Hullo, everybody! I added a buttload more to this chapter ! So, so, so, so, SO sorry for the wait! Things have been so crazy lately, and my laptop had been out of commission. I'm back to writing now, so come on back to reading! Please review, and I hope you enjoy! -LR

The sun is peaking over Solitude, as my son, his wolf and I walk through the High Gate Woods, heading into Morthal. As ever, it is snowing, our footprints quickly covered as we navigate the trees. It's early in the year still, and so, it's still quite cold. I'm dressed in a fine cream-colored, woolen dress, a warm, green over coat, embroidered with gold, and a tanned sabre car pelt pinned over my right shoulder. Segen wears brown woolens, tucked into his tall, black boots, along with a rust-red longshirt and brown vest and belt, black cloak hanging from his shoulders. Adjin's locket rests over his collarbone, worn and golden and all Segen's; he thumbs it absently.

"Will Uncle Adjin be back anytime soon?"

I glance at him, to see a furrow in his dark brows, as snow falls lazily, dotting his jet-black mohawk and turning it into a night sky.

"I don't actually know," I sigh, watching Na'el as she trots ahead of us. "Your uncle is the captain of his own ship, Segen. Sometimes, I feel I'm just a passenger on it." He says nothing in response, and draws his cloak tighter about him. "But, even if he returns, you do realize he won't be tutoring you." Still no response. "Segen."

He sighs, shaking his head, "I don't understand that. Mana, I don't want to be taught by a stranger."

"Nor do I want you to be taught by one," I smile. "But, I have a few things to see to, in Whiterun. And, beyond that, Adjin has matters of his own to attend to. The stranger will have to do."

"Mana!" he groans. "The sheer irresponsibility-" I start laughing. Hard. "It's not funny!"

"Your uncle Jarsha trusts him. So, I trust him." I chuckle even more at his expression. "It's that simple, dear one."

"Mm." His gaze slides away from me, to Na'el, the mismatched eyes full of question. "What's his name again? The steward?"

I cringe. Hate that word.

"Argis," I tell him, "Argis, the Bulwark."

"Argis the Bulwark?" He snorts, shaking his head. "Yeah. Alright. Why not?"

When did my son become his father?

"I'll have you know, he's quite an able tutor. And, his combat credentials are pretty solid." My son crosses his arms, his jaw working. "You'll be in good hands, Segen. That's all I want."

He whirls back around, eyes beseeching.

"And, who's good hands will you be in, Mana? Nobody I know!"

"Segen-"

"No!" he snaps, "No! I don't understand why I can't go with you!"

"Neither of us is ready for you to see what I-"

"Mana!" he says, helplessly, "We said no lies!"

The breath leaves my body. How do I keep finding myself in these situations? And, what can I really say to my child? That my work as a mercenary leaves me unable to take care of him? That his dearly beloved Uncle Adjin is probably with his very own father? That I'm leaving him to kidnap the woman who brought on the demise of our family?

Have I told him absolutely nothing?

You're doing the right thing, I tell myself, You're doing the right thing. Explaining Iman Suda would mean explaining Shazaa and my parents' deaths and so many other things. Your five-year-old doesn't need to carry your burdens.

No lies, he says, just as his father before him.

Does he not know how I've thrived on them?

My gaze collides with his.

"No lies," I mutter, and thread my fingers through his hair, drawing him to me. "I'm sorry, Segen. I have things to do in Whiterun- important, grown-up things that I can't tell you about right now. I'm so sorry, but it has to be-"

"When I'm older?" he mumbles into my hip. I give a short laugh, nodding. "If I can't protect you, Mana, who will?"

"Segen," I say, and tilt his face up by his chin. "You trust your mother?" He hesitates, studying me, before nodding. "Do you trust that I know my work?" He nods again. "Now, do you trust that I will come back to you? That I would never, never abandon you?"

"Yes."

"Then, neither of us has anything to worry about." I kiss his forehead soundly, and ruffle his hair. "Now, call Na'el. We're close to town."

"To me, Na'el!" he proclaims. "Na'el, to me!"

The black wolf comes darting through the trees to his side, and he collars her, the way she hates. A necessary precaution, living in a town of paranoid citizens. That done, he turns to view the town, catching sight of Joric, Idgrod's fourteen-year-old younger brother, leaning against a post outside of the Moorside Inn. He gives us a knowing smile and a small wave. Segens throws me his most honest eyes and open face; I smile wide.

"You can go along with Joric," I laugh. "I'm just picking up some supplies. Your uncles cleaned us out."

He glances over at Joric, and then, back at me.

"You're sure?" asks my little guardian. "You don't need me?"

I tap my chin, surveying the sky, "Now that you mention it. . ."

"Ididn'tsayanythingI'llseeyoulaterManabye!"

He runs off like some. . .running thing, and my grin grows wide. I follow his retreating form with my eyes, laughing to myself as he joins Joric and Agnis at the inn.

"How easily he deserts you, Rontu."

I turn around, my grin still in full effect, to see Idgrod, returning it.

"Too true," I snort. "For as much as he claims to love his mother." Idgrod the Younger, now twenty-seven years herself, laughs hard at this and I throw an arm around her shoulder. She's as girlishly pretty as ever, her dark brown hair pulled back from her face, dark eyes bright and age-old. "Where are you headed today?"

She shrugs slightly, "I'm following you."

"Thaumaturgist's Hut it is, then," I smirk. Her brows raise in question. "The party left my stores a little wanting. We've hardly got anything left, after it and last winter."

"The snows were pretty brutal . . ." she says grimly.

"Who're you telling? Segen and I had to trudge through that shit just to get here." I shake my head. "I need a new shovel; don't let me forget."

We walk past the Inn, wisps of music drifting from the windows:

oVo

Sing of her courage, her strength and her zeal.

As Na'el Prince of Death,

The Elves-

oVo

I shudder to myself, and pick my pace. Idgrod, perceptive as ever, follows suit.

"How are you holding up?" she asks, after her laughter winds down. "I know having everyone part ways after your birthday must have been difficult."

"Yes, it was," I sigh, as we begin walking towards the trading post. "Jarsha's returned to the college. Bjorn's taken his family back, and Adjin's run off to gods know where."

"You know, too, I think." She says it so quietly that I would never have heard it, if I weren't listening for it. Still, I have no response for her. "Rontu, you never talk about him. It's as if . . . as if he doesn't even exist!" At my silence, Idgrod sighs. "Alright. I will leave the matter, for now. But, this is something we have to speak abou-" At her abrupt trail-off my head snaps up to her face. She's squinting at a point beyond me, at the guardhouse, and I turn to see. . . Jonna. . . Thonnir . . . Jorgen . . . Benor-

"What's happened?"

Her eyes glaze over, and she grabs my arm in a vice grip.

"It's Marrick."

My blood freezes over.

"How do you kn-"

In spite of her being half my size, she pulls on the arm in her grasp, and hauls me over to our neighbors, her eyes wild.

"- a thief, I tell you!" whispers the trembling courier. He's sitting on the guardhouse steps, as we crowd further around him, Idrgrod pushing me closer and closer.

"Move back!" someone orders, and I can see over my shoulder that it's Alsfur, his visage grim and authoritative. "Move back!" he says again, more forcefully, as he pushes forward, "Give the man some room!" When he reaches the front of the crowd, he surveys the traveler, and takes a knee before him. "Where are you coming from, son?"

"From. . . from. . ." the courier pauses, catching his breath. "From Solitude."

"Solitude, eh?" Alsfur rubs his beard. "And, what is your purpose for-"

"And, then. . ." he pants, "Markarth."

Alsfur's brow furrows, "I'm sorry, I don't. . . I don't follow."

"After that. . . haa. . . haa. . .Falkreath." Alsfur is silent now, his gaze urging the boy on. "'E's . . . e's makin' his way down the coast. Some thief, or the like, stealing from the noble 'ouses. Right out from under their noses." He shook his head, taking a few deep breaths. "'E stole a copper and moonstone circlet from Thane . . .Bryling of Solitude, and enchanted steel dagger from Nepos the Nose, in Markarth, and a steel sword from Jarl Siddgeir's family, in Falkreath."

"The same thief?"

"The Jarls think so."

"What of their coin?"

"Absolutely untouched. Just one item, from one noble house."

"Hmm." Alsfur sighs heavily. "We'll need to warn the other families of the other capital cities."

"Riders were sent out the day before yesterday, sir." The courier's tongue flicks out over his lips. "But, that en't why Elisif sent me, originally."

"Why, then?" Alsufr asks, but the courier's gaze is flitting all over, resting on a tankard of ale in one of the guard's grasp.

"Could I-"

Following his gaze, Alsufr flaps his hand hurriedly at the guard, "Give it to him, Wyl." The courier wets his lips, and brings the ale to them, guzzling it greedily. "Now," urges Alsfur, "why are you come?"

"They. . ." the man does a steadying breath, eyes lowered to his knees. "They say, that he's back."

"Who?" Alsfur hisses, "Who's back?"

The courier's gaze clashes with his.

"The Dragonborn."

The effect of his words is immediate.

Men and women all around us explode uproariously to one another or to themselves, as Alsfur's mouth drops wide open, and as Idgrod turns to me.

If she's saying anything, I can't tell. It's like all sound has left the world. A second has become an age, and for that age, everything is still.

He's back. Marrick's back. He's back. Marrick's-

"They seen him on the East Road, between Solitude and Markarth. He came down following the Karth river, and then, Druadach Mountains. That's where he came into contact with a frost dragon, and a couple of travellers realized who he was."

Alsfur nodded, "And can you tell us. . ."

He continues speaking, but this is all I can stand to hear. Right now, my priority is finding Segen.

If he started in Solitude, and is working his way from the east coast inward, then for all I know, he's looking for me. It may not be true, but I cannot risk it. What's more, is that there is no doubt in my mind that Marrick and the capital city thief are one and the same. I have no idea what he's thinking; and if he is looking, I cannot let him find.

My heart is throbbing madly in my chest, and I ignore Idgrod, who's calling my name. Instead, I force myself to keep walking, as my eyes focus on the center of my chest. The pathetically frayed end of the gold cord splays out, like reaching fingers, and I try to ignore that, too, as my thoughts rush to organize themselves.

Maybe he ought to be in Segen's life, maybe I am overreacting. But, that's not a chance I'm going to take.

I won't let him cast my son aside, the way that he cast me.

Segen was outside of Falion's with Joric and Agni, the fifteen-year-old girl under the wizard's roof and wing, which made it simple to take him by the hand.

"Taurel mo kem baht," I whisper, as he tenses under my grasp. I grin warmly at Joric and Agni. "I'm so sorry, but we have to go home now. Can he come to play another time?"

"Aye, it's no trouble, milady," Joric smiles back, touching my son's shoulder fondly. "See you around, Segen."

"Goodbye, Joric," Segen says, cheeks dimpling, "Goodbye, Agnis."

We turn away, heading up into the woods and the marsh, and it's only when we reach our stables that Segen turns to me.

"What's wrong?" he asks urgently. I don't answer, rushing quickly out of the woods, eyes shifting through the trees. "Mana, what's wrong?" I still don't - can't respond; he tugs on my sleeve. "Mana!" he pleads, "Talk to me!"

This is what brings me back.

My eyes fall to my son's face. I don't know what to expect from it. Fear? Confusion? Hysteria? No, no, and no. My child is staring back at me, and his is the concerned expression of an absolute adult. There is no room for childish antics in him; his next move is solely centered on mine, fully prepared to be my rock.

I cradle that face in my hands.

"I'm sorry, baby," I croak out hoarsely, "I'm so sorry. Everything is fine; I just . . ." How do you lie to the person who knows you best? "Nothing's wrong, I just. . ."

"You didn't go to Thauma's," he says quietly. "You didn't get any supplies."

My brows knit, and I breathe a harsh sigh. One that contains all my fears about the Dragonborn seeking me out. This is a coincidence, and I would be a fool to just let it interrupt our lives.

"You're right," I admit, my smile weary. I ruffle Segen's hair. "If we take the wagon and leave now, we could make it to Thaumaturgist's Hut before it closes."

I reach for his hand, and he clutches mine tight, as we continue on towards the wagon.

I'm wrong. I'm overreacting. Marrick isn't coming, you fool. Marrick isn't-

"Mana," Segen hisses under his breath. "Mana, there's a man at the house."

My head snaps up, my mind clears, my arm pushes my child behind me, my hand rests on Nhale's hilt, my vision sharpens.

The man is tall and broad and cold. I can see his muscles trembling, even under his bear pelt and scaled armour. He's been trained to ignore the temperature though, and does so seamlessly. He carries a quiver of steel arrows on his back, while his left hip holds a steel mace. A banded iron shield rests beside the front door. These weapons get me wondering at his training. Jorrvaskr? The Shatter-Shields of Windhelm? Clans Grey-Mane or Battleborn, in Whiterun?

Whatever it is, it doesn't matter.

If he is a threat to us, then I am going to kill him.

I stalk forwards towards him and my home, cautiously, eyes narrowed and never leaving him. He seems to sigh, hulking shoulders rising and falling, and raises a fist to knock on my door.

"Stop," I call, and he pauses, tilting his head in our direction. "Hands over your head. Now, turn around, slowly," I order. "Slower." The stranger complies. When he's facing us, I give him a thorough study.

He stands six feet, easily, with long, golden-blonde hair, braided back and fastened with red ties, to match a trimmed blonde beard. Red warpaint swirls into a leaf on the right cheek of a chiseled face, and a black patch covers his left eye. The one good eye has enough intensity on its own; it's an amber color, close to that of his hair, bright with cunning and . . .amusement.

"I yield," he calls, smilingly. "Lady O'Naharis, I yield."

This only serves to incense me further.

"Declare yourself, sir."

"I am called Argis, the Bulwark," he says. "I'm expected."

Tentatively, I lower my blade and sigh, before glancing back at Segen. To my greatest surprise, he's lowering a loaded crossbow, his hands steady as his gaze lingers darkly on our guest. I cannot help my smile.

"Well, come in then, by all means," I laugh, sheathing Nhale. "Getting shot by your pupil would be a bad way to start, no?"

"So," I begin, setting an ale on the table and sitting down. "You're Argis, the Bulwark."

I want it to be platonic, but it sounds doubtful. And, by the smirk on his face, I know the man warming himself by the fire hears that doubt as well.

"That is my name, aye."

"How is it that you know my brother?"

"Jarsha?" He shrugs lightly, "He's a Thane, of Markarth." Now, that, I never knew. Argis shrugs lightly, "Or, at least, he was a Thane of Markarth. He hasn't been back in a long while. I was housecarl at his old place, Vlindrel Hall. And, I've been watching after it ever since he went ghost."

"What became of the house?"

"He sold it." Argis shrugs again. "Wasn't like he'd ever return to it. Bastard lives in Winterhold, after all. That's why he sent for me to come here; I'd of gotten fat and lazy, if left to my own devices."

"I doubt that," I mutter with a humorless laugh.

His eye levels on me, "You doubt much."

I have no response to that. There's a quality of wiseness about this man, that. . . that makes me both nervous and relaxed at the same time. I want to trust him, in spite of my nature to trust no one. I just can't quite figure out why.

"About this job," I say, clearing my throat. "I do mercenary work, and so I'm not home often. I need you to manage my affairs and my land and my son in my absence. That is all."

Argis studies me for a moment, the flames crackling before him, until he rises from the fire pit, and takes the seat across from me at the table.

"Please, continue."

"Windstad's become something of a beacon, for all sorts of enemies. Each day, I require a ranging, to patrol the grounds and ensure their safety."

"Consider it done, milady."

"Also, supply shipments arrive in town, to the merchant, every month to keep stores fresh. I would have gotten them today, but. . ." My gaze meets Segen's on the second floor, as he strokes Na'el. ". . .but, something came up."

"I will retrieve it tomorrow, as soon as the shop opens," he assures me. "Is there anything more, milady?"

I nod absently, breaking eye-contact with my child.

"Lastly, and most importantly, is my son. Segen." Argis nods in return. "I want Segen to have a good tutor, who can ensure he learns all that he needs to when I'm away."

"Tutor, what subjects?"

"All of them," I say, almost challengingly. "Magicka, Combat, Stealth, Music, Geography, History and the Common Tongue." He scribbles this down onto a piece of parchment, blotting the excess ink with his thumb. "Above all else, is his safety," I add in a harsher tone. Argis immediately looks up from his paper. "This child is my life, sir. And, if it meant his safety, I would murder the world." A silent understanding grows between us, as we hold each other's gaze: mine, willing him to understand, and his, ensuring me that he does. "Oh, and of course, you will be paid for your work-"

"Room and board is fine enough payment for me, milady," he says, waving me off. "Not like I've got a house, anymore. Your brother's fault, milady," he grins.

I smile back, rising from my chair.

"Are you hungry?," I call over my shoulder, heading into the kitchen. "I'm sorry I'm such a poor host, it's just been a long day." I quickly find the leftover beef stew and pour it into the pot hanging over the hearth. "You can call me Rontu, by the way, I'm not really big on titles." I pause in stirring the pot and cock my head. "Do you mind beef stew?"

"Whatever you've got is fine," he replies from the dining room. "Anything, to ward off this cold."

The stew heats quickly enough, and I grab some mitts and carry it in to the table in the other room, which is set also with garlic bread, Eidar cheese wedges, grilled leeks, baked potatoes, a bowl of crisp, red apples a few bottles of ale and a jug of milk and tankard for Segen, who promptly comes trotting down the stairs for supper.

"So," grins Argis. "This is the little lord." He rubs his short-cropped beard. "Aye, aye, I think it's quite an improvement."

"What is?" Segen asks, confused.

"The absence of your crossbow."

That wins him a smile.

"You wash up?" I question. "We've been outside all day."

"Yes, I'm all clean," he reports, showing me his hands.

"Alright, then, let's sit." I say a quick prayer over the food, and we tuck in. The conversation flows easily between us, and Segen is included in it naturally, rather than forced, which is more than I could have hoped for. Turns out, Argis trained at Jorrvaskr, so I know he's a formidable opponent. What's more, is that he's mastered many other skills as well, so I know that he's well-rounded as well. When we finish eating, our new steward clears the plates, as we continue talking. "Do you cook, Argis?" I finally think to ask. "That's something I didn't mention earlier. . ."

"Thought it was a given," he shrugs, smiling at Segen. "I can cook well enough to put the great Gourmet to shame. But, you want to know my true talent?" he asks, conspiratorially. Segen nods, leaning in. "Baking. My crostatas are a little slice of Sovngarde."

"Good to know," I laugh, shaking my head. "I'm off holding my own in Whiterun, while you two stuff yourselves full of sweets."

"May I ask, what you'll be doing in Whiterun?" Argis asks. He glances at Segen, "Or, is it better to ask at another-"

"Yes, we'll speak later," I reply, with a smile as Segen groans.

"It's not like I don't know what you do, Mana," he argues. "What could be so different this time?"

"Yes, definitely later," I laugh. "Long after this one's fast asleep. Speaking of which. . ."

"Ugghhh!"

"Come on, now. You've had a long day."

"Alright, alright." He raises from the table, and trots around it to kiss me goodnight. "'Night, Mana. 'Night Argis."

"Goodnight, Segen."

"'Night, little lor- oh, wait!" Segen stops his trek up the stairs. "Before you turn in, I just want you to know that we start your training tomorrow."

"Yeah, yeah, I know already, all the basic subjects."

"Well, actually, there's one more." My brow furrows, as Argis turns to me, his eye dancing. "There's a reason why Jarsha chose me, specifically. Could've been anyone for the job, but I'm the best fit."

"How's that?"

"Because, simply put, I match best to Segen's abilities."

"Abilities. . ?"

My gaze meets my son's, and we both look on as Argis the Bulwark peels back his black patch to reveal-

"A Ghost Eye," breathes Segen, and Argis smiles. "You- You're like me!"

Instantly, all my qualms about this man vanish, and I send a silent thanks to Jarsha, wherever he is. I have the peace of mind that I so desperately needed before I could head to Whiterun.

He's given me the perfect guardian for my guardian.

"A class in Zo'an control will be added to our daily regimen, Segen," he smiles. "The voices, the ones of those passed on. Your. . . grandparents, I believe?" My son nods. "You will learn to harness your gift. I hope you realize, that that is what it is, a gift."

"Yes, Master," Segen says, which shocks me to hell and back. The honorific is one that he wouldn't even bestow on Adjin, as much as he adores him as a teacher. "I will not fail you."

"I know you won't," Argis says. His eyes turn to me, smilingly, "Now, I believe you were just off to bed, weren't you, little lord?"

"I'll escort him," I laugh, picking up a candle and lighting it. "Help yourself to some mead, I'll be back presently."

We top the stairs. and reach Segen's room.

It's wooded with pale pine, just as the rest of the house is. Mounted on the wall is the head of the great bear Adjin, Jarsha and I brought down last year, when we went on a hunting trip. Beneath the head is a dresser, of his clothes, both fine and play. A wardrobe at the end of the hall houses some of his favorite possessions: a few wooden swords, his crossbow, a steel dagger and all his boots. A few sacks lie lazily beside the wardrobe, most likely full of pillaged snacks, and beside his bed is another dresser of clothes, with a few jars of torchbugs, moths and bees resting on its top. His bed is covered in warm furs, and a feathered dream catcher hangs just above it, beside the volume-laden bookshelf adjacent to it. Opposite the bed is a standing washbasin beneath a hanging mirror. Horned sconces line the walls, and a saber cat skin warms the floor as his favorite red dragon kite hangs from the ceiling. Between them and Na'el, he is protected by a number of animals.

I set the candlestick down, as Segen removes his grey tunic to slip on a white longshirt before also removing his boots and trousers and climbing into bed under the furs. I sit beside his legs and sigh, as he stares up at me.

"You were very brave today," I tell him, my smile warm but tight. "You were even braver than me, and I'm sorry for that." The moment has come years sooner than I ever wanted it to, that he should take up arms to protect me, because I was slipping. Already, Segen shouldered the weight of knowledge beyond his years, because I couldn't stomach to let him grow up naive and ignorant, just as my parents wouldn't let me.

This was my mistake.

I looked around and saw all of my success and I knew it was because of my upbringing. I took my brothers on, and we each began to give Segen what we knew, what he needed to survive in this age of darkness and dragons. We'd forgotten what it was like, growing up the way we had. We'd forgotten what it meant to be us, to be O'Naharis.

None of us had ever been anyone's parent before. So, the only parenting we could give to my son, was the only parenting we'd ever had.

Segen was just a child, of four, and just like any other, he would always add the "and a half". But, it meant something else when he said it. These other children were simply growing into bigger children. Segen was growing into an adult.

"What was it, Mana?" he whispers imploringly, confirming the sad truth of his maturity. "What had you so upset earlier?"

"Segen-"

"It's got something to do with Him," he breathed in realization, a light coming into his already too-bright eyes. "Hasn't it? It's got something to with my father!"

"Segen!" I cry out helplessly, shutting my eyes tight. He stops. And, yet again, it's just to protect me. My mouth does the most minimal movements, trying desperately to say something that's not the truth, and not a lie. But, there's no way out of it.

I want to give Segen a father, a man to love and guide our son. Not one who cannot even love and guide himself. Marrick doesn't even know that Segen is alive. This reminder stings me deeply in the chest, and as greatly as I wish to make it untrue, it remains a fact.

If he learns that his father couldn't possibly love him, because he doesn't even know him, not only will he be even further beyond his years, but he will be broken.

"Try to understand," I sigh. "This man, your father, he. . . he loved you very much."

"Who is he?"

I didn't look at Segen, for fear of the enraptured look that would match his voice.

"He was a sailor," I smile wistfully, in spite of myself. "Tall, and strong. Black hair, black as pitch. Black as night." I look to him, and ruffle his hair. "His eyes, as well."

"Like mine?"

"Like yours," I nod.

"He was a Nord?"

Had I never mentioned any of this?

"And the most beautiful man I ever met. His one love, of all things ever, was the sea. He loved pier and port, ocean and inlet. He valued freedom like no one I'd ever met before, and to him, a ship meant freedom. Only one thing did he cherish more."

"What was that?"

His greatest love will always be himself.

I stared at my hands.

"Segen," I answer, smiling. "He truly loved Segen." I wet my lips and reach up, fingering the hawk feathers of my son's dream catcher. "One thing led to another, and we came to a crossroads. He could either choose his freedom, or he could choose us." I shake my head, "It wasn't my choice to make, my love, and he wanted to be with us dearly. But, he was truly the captain of his ship, in every sense. And, he had a . . . a call, to arms. For the freedom of Skyrim. For our freedom. And, so, he left."

Segen listens, captivated by my half-truths, before his brows pull in tight.

"He died, then?" he asks. "My father?"

It takes a fraction of a thought, but I sudden now what to say.

"No, he didn't. But, he was never the same." Segen holds my gaze, studying me, and I am overjoyed that I managed to make it through that without lying to him. Not just because it would have been wrong, but because he would have seen right through me. I drew and released a deep breath. "Enough of that talk now, baby," I say, smiling. "If your Master is to be believed, you've a long day ahead."

Segen presses his lips into a tight line, and leans back onto his mattress.

"Mana," he calls, after I've blown out the candle, "What's his name?"

Once again, I'm given pause. My fingers grip the doorframe tight, as I consider my options.

"Segen," I reply, unable to look at him. "His name is Segen. You're called after him." I barely wait to breathe, before I utter my customary "Goodnight, baby," and stride down the hall, my mind reeling from what my son must be thinking about.

I decide to occupy myself and my thoughts with our new housecarl, and I traverse the steps to the main hall, where he's drinking a Black Briar mead.

"Everything all right?"

"It's fine, just. . ." I cock my head at the man, suddenly wondering how much he knows about me and my son. About Barak-dur and O'Naharis. About Marrick. "Segen's father is the Dragonborn."

If he's shocked, he doesn't show it, at least not outright. But, I can tell that he is. A slow, steadying breath escapes him, and he takes a long drink of mead.

"Does he know this? The little lord?" I shake my head, giving him pause. "I see."

"In the town today, I learned that he's been seen, for the first time in five years. I can't help but hope that he's fulfilling his destiny, but if that isn't the case, I want to ease Segen into understanding his father." I shake my head. "His father left us right after I learned I was pregnant. I didn't want him to go, but I couldn't have let him stay. I didn't want to trap him in something he's never wanted from anyone, especially me."

Argis watches me with his blue and pale mismatched eyes for a while, before sighing.

"You can count on me to keep quiet," he finally says. "That is, until you are ready."

"Thank you, Argis." Words cannot express my relief. "Your rooms are ready, just follow me." I lead him to the finely furnished rooms that greatly resembled my own.

His four-poster bed was dressed in fine green covers and saber cat furs. A few bookshelves lined the walls, and he had a writing desk off to the side. A wardrobe stood sentinel beside his bed, and furs covered the floors.

"Fine room, this," Argis remarks, setting his duffel down. "Who kept it before me?"

"It was my brother's," I reply, planting my fists on my hips, glancing around. "Not that he'll be needing it, wherever he is." Argis smiles and I return smile back at him. "I'll leave you to it, then."

"Sleep well," he calls.

"Likewise."

But, Argis' well wishes are lost on me. I quickly discover that sleep is impossible tonight. Sighing, I grab up my maplewood pipe, and slip into the greenhouse wing. Once an armory, I had it redone as soon as Segen was old enough to realize his love of nature.

Moonlight slipped in from the windowpane and I basked in it, leaned up against one of the many tables full of flowers. Bumblebees hummed, butterflies flitted and torchbugs lighted and unlighted lazily around me, the sweet smell of honey in the air as I lit up, thoughts of Marrick plaguing me.

I couldn't hate him.

For a very long time, I tried to. I wanted to, more than anything. And then, I realized that the only way to stop loving him, was to love someone else. That someone else was my child. A simple enough solution, but it didn't work. Because, it wasn't true.

I remember the day that he left.

I remember how I walked down into the tomb, deeper into the Ratway. I came into the cistern, to where my family was still asleep, and knelt by Paia. I tapped her forehead once. . . twice . . .thrice. Her doe eyes fluttered open and focused on me. Before she could speak, I covered her mouth, and once she understood that I needed her quiet, she rose up out of bed, and followed me.

We emerged from the Ratway on the under decks of the river city. Where we'd stood the morning that I'd surveyed my face and looked for "beautiful". Now, with a new face and a new knowledge of the world, that morning seemed so long ago.

"He's gone."

Paia absorbed my words, as we stared out over the water, before nodding.

"When?"

"A few hours."

She nodded again.

"Shall I cut your hair?"

I paused, not really sure. When you lose someone, you cut your hair, just as I had with Brynjolf.

"No," I chuckled, shaking my head. "Not this time."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because, why?"

"Because, I'm pregnant." The last part came out as a sob, and before I finished the sentence, Paia's arms were around me. "Paia, I'm going to have a baby."

"A baby," she breathed. "Does Adjin know? Does Jarsha?"

"I don't think so."

"Does Marrick?" she asked quietly.

I shook my head, "No." I smiled faintly. "Marrick doesn't know anything about anything."

We sat in silence for a while, and her company made it so that I could clear my head, and share its contents with someone else.

"I want to change it back," I said clearly. "My face. I want to change it back. And I want a house, in Hjaalmarch, like we always talked about." I looked to her, the promise of the future clear in my eyes. "I want to be brave, Paia. I want to be brave for my child. But, that's only because I feel - I feel-"

"Guilty."

I nodded violently.

"I can give my child so much. Food. Shelter. Knowledge. Love. But, not a father. I can't provide a father." I shook my head, as she took my hand. "This is going to be hard," I whispered. "This is going to be so hard."

"Why did he leave?" she queried, and I froze. "Rontu, tell me."

"I took in the snake, and forgot its nature," I smiled absently. She didn't understand, but it didn't matter. "I won't forget again."

Now, five years later, I was smoking my pipe in my house in Hjaalmarch, and I still couldn't hate him. I don't know anymore, that I still loved Marrick. But, faced with the possibility of him striding up to my front door with those night dark eyes and that quicksilver grin. . .

I put out my pipe.

Over the course of my pregnancy, I wrote letters to Segen, the last of them being just before I went into labor. But, there was a tenth. I rose from the stone table and walked briskly up the stairs to my rooms. I crossed to my wardrobe, digging through clothes and books and keys and papers until I reached a small, wooden box.

Segen . . . Segen . . . Segen. . . Marrick.

I scan the words I inked in, soon after Segen's delivery. I scan them for truth. I scan them for weakness. I scan them for sincerity. And, once I satisfy myself, that these are the words I wish to represent me to this man, five years too late, I press my seal to it, package it with another item and don my hooded cloak.

Queen Alfsigr stands ready for me in the stables, and I saddle her before mounting up, and setting my heels to her. We make it through the High Gate Woods, and into Morthal, before I reach the guardhouse, where I know the courier from earlier is resting.

As soon as I show my face, the guards rouse him, and I meet him in their front room.

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, milady."

"Good." I press the small parcel to him. "I need you to find a man called Marrick Stray-King. The last I've heard of him, is in the Falkreath Hold, headed near Whiterun. Do not tell him where or who it is from, do not describe me in any way. If he offers money for this information, understand that when you return here, I will pay you even more handsomely for your confidence, in addition to fifty gold. Will you deliver it?"

"Yes, milady," he says instantly. "Is there anythin' else?"

I pause for a moment, and suddenly remember I have business of my own in Whiterun, for the Alik'r.

"Make for the Bannered Mare, and reserve a room for me there. Tell the owner that it's crucial mercenary business. I will pay you upon your return."

That said, I leave the guardhouse, lingering on its deck. The sun is preparing to rise, alerting the world of the act with a crisp, golden band, stretching across the horizon. I hug myself against the cold, sending up a silent prayer to the Divines that this new development will indeed work itself out.

It's only when I'm already halfway home that I remember:

Marrick doesn't know how to read.

(A/N) Once again, I'm sorry for going AWOL, but I'm back, for good. Please review, and I hope you enjoyed! -LR