Hullo Everybody ! (Sorry, but I forgot to post the beginning of this chapter, it's actually much, much longer. )I wanted this out tonight, because tomorrow. . . I START COLLEGE ! XD I'm going to try to keep writing, because I love writing this story so freaking much! Please keep reading, because I will keep writing. I hope you enjoy ! -LR

Solitude I did first, but only because it would mean something if I saved her for last, and I didn't want it to mean something. At all. On top of that, I was already there, and so was Thane Bryling and her cheap-ass circlet. And, on top of that, Solitude's security would be that much tighter if she was last on my list.

Seeing as I'm already wanted for breaking and entering, attempted theft, resisting arrest, piracy, prison break and being the bastard son of the late High King, I didn't see a need to raise the stakes when I could nip Solitude in the bud early.

Maybe once, when every city guard meant a chance to prove my godly stealth.

But, not now. And, because of my fear of Miraak, maybe not ever again.

In any case, it was easy ghosting myself out of the place; no one was the wiser and I just walked out of the front gates, like it was nothing.

Markarth I did next, because Morthal should've been since it was closer, and I wanted to save Morthal for last because I wanted it to mean something. It made for more of a challenge, considering the depth of crime and suspicion in the place, as well as the level of security. This especially in the case of Nepos the Nose.

None of that mattered, though.

Because, when I slipped into his house, it was like I slipped into my old skin. Not even my shadow seemed to exist, as I sidled up beside the old man in his own bed, fetching his steel knife from under his fucking pillow. On my way in, and on my way out, my body knew exactly what to do, whether it was guards passing through the house, or scaling down the side of it. Markarth was also easy to escape.

But, the third time was the charm.

Falkreath, little as it is, proved itself to be the real bitch.

By the time I reached the place, I knew that there was a party out after me. They were quick to act, the Jarls of Markarth and Solitude. But, the courier boys were quicker. Thanks to them, the news of a cat burglar terrorizing nobles across the country blazed from hold to hold like wildfire.

Being a pathetic little nobody capital, all the nosy citizens of Falkreath all crowded outside to gawk at the influx of couriers, starving for news of something interesting.

Well, they got it.

While the sheep were all outside, the same thief they were so enamored by, just so happened to be snatching the Jarl's family sword. Unfortunately, the citizens of Falkreath weren't as great a population of sheep as I figured, because just as I stowed the sword away in Fenris' tack, they began searching for a stranger who been in town about a day.

I was set to panic, but I was myself again. And, I wouldn't allow that.

It just so happened that a large caravan was setting off from Falkreath, where they'd rested up for the night, before heading to Solitude. My plan was to sit the caravan and double back, waiting until it hit the Druadachs, between Markarth and Solitude. No one would suspect the thief to head back in the direction that pursuit was coming in.

So, I stowed Fen's tack and the sword away in one of their wagons, tied his reigns onto its back, and slipped inside myself, riding out of the Falkreath territory into the mountains of Karth Hold.

That was when the dragon attacked.

And, seeing as the caravan is what saved me, I took it upon myself to save the caravan. And, that was an act that came at the cost of exposing myself.

It's two in the morning, when I finally make the stables of Whiterun.

I am beat.

Fenris is beat.

And still, we find the strength to push on.

We've ridden all through the day, and all through the night, just to put some distance between us and the Druadachs Mountains, where others had witnessed my Voice. With my little misdirection, the guards of the cities I'd stolen from would be amassed across the other holds.

Adjin was right; I would have to set my own pace.

"Nice night, yea?"

I stir from my thoughts to see a stable boy approaching as Fenris and I plod up the road, beat as all hell.

"Nice enough, I suppose." I sigh, and dismount, trying to ignore the aching soreness of my thighs. It's only when I do, that I realize that the Whiterun stables are full to bursting, with horses tied up at posts and even large stones, and wagons lined up all the way down the East Road. "What is this?" I ask him, as he takes my reins. "Why're so many people come to Whiterun?"

His eyes narrow and he shakes his head dubiously.

"Come to Whiterun?" he ehoes. "Master, it's like this everywhere, from Windhelm to Solitude."

"What? Why?"

He cocks his head, as amazed at my not grasping the situation as I am at the situation itself.

"Well, Ser, with the dragons rampaging and ravaging the country, all the poor sort, of the small towns've been robbed of home." He nods toward another wagon pulling up, carrying several people of weary, beaten faces, and tired limbs. "They're refugees now, come to be protected. They en't got the means to defend themselves, in their own towns. They say the Jarls'll have to take responsibility. For them, and for the dragons."

I watch as the family dismounts from their wagon. I'd wager they've been travelling all day, and all night, and all day again. The father reaches up to help down first who I take to be his wife, and next who I take to be his young daughter, both thin as rails. A young boy, older than the girl, on the cusp of manhood, takes down bags, before reaching one large crate. He barely touches it, before he breaks down sobbing.

I squint my eyes, and they widen as I realize it en't a crate; it's a child's coffin.

"'Scuse me, Master," the stable boy mutters, dashing off to help him.

Neither the father, the mother, or the little girl pay the boy any mind; it's as if they've been numbed to his grief, as well as their own, and at this point, their only care is entering the city.

Busying myself with my horse's tack, I listen to the stablehand console the boy, reassuring him that his brother will be buried in the city as soon as possible, and that seeing as it wasn't right to sleep in a room with the coffin and body, the hand would leave it in his own parlor, and make sure it was safe.

"'S only half of 'im," the boy says, weeping hard. "Just what didn't burn."

By the time he's returned to rubdown Fenris, I've already put up all his tack, and found a spot on a crowded post to tether him to, before pushing off, my saddlebags and satchel and duffel slung over a shoulder with my blades. I toss a purse of fifty septims to the hand, because he's a decent man, which I can't even seem to find in the mirror, and then, I make my way up to the city.

As soon as I enter through the gates, I'm stopped.

There's a long line heading into the city, with a checkpoint set up as they study travelling papers. When I reach the front, I make entry, which is only possible because I've buried the stolen items near the Western Watchtower ruins. The refugees eye each other warily, as the citizens of Whiterun eye them.

Rontu was right. Five years ago, and even now.

These people need a Dragonborn.

These people need a hero.

I shoulder my bags and take in my surroundings, the tension I feel from Whiterun and its refugees smacking me in the face. Raised voices draw my attention to a crowd, a group of soldiers and a group of. . .

I blink a few times, in surprise.

Alik'r warriors.

"Look, you've already been told you're not allowed here," hisses the captain of the guard. "Turn around, and go back the way you came."

"We're causing no trouble," rumbles one of the Redguards. "All we ask, is to look for her."

"Listen, you stubborn-"

"What did you just say?"

"Break it up! Break it up!"

"Enough!" the captain thunders, shoving his guards back. He whirls around to face the Alik'r again, and jabs a finger towards the city gate. "Why don't you return to the hole you crawled out of?" he snarls. "The Swindler's Den? They may let all manner of ilk into that cave, aye, but you'll need proper papers here."

One of the warriors, wearing fabric draped into an Alik'r hood spits on the ground before him, and turns with his friend, heading back to the gates. The officers watch for a while, and also turn away, and that is where I make my approach.

"Hold up," I call out, "Wait." They stop to listen, pausing in their stride for me to catch up to them. "Who are you looking for?"

The warriors share a glance of uncertainty, before the one in the hood addresses me.

"A woman," he replies. "A foreigner in these lands. Redguard, like us."

There is no doubt in my mind who these men are looking for.

"She is not likely using her true name," the other man adds. "We will pay for any information regarding her location."So would I. "We're not welcome in Whiterun, as you may have seen," he continues, nodding towards the guards. "So, we will be in Rorikstead if you learn anything."

My head is screaming for me not to ask, but my heart promises to pound its way into my mouth if I don't.

"Why are you looking for her?"

As expected, it doesn't go over very well with them.

The feisty one, the one in the hood takes a step forward, snarling, "It's none of your concern. All you need to know, is that we're paying for information."

I want so badly to laugh.

Money? Fucking gold?

I would give much and more, blood and bone, just to know if she's even still alive.

"I'll be in touch," I lie, and smile warmly in their faces. My every instinct is telling me to blow the man in the hood a kiss, but I think better of it. Not now. Not when I could be so close to finding her.

If I'd been asked a year ago, if I believed in fate, I would have killed the asker. Not after all the shit I've been through. But, meeting Adjin again? Seeing him bring warriors- her friends, to her home, and now, to see more of them seeking out a Redguard woman?

I'm jealous of these men I don't know.

I'm jealous of these men who got to grow up with her, while I grew up all alone. I'm jealous that she can call them her friends, when I've made myself a stranger. I'm jealous that they can fight to know where she is, and I've made it so that I don't even have a right to.

I make my way up the street to the Plains District. I cross the court and stop before the stairs of the Bannered Mare. My insolent smirk has returned with a vengeance.

Do I dare?

The place is absolutely filled, something I haven't seen in a tavern, since the Winking Skeever on Old Life's Eve five years ago. Only then, it was body to body with people celebrating, dressed in their finery. Now, they are lamenting and sharing stories of horror, clothed in rags.

"Come on in. Just stoked the fire. Take a seat and get the cold out." My tongue dries in my mouth as I make the longest, most shameful walk in the world of the ten steps it takes to reach the bar and Hulda, who's wiping it down. "One of the girls'll be with you in a minute. Until then, can I interest you in something to dri-"

Hulda's warm welcome chokes itself off as she finally gets a good look at me.

"Hello, Hulda," I say quietly, the din of the tavern seeming to diminish to a lull. "How've you been?"

"Keller," she murmurs to herself dazedly, "Keller. I've been - I've been fine, just fine. Keller? Forgive me." She finally shakes herself out of it, and offers me a hesitant smile. "You don't . . . you don't look like yourself."

I smile, "No?"

Her small, polite grin widens, becoming genuine, as she shakes her head. "No," she says. "But, it's a good thing. I can tell, it's a good thing." She nods approvingly, her eyes kind and matronly. "You look good, Keller. Healthy."

I rest against the bar and take her hand, leaning forward so she can hear me.

"I want to apologize," I say intently. "I acted unlike a man, unlike a friend. You did much and more for me, Hulda, and I just . . ." I shake my head violently, "I just threw it in your face."

"Keller. . ."

"I wanted to to tell you, that I'm clean now." Her eyebrows raised, along with the corners of her mouth, and I nod my head up and down. "I'm clean. It took some time, but a friend helped me pick up the pieces."

"A friend?" There's a teasing laugh in her eyes. "And to think that for four years, you claimed to have absolutely no one." I wet my lips, my eyes falling downcast as I try to hide the shyness of my smile for how it surprises and embarrases me. "Look at you, look at you," she chortles. "Hair all washed and brushed? Fine, boiled blacks? Brand new steel armor, sharpened blades?" She reaches out to finger the cloth of Adjin's heavy pearl grey cloak. "Such fine material, too. Is he a rich man, your friend?"

"He is," I admit, nodding to myself. "He dresses magnificently, when he wants to let someone know it."

"A kindly, generous, rich friend, then," Hulda muses. "I could use one of them. I think most of us in this room could, at that." I smile absently, watching her laugh hard at her joke. "In any case, Keller, I'm glad to see you're not alone."

Aren't I, though?

Hulda's face hardens.

"No one's truly alone, Keller."

Had I said that aloud? I pause, and study her, turning her words over in my mind.

"You know, when I saw my friend that first day, and every day after, I was relieved. Relieved, because I figured that with him, I could face what I needed to, and I wouldn't be alone anymore. But, now, I'm finding out, that as much as he's helped me, that's just not true."

Hulda's brows pull in tight. "Why do you say that?"

I shake my head, my smile slight.

"Because, it en't a friend I needed, Hulda. Not then, and not now."

Understanding flashes in her face, before being replaced by bemusement.

"A woman, Keller? Surely there's plenty, pretty thing like you."

"No, Hulda," I say forcefully, "I don't want that. I've had that. It doesn't do anything, for anyone, and it doesn't mean anything. Neither does the number of girls there's been." Hulda watches me carefully, and I sigh. "There's more to not being alone, than not fucking someone."

Hulda gazes quietly for a while, before her smile returns.

"Why didn't you tell me, all those years ago? I could have helped you, Keller."

"Because your 'help' would have been reminding me every time that I took up with another girl, that there was only one who really existed." I shake my head, snorting. "Then how would I have distracted myself from her?"

Hulda sighs, and squeezes my hand tight.

"You'll have her back, Keller. You will."

"How can you know that?" I laugh mirthlessly. "It's over, Hulda."

"Because if that five years of absolute hell was all just you mourning, then that means it was all real, what you had. And when something is that real, Keller, it is never over." Hulda holds my gaze, the look in her eye determined; knowing and sure. She squeezes my hand again before sighing, and pulling back. "I have to get back to work now, but I'll send someone right over." She cocks her head, a question in her face. "Do you drink still, or . . ."

"Oh, I still drink," I say, and offer her a smile, "You're right, it was skooma that time."

"I see." Hulda sighs, and smiles back at me. "Well, I'm just glad that you're better, that you're healthy." As an afterthought, her brows narrow searchingly, and she asks, "Is that all you came to tell me?"

"Not much, really. Was wondering if my rooms're still open?"

Hulda winces, "I'm sorry Keller; I've just rented them out since last week. Some high and mighty merc from out of Hjaalmarch sent up a courier boy, to reserve them, and for feeding all these people, the pay is too much to decline. I'm sorry."

"It's alright, Hulda, I'll stay at the Huntsman."

"They're all full, too, Keller," she whispers reluctantly. "That's why we're so busy tonight. All the refugees with no place to stay sit in the tavern so as to stay warm. I try to cut the rooms up so that the tapestries, curtains and rugs spread out down here, on the floor, and then, everyone can sleep warm, by the fire. Spare blankets, too. I know it en't much, but. . . it's more than what most expected to see again, after those dragons slaughtered their families and burned their homes." Now, my jaw starts to work. "I'm sorry, Keller. Honest, I am, I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," I chide gently. "I'll be alright. Don't you worry about me, Hulda, they need you more than I do."

"I'm still sorry," she says quietly, but at the look on my face, she tries to bubble up a little more. "Feel free to come and see me, if ever you're in doubt." I give her a nod in gratitude, and she gives a nod toward the back of the room. "Please. Sit."

I head off to the furthest corner table, and set myself down, trying to think my way out of this housing situation. If it were Rontu, she'd sleep on the roof. Didn't really like beds much, it seemed, what with how she always disappeared from the room. Most likely to put some distance between her and me; I tend to be irresistible.

There's a window by my table, and I glance through it to see fat flakes of snow, falling lazily into the streets. No way in hell could I sleep out tonight. I'd be dead by dawn.

"Damn," I hiss quietly, sucking my teeth. "Damn, damn, damn."

"Saadia," Hulda calls out suddenly. "Wake up, dear!"

"Yes, mum!" comes a reply from the kitchens, and its voice is so sweet that I angle my head to see who it belongs to, regretting it almost instantly.

"Ye gods."

A Redguard woman, lithe and dark, emerges from the other room, wearing a scarlet dress and a barmaid's apron over it, a purse of septims hanging off her left hip. Jet black hair is cut short, curling gently around the curve of a heart-shaped face. Her lips are just - ugh, and her figure, by Dibella-

My heart plummets into my stomach, as I realize this goddess is making her way over to my table.

Her lips open up to reveal her pretty smile, and I watch them form the words, "What do you need, handsome?"

Just as with Hulda, I'm cotton-mouthed, but this time for a whole other reason.

This is by far the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen, in all my living life. I realize suddenly that I'm still staring at her mouth, and I raise my eyes to meet hers. They're a bright, sapphire blue that can take a man's breath away. Gentle, knowing pale eyes flash behind my own, and I remember myself.

"Is there . . . something I can do for you?" she asks, smiling.

And, now, I see it. Now, I understand.

This is the Redguard the Alik'r are seeking out. This is their would-be fugitive.

"Did you know. . ." I begin, and have to clear my throat and try again. "Did you know some Alik'r warriors are looking for a Redguard woman?"

The words are hardly out of my mouth before a look of shock and sheer panic replaces her coy smile.

"Oh, shit," she breathes, "Oh, no. They. . . they've found me?" Her distressed, big blue eyes gaze wildly around before training back on me. "I need your help!"

"My- my help?"

"Please," she all but begs, "come with me. I need to speak to you privately."

Without another word, or another glance at me, she starts walking, as if she knows I'm going to follow her. As if she knows I can't resist. Saadia leads me from the tavern, through the kitchens, and then up the backstairs. When we top them, there's a room just ahead, which I take to be her own. Before I can get a good look around, though, she suddenly pulls a knife, whirling around to face me.

If it were a man, or a threat of some sort, my instinct would've told me to go for my own dagger, in my right boot. But, it's a woman pulling a weapon on me. And, that sort of thing gets me feral in another way. I feel my pupils dilate, and my blood pumping, the way it used to when I was about to fuck, or fight, or, in Rontu's case, both. This thought calms me down. Remembering Rontu calms me down.

"Miss?" I try, "Saadia, right? Why don't we put the knife down, hn?"

She brandishes it more brazenly, her eyes wild.

"So, are you working for them?" she sneers. "You think you can take me?" Ooh, but I would love to. . . "You so much as touch me, and you're going to lose fingers."

"Saadia. . ."

"I mean it!" she cries. "I'll- I'll cut you in half!"

"Oh, really? With that?" I smirk, shaking my head. "Miss, that's a lot of cutting."

"So the Alik'r know where I am," she says, tumbling through her thoughts. "What'd they offer you? Gold? How many more of them are coming?" I heave a sigh, and she's irked into impatience. "Answer me!"

I glance cuttingly at her knife.

"Put that down, before you get hurt."

Saadia looked down, and seemed to notice her knife for the first time, ever.

"I- I'm sorry, just . . . just don't hurt me," she pleads shakily, and lets the thing clatter to the floor. "I know you're not one of them, but you just can't help them. You can't let them know I'm here."

"Can't I though?" I say, and it's a joke, but the fear that crosses her face tells me just how real this is for her. "Maybe not. Depends. What do you want?"

"The men who are looking for me, the Alik'r," she hisses distastefully, "they are assassins, in the employ of the Aldmeri Dominion." Saadia swallows hard. "They wish to exchange my blood for gold."

"And, how am I supposed to get rid of them?"

"They're mercenaries, only in it for the money," she explains. "They're led by a man named Kematu. Get rid of him. and the rest will scatter. I'm sure of it."

Kematu?

But that would mean Adjin's consorting with them, right? And then, that would mean that Rontu . . .

"Any suggestions on how I find them?" I ask, to throw her off my scent.

I could find my way to Swindler's Den blindfolded.

"I heard one of them was just arrested, trying to sneak into the city. If he's locked up in the jail, then perhaps you can get it out of him."

"Alright," I nod. "I'll do what I can."

Saadia sighs, visibly relieved. "Thank you. Thank you, so much."

She plops down onto her bed, and smooth, brown calf is exposed to me, finally some unexplored territory, something I've not yet had, something to chase after, something-

I turn, and I leave, before I lose myself.

When I make it down the steps and through the kitchen, I feel eyes on me, and I turn to see Hulda, staring at me from across the room, with an odd look on her face. One that tells me, she knows that I followed Saadia up to her room, and that she's disappointed. And, as bad as it is, that word doesn't even come near to what I'm feeling towards myself.

Literally five minutes after speaking to Hulda about no other woman ever being enough, here I am, rearranging my trousers to hide how hard I am for a stranger. For Saadia.

Maybe Adjin was trying to tell me something, by having those Alik'r over to her place. Maybe it's for the best that we both move on.

The longer I think it, the more appealing the thought becomes: a world without my Princess.

I could finally leave Skyrim. Divines know she's the only reason I ever stayed. I could take to sea. I could take the Red Wave, pull a crew out of my ass; Adjin probably knows a few people. Maybe he'd come, too, I know the sea is in his blood. "Free men only," I'd warn him. People who understand that the only true freedom was the sea. He'd find them, too, men like me. We're a dime a dozen.

We'd rob every coast that meets the Sea of Ghosts, from Skyrim, to High Rock, Hammerfell, Valenwood and the Summerset Isle. We'd make kings of ourselves. I'd die as I'd always planned to die: old and rich and laughing and drunk off my ass.

Maybe meeting Saadia was a sign in itself.

Maybe no one was meant for anyone, and the fact that I wanted to fuck her stupid was just proof that I was myself again. That ever since Adjin bound my soul, I hadn't been, that this was the reason I had even begun to lose it.

My gaze trails up the wall to the rafter, and to the point where I know Saadia is now.

Maybe, fucking her stupid would be the start of my getting it back.

A smile crosses my face; an appealing thought, indeed.

But, as ever, pale eyes flash behind my eyes, and I'm grounded again, the gold cord that's knotted up behind my Briarheart twisting. Reminding. My thoughts turn to my Princess.

What would her fate be?

Instantly, my fists clench.

She would maybe be with Ulfric, I bet he'd like that. They'd make a good pair. Both noble. Generous. Wise. Everybody already knew the Stormcloaks would win the war. Maybe she'd become his queen. They'd fix Skyrim together, drive out the Dominion and the dragons. Ulfric was a Shouter, too. Who knows, maybe he's the real Dragonborn.

Some drunkard falls out of his chair at the table beside mine, and I swipe his drink, my jaw working and my mind reeling as I swallow down mead.

After all that, they would settle down. He'd fuck her every night, she'd have their litter of 2.5 children, never to remember the blip on her timeline that was me. She'd have beautiful children, I know. They'd be brown, with that rusty, red-brown hair and they'd be all fat and healthy and shit, screaming and shitting all the time, and she wouldn't care. No one would care, because they were so gorgeous.

I knock back another gulp of mead furiously.

She'd have a boy first.

He'd grow up to be really tall, like her. The girls'd all be after him, chasing him through the holds. He'd have her disarming smile, and her good sense. He'd grow up on her shoulders, and by her ankles. I could see them in some stream, catching fish, or out hawking.

For some twisted reason, all I can see is her with him; Ulfric just didn't belong. No man I knew did.

I slam my mailed fist into the table, and cover my face.

"Fuck," I whisper to myself. "Fuck."

By chance, I look up to see Hulda, still watching me, and at the look on my face, she smiles knowingly.

I lurch to my feet, unable to take this anymore, and I stumble out the door of the Bannered Mare, heading down the street in the snow and the brisk, spring air. I try the Drunken Huntsman, even though I already know that they're all full, and then, I stand outside a little longer.

Lights are on in every place, all the way up to the Cloud District. All full of refugees, no doubt. Family taking in family. Friends taking in friends. I'm painfully aware that I have neither. I wrap Adjin's cloak tighter around me, and put up the hood, glancing up the street, and then back down. There's only one house without a sign of life, and it's across the street from where I stand.

Breezehome, it's called. I remember it. It's an official city property, and it's meant for a Thane, with a key. But, as far as I know, it's unowned. Free. Sticking a hand into my satchel, I search and search until my fingers wrap around my lockpicks, and I grin.

Think I know where I'm staying tonight.

Just as so many times before, the bolts click into place on the first try, and my grin widens. I shut the door behind me, and take a few steps into the foyer.

"Hello?" I call out to the house, and, as I hoped, there's no response.

Unable to contain either my relief or my grin, I drop my bags by the door and take a look around.

There's an enormous fire pit in the middle of the main room, with a few crates off in the far corner, the odd chair and table. The walls are made of stone and not wood, and they're good at their job. As badly as the wind is howling, inside the house, I can barely hear or feel it. Logs lay in a pile by the door, ready to be kindling.

The rafters are high, to accommodate the second floor, which is just as sparsely furnished with crates all along the walls. There's a master bed, fully dressed with coverlets, which surprises me, but I'm not about to complain. Cobwebs rule the whole floor, and I'm not complaining about that, either. A door by the stairs reveals a steward's room. I snag the furs sheets and covers off the bed, ball them up, and throw them down the stairs. There's a dresser in the steward's room as well, with a bottle of Alto wine and a lamp, and I grab these, too.

I hang the lamp up by the stairs, so I can see what I'm doing when I go after the master bed and start dragging it across the floor. When I get it to the top of the stairs, I undress it, and throw the mattress and covers down the stair by the others. Then, I turn the bedframe on its side, and start to ease it down, step by step.

When it reaches the ground floor, I flip the frame right side up, and begin to dress it again, piling all the sheets and covers on top of it. That done, I take to the steps again and grab the lamp and the bottle of wine. Uncorking it, I take a long gulp, to warm me up and to make me forget that I haven't eaten.

Then, I tuck the wine into the crook of my elbow, and focus my Magicka into my palm, luxuriating in the warmth when it sprouts fire. Using the lamp and my hand to guide me, I make it back beside the fire pit downstairs, and light the thing. The fire catches, and I shake out my palm. I hang up the pearl grey cloak and pry off all my steel plate armor, and my chainmail, so that now, I'm down to the black boiled leather. I take that off too, and I'm down to a skintight shortshirt and my underwear.

The fire is roasting now, and my bed is beside it, covered in furs.

I'm afraid of how long it'll take me to go under, but I fall right asleep, right to the realm of Darkness where I always meet her. I look around, and I look around, but she doesn't show her face.

"Is that all it takes?"

I whirl around to face the voice's owner, and find that I'm in the main hall of Breezehome, with every thing just as I've left it, fire and all. Sitting perched on a crate, is Rontu, long legs hanging down before her. She's dressed in her boiled black leather trousers, and an untucked white longshirt with the ties at the collar undone. Her feet are bare, and she watches them absently, boyish face cast down as she draws circles in the dust with her toes.

I wet my lips and take steadying breath.

"Is what all-"

"Don't play naive, Marrick," she snorts, shaking her head, "It doesn't suit you."

I swallow hard, "You know I wasn't really gonna-"

"Is that all it takes?" she asks again. And, where I expected her to be yelling, she's quiet as a mouse, which makes it all even worse. I wish to all the gods that she would yell at me. Instead, it's like she doesn't even care. Like she can't be hurt, because she's not surprised. "A nice pair of legs," she says, meeting my gaze with her shocking, snowy eyes. "Check. A sultry voice." She flicks her toes, "Check." I can't even try to respond. "Her mouth was very pretty, I'll give her that," she reasons. "But, really and honestly, Marrick: is that all it takes?"

"Rontu-"

"It's a mould, Marrick," she tells me. "Just like the one you thought your mother broke, and that you said I shared with her. A mould." Rontu flashes me that pretty, loyal smile. "You can change the name. You can change the hair. You can even change the face," she says, laughing at the irony. "But, there will always be just one woman with whom none of that mattered."

"I know," I admit quietly, "I know, but I- I just- doubted."

Rontu watches me in perfect silence. She seems sad, like she wants to console me, but doesn't quite know exactly how to. Then, that yearning look becomes a small smile. The small smile becomes a coy smirk. The coy smirk become a full-blown laugh.

And, then, Rontu's face becomes Miraak's.

"Oh, very well played, Marrick," he croons. "Very well played." I can't even open my mouth to speak, I'm so horrified. He hops down lightly from the crate, and crosses his arms, unable to hide his smirk. "I can take her skin, and you'll talk to me," he says, "so, should I have opened my legs, would you have fucked me?" His laughing returns, making my skin crawl. "Oh, I was so right to ask," he grins, swiping at tears. His eye catches mine, and turns coy. "Is that all it takes?"

"Damn you," I whisper hoarsely.

"Damn me?" he scoffs. "Damn me? You forget yourself, boy. Are you not that same would-be Dovahkiin who claimed that he would kill me to save his love? Do you still feel the same?" Miraak smirks again, and takes on the form of Saadia. "Or," he asks breathlessly, "would just any cunt do?"

"Get out of my head!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself, you witless ruin," he sneers. "Out of your head? The very thought. No, I'm afraid the only demon in that fucked-up little mind of yours, is you."

"Shut up."

"Maybe, I was wrong. Maybe, you truly are my better. Maybe, you truly can best me." He shakes his head, in wonder. "For, what is my evil, compared to that of a man who so easily and so thoughtlessly betrays the woman he claims to love."

"No, no, no, that's not true." I chant desperately, "That's not true, that's. . . that's not true-"

"Maybe it is," he whispers, in my ear. "Maybe it is true. Maybe, you never loved her at all. It's possible, Marrick, you know it is. Maybe you should just give up. She's probably found some other, better man-"

"Stop, just stop, please-"

"- much better, who treats her like a woman. Who's man enough to face his true fears; not some barely-there figure, on another plane, no. After, all," Miraak chuckles, pressing closer, as I crumple to my knees. "After all, it wasn't me who told your lies that morning, five years ago. And, it wasn't me dreaming of that barmaid's mouth on my cock."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!" I holler, fists at my temples, my eyes squeezed shut. I pound the floor, and that seems to help, so I pound it again. "SHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUCK UP SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

For the longest time, I hear nothing.

Panting hard, I squeeze open first one eye, and then the other.

I'm in bed, at Breezehome. The fire's still hot and lively. Miraak is nowhere to be seen.

I hunker further down beneath the covers, and watch the flames.

My fear of taking too long to fall asleep has vanished.

I know I won't be able to. Not tonight.

When day breaks, I watch for the guards, and slip out of the house, undetected. I head up the street, which has been dutifully shoveled by the city, and make for the Bannered Mare to find some food.

"'Morning, Hulda," I call wearily, stamping out my boots out on the mat. "Anything to eat?"

"More'n there was last night," she sighs. "I got roast rabbit haunches, apple cabbage stew, sweet rolls . . ."

"I'll take all three and a mead."

"What brew?"

"Black Briar."

"Coming right up, Keller."

I set myself down, rubbing my eyes and my face, and I feel the weight of a hangover on my shoulders, despite the fact that I haven't been drinking. When I pull my hands away, I see Saadia, watching me from the other side of the room, as she refills a tankard. I start rubbing my face again.

"Here you are."

I look up to see Hulda standing over me, my plate and my mead set on the table.

"Thanks," I say.

But she doesn't leave. Usually, she's going on about how busy she is with the place, and instead of leaving me for the bar, she sits down across from me, and folds her hands, her eyes serious.

"Keller," she says, but the way she says it is weird. Like a question. "Keller, what's your family name?"

"Stray-King," I blurt, unthinkingly. I don't know. I just don't feel like lying.

"Keller Stray-King," she offers.

"Marrick Stray-King," I correct her.

We stare down one another, as I admit to what she most likely already knows.

"Alright," she says, nodding to herself, "Alright. . ." and just gets up and leaves, just like that, without another word. I sigh. Not Rontu, not Saadia, and not even Hulda. All of these women make my head hurt.

"You Marrick Stray-King?"

"Who's asking?" I mutter, taking a long drink of mead.

"Got something I'm supposed to deliver- your eyes only." Slowly, my gaze travels up and up the body of the courier boy until I reach his face. It gives nothing away, solid and stony, and I reach for the letter he's produced for me. Before I can question him about it, he smiles and dusts off his clothes. "Well, that's it. Got to go."

And then, he is. Gone.

Rubbing at my temples again, I turn the letter over in my hands.

There's a seal over it, of wine-red wax, in the initial O, but it doesn't matter; I don't know it. I've never seen it before in my life.

I break it open, and two things fall out. One is a letter. The other is a twist of salt water taffy.

My heart leaps into my throat, as I rush to find the crumbled remains of the seal.

O.

O, for O'Naharis.

With trembling hands, I pick up the parchment, and raise it to my nose, inhaling deeply. Aye. There it is. Sweet kush, and jazby. The smell of summer. The smell of Rontu.

I pull it away, and search the page for either my name at the head of the letter, in her writing, and her name at the foot. Neither are present. She's said all she's needed to without inscribing either.

For your eyes only, the courier said, and I find myself about to cry. Because, even though I agree with him, and that I want this letter and its contents to be all mine, I can't read a word of what it says.

And maybe, if I hadn't deserted her all those years ago, I wouldn't have to.

(A/N): Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy ! -LR