods," Irina said. "That's some shitty luck."

"You're telling me. Anyway, a lady comes by, a Dalish gal with a party of three. Says she's with the 'Inquisition.' Pulls up, closes the rift, takes one of our healers, and then leaves. Later, we figure out that the Inquisition has been making rounds here in Redcliffe, tryna break up the fighting," the woman sighed. "But I guess all things take time."

"Sounds like quite the group."

The woman nodded. "Just hope they're the type to fulfill promises. Can't keep all this up forever," she said. She looked at Irina with a smile. "But I'm sure you'll have plenty of gossip in the village. Go on down the hill and walk to the tavern. The mages should be there."

"Thank you," Irina replied.

"Maker's blessing to you. You're gonna need it." said the guardswoman. "Peter! Open the gate!"

The gate slowly rose with one loud screech, and Irina walked in.

The first thing she noticed was all the guards at the front in some meeting. They wore the same attire as the gate woman and had long swords fastened to their belts. Most likely, they were in training, preparing for any sort of siege should it occur. A small group of them were off to the side, kneeling with their hands on their knees in prayer, with a woman in long white and red robes and the most unique hat Irina had ever seen guiding them.

She broke prayer for a moment to look up at the commotion. Irina waved to her. She smiled and retook her stance.

The path down the hill was lined by a small stone wall that had certainly seen better years. At the point where Irina was, it converged into two pathways, one upwards that led to a broken windmill and another that led downwards. Remembering the woman's words and hearing all the commotion in her right ear, she took the right pathway.

She saw the buildings first. Small ones, some squared, some round. All were made of wood and oddly had grass growing on them. There was a stone monument of sorts— a hooded figure holding a plate of incense with the pyre on it lit and fuming, not much unlike the smaller stone braziers that lined the pathway through the village.

And then came the people.

When she'd finally reached the end of the gill, she was greeted with a village filled to the brim with all sorts. Children ran around with their parents chasing them haphazardly. People talked in loud voices, forcing others to talk in even louder voices which led to a contest of who could deafen who's eardrums first. More praying, people. Some sobbed in sadness or pure joy as they hugged a loved one they thought lost to the chaos. A few in robes not too unlike the priest she'd seen earlier ran through the crowd, with empty crates dipping into buildings to retrieve supplies. And there Irina stood at the border of it all.

A bitter feeling arose in her.

Sakn'vunen moved and looked at the elf. "What's wrong?"

Irina blinked. She cursed herself. "Nothing. Now hush."

Sakn'vunen let out a whine of frustration but said nothing more. Irina began to walk through the village, her mindset on the tavern. In all villages, if there was anyone who knew something about everyone, it would be the barkeeper.

Back at the Winking Skeever in Solitude, Irina had asked Vinus what the deal was with a fellow crying in the corner. What she got in return was the oddest story of heartbreak, trolls, and why she should never marry an Altmer based on a blind date. It was at that moment Irina swore that if she ever got shitfaced to the point where she was sobbing off in a corner, she would do it in the comfort of her own home.

She weaved through the people and pushed open the tavern door.

It was an ample space filled with the intense scent of alcohol and a fainter scent of good food boiling over in a pot, and groups of people, most huddled together in their own little pools drinking and chatting about recent happenings. The drunken singing of men and women boomed from near the fireplace, mashing together in a choir that came straight from the deep rivers of Oblivion.

In the farther corner of the bar, in the shadow, sat another group of people, distinctly different from the rest. They wore fancy robes and grim faces, some of them not quite matching the rest. These people wore pointed hoods and more gaudy clothes. Lots of sharp edges, Irina noted. One man, an elf, took a quick peek up, noticing the door swing open. He gave her a once over before returning to his talk. The voice of the gatewoman came to her mind.

Must be the mages, she thought. Certainly not like the College kind.

Irina walked over to the bar, took a seat, and knocked on the counter to get the barkeeper's attention. A haggard old woman with flour-stained clothes and a bright red nose came up. From the dead look on her face, Irina knew that pleasantries might get her knocked into the wall.

"Got anything strong?" she asked. The barwoman looked her up and down. She took a bottle from under the counter and slid it across. Irina caught it with a hand. She popped the top off, took a quick sniff of the fumes, and then swung it back.

It took all she had to not double over. Stendarr's mercy.

"Shit," she hacked. She looked at the woman. "What is this?"

"One silver," the woman responded with a smile, and then she held out a hand. Irina cursed but handed over the money anyway.

Irina patted herself out and straightened out her clothes. Her mind was filled with nothing but swears of sly bitch, but she shoved that part of her down. It would do her no good to get into a fight. Instead, she decided to take a more forward approach. "Have any clue where I can find a woman named 'Viola'?"

The lady lifted a brow. "Who?"

"Viola," Irina repeated. "She came up here in search of her mother, should be staying with her right now."

"What's your business with 'er?"

Irina gave the old woman a tight-lipped smile. "That's a bit personal. Something to do with her husband."

"Cedric?" said a voice. Irina turned her head to see who it was. Her eyes fell upon an Imperial-looking fellow with dark hair and a scraggly beard. He must've been with those quiet men off in the corner, judging from his clothing.

She tensed. She had absolutely no clue in all Mundus what the dead man was named.

"Excuse me?"

He looked at her, confused until he realized how he'd barged in. An awkward laugh fell from his lips. "Sorry. My name's Harrison. I'm Viola's brother," he stuck out a hand, and Irina took it and gave it a good shake. He continued. "Is Cedric alright? Did he make it to the Crossroads?"

He gave her a look, that kind of look she couldn't meet head-on. Her teeth chewed at the inside of her cheek.

A memory popped in her head, and she pushed it down.

"I— perhaps we could take this outside?"

Harrison nodded. He gave a quick heads up to his group in the corner and then followed Irina out the tavern doors into the sunlight. She looked at the setting sun. The night was coming.

She leaned onto the railing outside the tavern, took a deep breath, and then began to speak. She didn't know how to go about this. She knew how it would roll, how people would react— but her words felt like ash in her throat. She was itching to cough them out.

"Was Cedric a mage?" she was blunt. Harrison looked at her. Something flashed in his eyes. She recognized that like the back of her hand. Trepidation.

"Did he tell you that?" asked Harrison. Irina shook her head.

"No," Irina said. She pulled down her knapsack and rummaged around until her hand hit metal. Then emerged the golden locket. It glowed brilliantly in the sun's light.

What should've been joy on the man's face was instead a blank picture. He knew what that meant. He had seen something similar happen to others in the village. Never did it end in good news.

She handed that amulet to him.

He stared at it. His eyes traced over the fine metal linings as though he was appraising it.

Irina finally found her words. "He is—"

"I know. You don't have to tell me," he said. His voice was bland. "Could you answer a question?"

Irina hesitated. But under that gaze, she couldn't refuse. "Go ahead."

"Was it quick?"

The world seemed to stop in that small sentence, but around the two came the faint voices of chatter and song that carried through the walls of the tavern. The eagles still flew overhead and swooped down into the lake to catch fish and left just as fast. The squirrels still build their nests nestled in the bark of the tree. The grasshoppers will still sing, and so will the canary perched on the tree.

Life moves at an arrow's pace.

"It was," she said. Quick and even. "They shot him in the heart before he could figure out what was happening."

The man let out a breath. She could see how his hands clenched around that amulet, the thin green veins bulging through his skin. His voice was watery, but he had yet to cry. He couldn't. Not now. "Thank the Maker," he said. "I'll get this back to her."

Irina nodded, but then a memory flashed into her mind. "You're not Viola's only brother, are you?"

He looked up at her, shocked. Soon that shock morphed into a sort of understanding. "Renatus was there, wasn't he?"

"He—" she hesitated, but continued onward anyway. "He struggled."

"How nice," his voice sounded almost dead. "Conscience. I wondered if he still had that."

"I don't think—"

" You've done enough, thank you," he didn't smile, didn't look her in the eye. He walked as quickly as his feet would take him off onto a path that led deeper into the village.

She couldn't see him anymore when she felt that weird tightness in her chest.

Irina stared at the area on the floor where his feet had been. Sakn'vunen crept up from her place in the Bosmer's pocket.

"Aren't we supposed to be sneaky?" asked Sakn'vunen. Irina reached into her pocket and picked up the mouse by its tiny neck. She plucked it on the head.

"We've enough right now to get us through a couple of days," she replied. "If we need more, I'm sure there are other schemes I can hatch."

The mouse sniffed. "Then, Did I pass?" asked the spirit. It sounded cautious, almost scared. Irina grinned.

"Yeah, I think you did," she said. "Let's take care of each other."

The mouse's eyes widened. It moved erratically in the Bosmer's hand, its excitement barely containable in its small body. "Let's!"

Irina huffed and put it back inside her pant pocket. "Our first order of business— get shelter."

The sun fell deeper into the sea, turning the bright tip of the waves into a deep blue.

Irina decided to lay base at a small area away from the village and up the hill next to the old windmill, under a great tree. The tavern was brimming with people, and Irina didn't really know anyone here. This was her only option.

Sakn'vunen was idling around the area messing with other things in Irina's bag, while Irina stood somewhere not so far off but hidden in the shadow of the trees. She held the long, black staff in her hand, and in her other, she struggled to remember how soul gems worked.

She prayed to every god she knew. Y'ffre, Auri-el, Stendarr, Mara, Kynareth, by Oblivion, even Talos got a mention in her mind. She hoped that Hermaeus Mora knew what he was doing when he made this damn thing, or the Dragonborn's vacation may be permanent.

Finally, a click came from the chamber of the staff as she snapped the soul gem into place. She clicked her tongue. Mara's grace.

She aimed the tip of the staff towards an empty patch of grass. A breath, then another, and finally, she began to direct all her magic towards the chamber. She could feel the handle grow hot in her palm. She ignored it and pushed on.

Stendarr, Auri-el, Mara, Kyne, she prayed. Her brow furrowed Sheogorath, please.

A small dot of purple light emerged from the tip. It grew larger and larger with each passing second, the crease between Irina's brown deepened.

"By the grace of the eight," she muttered.

Pop!

Her eyelids flew open, right in time to be met with a vast cloud of purple smoke, which she also inhaled. This led to another horrible coughing fit that had her on her knees. The taste of mothballs and old books filled every inch of her lungs.

"Sweet fucking Mara," she said.

"I don't think Mara tastes sweet, mortal. I'm pretty sure she tastes of berries. Bitter berries at that."

Irina paused. She opened her eyes to be met with the golden lining of a purple dress. She then trailed up slowly to her met with hands, a chest, a necklace, and then finally, the smiling face of the Mad God herself.

She never thought there'd be a day in her life where she felt relieved to see the face of Sheogorath. But here she was.

"Thank the eight," was all she could get out.

"Of course, you thank the eight. What about me, hm?" Sheogorath said. "Oh, and also Mora, I suppose. And all fourteen other Princes too." her eyes left Irina's form and began to look around, observing all the flora and sky. She whistled. "A nice place you've ended up in."

Irina picked herself up and dusted off her knees. "I thought the same when I fell into a pond. Suppose Alduin couldn't stand being too far from home."

"Oh? You've seen him?"

Irina shook her head. "Not yet. Though I have seen plenty of carnage. Not dragon-related, though."

"Creatures?"

"No, people," Irina replied. "Ever heard of a 'templar?' Plated men in armor who go around smiting mages?"

Sheogorath tapped a finger on her lips and muttered incomprehensibly as she looked off into space to think. She frowned. "Nope. Doesn't ring a bell. Or does it. Stendarr's posey might be—"

"I don't think Stendarr has any influence here, Lord Sheogorath."

"Oh, you're right. A pity. Or a blessing, probably," said Sheogorath. "That's the closest thing to 'smiters' I can think of."

"Absolutely nothing?" Irina asked.

"Mortal, if I had any clue, I probably would've said it. Or not. Sometimes I don't really feel like speaking," said Sheogorath. She sighed. "It is good that you still breathe, mortal. Keep that up before you and find your brother, and you'll be prancing around in Tamriel in no time."

"And our contract?" Irina asked. Sheogorath smiled.

"Find me something interesting before you leave, and I'll wake up that dear sister of yours like a princess. Or a prince? A duchess, maybe." Sheogorath said. She waved her hand. "But never mind that. You've still got quite the long ways to go; I shall not keep you any longer."

Irina nodded. "Farewell, Lord Sheogorath."

"The same to you, Dragonborn."

And then, in another puff of smoke, Sheogorath disappeared. Irina coughed more before taking a deep breath and walking back to her camp.

Longways to go, eh? She ran a hand through her hair. Gods, I hope not.

Hearing footsteps approaching, Sakn'vunen perked up from her study of a small pebble to run up to Irina. The Bosmer bent down and cupped her hands to pick the mouse up and place it on her shoulder. The spirit was like putty in her hands.

"Sakn'vunen," she started. "You've seen dragons before, haven't you?"

The spirit, ever the eager, answered almost as soon as she was asked. "Yes! I've seen many! Big, big scaly dragons that scream all day —they almost never stop. Wisdom calls them rude."

Irina laughed. "Alduin shouts a lot, but I don't think he's the type to scream all day. Bragging is more his style."

"What's'bragging?'"

Irina shrugged. "When you chat about yourself a lot, but you're really annoying about it."

"That sounds bad."

"Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't," Irina said. "However, when a thousand-pound dragon, who evades you a lot, swings by and starts talking, it can grate on even the steeliest of nerves, mine included."

She sat down on the ground and lay on the earth. The night sky was as clear as the day's, with the stars laying still in the black of the night. Tonight was rare. The twin moons smiled down at her from their place in the sky. Irina reached out to touch them. She believed she could if she willed it.

"Masser and Secunda, the twins."

"Who?" said the mouse. She peered at Irina inquisitively.

"The moons. From where I'm from, that's what we call 'em. Some scholars call them Jode and Jone, but that's old talk," she pointed to the bigger one. "That is Masser, she's a bit more red and a lot more hefty," she pointed towards the smaller one in front. "That is Secunda. She's smaller. She can turn red too, but that's always trouble."

They sat in silence for a while, admiring the night sky. Suddenly, Sakn'vunen spoke up.

"Irina?"

"Yes?"

"Can I use my second question?"

"Go ahead."

"What is your home like?"

Home. That was something she hadn't thought of in a while.

"Well, Tamriel is huge. I couldn't tell you everything about it," she laughed. It fell fat. "There's dragons and mountains, and snow and—"

"But you didn't come from there."

Irina shifted, so she was on her side, facing the mouse. "Excuse me?"

"You didn't come from there. I—"

"You saw it," Irina finished. She sighed. "Sakn'vunen, what did I say about rule three?"

"But you aren't obeying rule four."

The quiet returned. Irina stared at the dirt as if she was trying to move it with her mind.

"You're right. Yeah, you're really right. Okay," she muttered something that the spirit couldn't hear. "I'm from Valenwood. A place parked right next to the sea, filled with tall trees, Mer, and Thalmor. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"You're angry."

Another laugh, this one harsh. "Did you feel the air or read my mind?"

"Read." An honest reply.

It was really hard to remain pissed off at Sakn'vunen.

"Yes, I am angry," Irina replied. "People don't like to be pushed, Sakn'vunen."

"I'm not pushing you."

"I don't mean it like that. It's that sort of emotional push."

"I don't understand."

"I don't know if you can," She looked back up at the sky. That bitter feeling from earlier came back to strike her like a garden snake. "People are odd, Sakn'vunen. We're all soft, but we build up these walls around us. But it's not bad; it's adapting. Everyone does it."

"That's stupid," said the mouse.

"For you, I guess. You're like an open book."

"I'm not a book. I'm a spirit."

"You're right. If a book could talk, it'd at least be smart."

The mouse jumped. "I'm not dumb! I'm smart. Wisdom said so!"

"Maybe this 'Wisdom' is a liar."

"They are not!" cried Sakn'vunen. "If they lied, they'd be a demon."

Irina laughed. "All things lie."

"Spirits don't."

She looked at the mouse, a smile creeping on her face. "I can't deny that."

The night breeze blew through the land, making goosebumps pop up on Irina's skin. It carried the scent of sea salt and mildew. Irina twisted and dug in her pack to pull out a blanket, an old thing she'd held for quite a while. She wrapped it around herself and lay back down.

She remembered doing something like this on the shores of Woodhearth with Elle. When the Altmer would sneak out of her father's home, and Irina would climb down the window of her own to avoid her sister's prying eyes. They'd walk to a cliff overlooking the seashore and talk about mundane things. She couldn't remember when they'd started that. All she could remember was the warmth the meetings brought, even when sunset would turn to dusk and dusk would turn to twilight, carrying with it the small bout of cold that carried over from the lake.

Back in Valenwood, you could hitch a ride to Greenshade to catch sight of Falinesti making its walk in the spring to nestle down until autumn came. Back in Valenwood, you couldn't break tree branches, but you could import some flour, fruits, or vegetables from Cyrodiil or the Summersets and make pastries— Y'ffre didn't mind that. Back in Valenwood, you had to be mindful of the Thalmor agents at every turn and careful of what you say of the Dominion at your friend's parties.

Back in Valenwood, they'd all sorts of races mingling together on the shores. Nords, Imperials, Altmer, Dunmer, Argonians, Bretons, Redguards, Orsimer, Bosmer, and even Khajiit would walk in the marketplace.

Masser and Secunda shined in the night sky.

Home. Irina thought as her eyes closed and her mind was overtaken by sleep.