Lucia had waited until midday to leave the house. No one could know she was going. Not the where, and certainly not the why. Sylgja was making her daily trip to the market. Sofie had taken Æthur up to the Palace of the Kings to visit Jarl Brunwulf's son, Weiswulf. The two boys were the same age and the jarl had been more than happy for his heir to play with the son of his most famous thane. Calder was in the yard, practising with Storm's Vengeance, the dragonbone war-axe her father had given him, as he did every day. She had timed things well.

She had not wanted any of her family to see her leave because this day she was going out dressed very differently to how she usually did. Normally she wore a simple woollen dress, her preference being for light green wool. But today she had left her dresses in the wardrobe and had instead clad herself in the set of leather armour she had bought from Adrianne the last time she had been in Whiterun. No one had known, not even her father, though Lucia thought he would likely approve. He often said he saw the makings of a warrior in her. Which was why, she told herself, it would be fine that she had taken the axe, made of Nordic steel, from his forge. The axe now hung at her waist alongside the plain, steel dagger Uhther had given her for her fourteenth birthday, the day she had become a woman.

He would approve of what she had planned, she thought. This was Uhther, the Dragonborn, the warrior with so many great deeds to his name that the Bards College were still trying to compose a song that would celebrate all of them without being overlong. Of course he would approve. She couldn't be sure though. Which was why she had watched him leave for Winterhold without telling him what she was doing. He would find out when she felt the time was right. When it would be too late for him to stop her, even if he wanted to.

She had taken the long way to reach her destination, around to the Grey Quarter then back towards the middle of the city. True, that path had taken her past the very gates of the Palace of Kings, but she would prefer someone saw her there than down by the market. By the time anyone passed the news on to Sylgja, it would be too late.

Through the Grey Quarter she walked, her pace fast and purposeful, then up the steps back into the Stone Quarter. Candlehearth Inn was her destination. She felt nervousness tickle her stomach but forced herself not to feel it. Now was not the time to be nervous. Now was the time for surety and action. She was sure her father never felt nervous at times like this. He was Dragonborn, an imperial legate. He'd led men and woman in loads of battles. He would just march in there and tell them all what to do. She had to be the same.

Pushing open the doors she found the place much as it ever was. Adonato Leotelli was ensconced in his usual nook, surrounded by notebooks and journals. The writer had all but retired from fieldwork in recent years and had instead committed himself to the writing of recent histories. He had been badgering Uhther every time he had come to the tavern for first-hand accounts of the Stormcloak Rebellion, the Destruction of the Silver Hand and the War of the Sun. His eyes lit up when he saw Lucia but then, when he saw Uhther did not accompany her, he merely gave her a friendly nod and returned to his scribbling.

Elda's sour face also glanced at her from behind the bar.

'Ah,' she said, 'it's you.' Elda had been a staunch supporter of the Stormcloaks and so had been less than friendly to Uhther and his family since the end of the war. 'There's a group upstairs waiting for you. I'll be expecting you to buy food and drink while you're here, I won't have you taking up space for free.'

Lucia said nothing but simply grunted in assent before climbing the stairs that led to the common room. She met Susanna on the way down, carrying empty tankards. She smiled at her as they passed but did not stop to talk. Lucia imagined she'd probably be back up to take orders soon.

She reached the common room, turned and breathed a sigh of relief. They were all here. She had, without realising it, been worried some or all might not come. She had sent the letters just two weeks ago so she had been worried some might not make it or else ignore the letters altogether. But they had come, all of them. They all sat together around a long table at one end of the common room, some talking and laughing, some quiet. Some were armed and armoured while others wore only simple clothes and carried no more than a dagger or an axe on their belt.

That could be resolved quickly enough, Lucia thought.

They would have come from all over Skyrim. From Solitude to Riften, they had all made the trip up to Windhelm for this. And Lucia knew them all. She had talked with them, had even played with some when they had been younger, when she had gone with her father to his various holdings.

Braith was the closest. Dark skinned and dark eyed, she was one of the ones not talking. She sat at the end of one of the benches, running a whetstone down the edge of a scimitar that already looked sharp as a razor. When Lucia had first met Braith, she had thought her a rather pudgy child with frizzy hair and a mean look. That was hardly the case any longer. Braith had grown into quite a beauty. Her body was all sinewy muscle, her now sleek, black hair hung in an elegant plait over one shoulder. She had followed in her father, Amren's footsteps and become a sellsword and had come dressed the part in a leather tunic and skirt set with iron studs.

Beside her sat Lars Battleborn, another child from Whiterun who had grown up and filled out. No longer the rather weedy boy he had been, Lars now had the size and bearing of his father, Idolaf, though he still seemed a rather tentative man.

Perhaps the legion will hammer that out of him, Lucia thought. Lars had followed Idolaf's wishes and had joined the legion as soon as he was old enough. He had even come wearing the light jerkin of a legion scout and had a gladius hanging from his hip. And he was not the only one. Samuel of Honorhall and Blaise Boarspear had also come in their legion armour. Lucia found it funny how, only a few years ago, they wouldn't have been allowed within a mile of this common room wearing those clothes. The three young men were talking happily together, along with Hroar and Runa Fair-Shield, both of them also of Honorhall. Hroar was dressed plainly except for the iron sword on his belt, but Runa was dressed in banded iron armour, a steel mace lying on the table in front of her. It was easy to see that Runa looked to Mjoll the Lioness as something of an idol.

Further up the table, Britte of Rorikstead sat in ill-fitting hide armour, not talking but instead glowering at Alesan the Red, who sat fidgeting nervously under her stare. The last two had no fidget in them at all. Haming the Hunter sat across from Britte and matched her stare for stare, while Joric sat in his iron armour, his steel greatsword, Bloodbane, leaning against the table beside him, staring happily into space, seeming unaware that there was anyone else there.

All she had invited had come. Lucia had to keep herself from showing how happy she was. She was a little disappointed that the three legionnaires hadn't been able to bring Clinton along, though she supposed she should not be surprised. He had ever been a stickler for the rules and this was certainly not legion business. She had not held out much hope that the three Honorhall orphans would bring Francois Beaufort. No one had seen him in years.

Those who were talking ceased when they saw Lucia and they turned expectantly to her. This was it, she realised. She had called them here, they were waiting on her. She took a deep breath.

'Hello, everyone,' she began, 'thanks for meeting me here.'

Braith put her scimitar down on the table with an audible clunk then swept up a tankard to take a healthy gulp. She had been the one Lucia had been most nervous to see. When she had lived on the streets in Whiterun, and even after, Braith had been the city bully, ruling over the other children mercilessly. She had picked on Lucia more than the others, mainly because she had been poor and homeless. Though she had eased off on this after Lucia was adopted, and even more so after Uhther had had a quiet word with Amren about her. But Braith had never let Lucia forget what she had been. Thankfully she didn't say anything. She merely watched Lucia over her tankard, her dark eyes seeming to pin her in place.

It was Britte who spoke up first.

'This had better be worth it, Princess,' she said, sullenly, 'I had a hard enough time getting away from my father.'

Lucia turned to regard Britte coolly. She had only really spoken to her once or twice on those occasions when Uhther and his family had come through Rorikstead on their way to somewhere. Those conversations had never been long. In truth, she had been hesitant to invite her but she had need of fighters and Britte was certainly that.

Lucia cleared her throat.

'I've asked you here because we need to discuss the Thalmor,' Lucia began.

'What about them?' Britte demanded. Joric seemed to snap out of his reverie suddenly and turn his slightly dreamy eyes on Lucia.

'What about the Thalmor?' he asked. There was a slamming sound as Braith's tankard crashed onto the table.

'If you idiots would shut up,' Braith blazed at them, 'then she might tell us.'

Britte sat back in her chair, arms folded, while Joric looked politely surprised. Haming's lips twitched in what might have been a smile had he not controlled himself. Braith turned back to look at Lucia, unsmiling, giving her an encouraging nod.

Careful not to make her gratitude obvious, Lucia began again.

'My father, the Dragonborn, is about to launch an attack on the Thalmor.' She spoke quickly, wanting to get it all out. She had half expected gasps or surprise but no one reacted. All of them, even Britte, were watching her intently. 'He doesn't know that I know,' Lucia went on, 'but I've seen the letters he's sent. He's planning to drive the Thalmor out of Skyrim, has been for ages now. And to do that he's going to need all the help he can get.'

'He's got the legion,' Blaise said, sounding defensive. Lucia knew she would need to tread carefully here. She knew how proud Blaise and the others were to be part of the legion, not to mention having the Dragonborn as their legate.

'I know the legion will fight for him,' she said, slowly, weighing each word before she said it, 'but it's going to take more than that if he's going to beat them. Remember the Thalmor won the Great War.'

'We're stronger now,' Samuel said, pounding a fist against his legion breastplate so that the steel rang like a bell. Samuel, though barely a man, was built like an ox. Tall, broad and muscular with a thick beard already covering his chin, he could have passed for a man twice his age. Blaise and Lars nodded their agreement.

Lucia sighed. Pointing out what was obvious to her without offending anyone was a lot harder than Uhther made it look. There came a dull thunk from the end of the table. Haming had buried his knife into a scrap of mutton on his plate and lifted it to his mouth.

'The Thalmor are stronger too,' the young hunter said, 'and you don't know what kind of powers they've got.'

'Exactly,' Lucia said, 'we don't know everything about the Thalmor and I don't think my father does either. He's going to need all the help he can get and I think we could help him.'

There came an unpleasant snort from the far end of the room. Lucia jumped then cursed herself. She had been so pleased to see everyone there that she had not checked to see who else was there. She was sure, had there been a Thalmor agent there, someone would have alerted her. But this was not much better. Rolff Stone-Fist and a couple of cronies sat around a table. They had meat and mead in front of them but none of them were paying the food any attention. All three of them had eyes on them.

'Something funny?' Runa demanded. Lucia had to suppress a smile. She even sounded a little like Mjoll. The Lioness had joined them for meals often when they had been in residence in Honeyside, Uhther's Riften home, so Lucia had heard her speak and had been impressed by the calm yet forceful voice she had. Runa might actually be cast in the same mould.

Rolff got to his feet and regarded the group, an amused smirk on his lips.

'You are,' he said. Lucia thought there might be a slight sway in his step from a little too much mead, 'you little children off to fight in the traitor's war.'

The smile was immediately gone from Lucia's lips.

'My father is no traitor,' she said, hotly. Rolff barked a laugh.

'Oh, your father, is he?' he said, smiling a nasty smile, 'last I checked, him and his bitch are both Nords. Say what you like about the Dragonborn,' he put as much contempt on that name as possible, though that was not really much, 'at least he married his own kind. But you, you're an imperial whelp. So how exactly is he your father? Did some imperial get you on him? That would make sense, he's been the Empire's whore for years.' He shot an even nastier look at the three legionnaires then he and his cronies roared with laughter at the feeble jape. Lucia was almost shaking with rage.

That someone, especially a Nord, would show such disrespect to Uhther Stormfist, the man who had saved their worthless hides the gods only knew how many times was inexcusable. He would not have dared to say such things had Uhther been here himself. She had to stop herself from pulling out her axe and rushing the sneering bastard.

Before she could do anything else, an arrow was let fly and thudded into the wall behind the three. Lucia turned to see Haming, bow in hand, a look of sincere dislike on his face. Rolff and the other three had stopped laughing and were now looking angrily at Haming.

'They're not going to like this,' Joric said, his fingers idly tracing Bloodbane's hilt.