HULLO EVERYBODY! This is the longest one yet, and I feel you deserve it for that wait I put you through! Please R&R and I hope you enjoy! -LR

"There's an inn just ahead!"

I glance at the heavily clothed figure through my visor and shrug as best I can under my own stack of clothes. Sand is whipping all around us, to the point of pain where bare skin is exposed. Regardless of the storm, my companion is finely clothed, in brilliant off-white robes and a sapphire cloak that billow madly in the wind. Various gold and black braided cords and embroidered belts circle him as well.

We shuffle through the sifting sands, into the building he's indicated, and as soon as possible, I yank off the visor and face mask.

"How do they breathe like this?" I complain.

I am twenty, illiterate and charismatic. The world is my oyster.

My partner unveils his face, and gives me a look of admonishment.

"Marrick; don't be rude. It's your mouth that got us into this situation."

I roll my eyes, "Adjin, for the last time, it en't my fault we got ditched by the Wave. Maybe piracy just wasn't in the stars for you and me."

"Speak for yourself," he mutters, glancing around the inn with distaste. "Ugly place, Solstheim."

I shrug dismissively.

"With any luck, we won't be here long," I tell him. "We'll grab the Black Books, one by one, and we'll sell them to the highest bidder. Boom," I snap my fingers. "Instant fortune. We'll never swab a deck again."

"A Book like that, of untold knowledge. . . we could learn from it first," he muses, stroking his beard. I sigh, already knowing what he's about to say. "You know, it could probably teach you to read. It's not like other books."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," I groan. "It's magick, or whatever, right? You couldn't teach me, but a magick book can."

"You've become very accomplished in the time we've been together." I roll my eyes, my jaw dropping down. "But, if you could only be more cultured, more sophisticated-"

"Ye gods, you sound like my father," I scoff. "What little I fucking saw of him. Let's just get the Books, get our money and live like the kings we were supposed to be."

I wake up in the Whitern gaol infirmary, my last memory of a deft blow to the back of my head and my last sight of my son, riding off on Kematu's horse-

"MY SON!" I jolt up, only to wince, hissing in pain at the sharp sting at the base of my skull. "Fuck." My fingers come away, covered in blood; I haven't been treated at all. "Fuck!"

It really is a lot of blood.

"Slow down, boy. Don't sit up so soon."

A mumbled voice comes from the right of me, and I turn to see a guard in the doorway, speaking to the physician. Something about a Dark Cell . . . ?

"The Dark Cells- this man is severely concussed!" he complans. "You can't send him to that- that hellhole!"

"He's a liar, thief and worse," the guard argued tiredly. "Patch him up, so I can take him down."

Before I can stop myself, I'm out again.

"Is that it?" I ask Adjin, nodding towards the podium. "Is that the Book?"

I have lost count of the people we've killed to reach this point.

"Just so," he nods, but does not make a move towards it.

I'm impatient. Twenty, bold and impatient.

"Why don't you take it?" He says nothing, stares hesitantly at the tome. He's afraid. "I'm not afraid," I scoff, and close the distance between myself and the podium.

"Marrick- NO!"

I open the book before he can grab me, and suddenly, my mind is the Book.

It opened the gateway to Miraak.

When I wake again, it's to a perfect darkness.

The only thing I can hear is the sound of my own breaths.

The only thing I can see, is blackness.

"It's fucking cold in this gaol, like what the fuck?" I holler. "This is the second fucking era; we should be past this archaic bullshit!"

At least, that's what I say aloud.

In reality, I'm petrified; I suffocate in the dark. I die a thousand times in the dark.

"Marrick."

I pretend I didn't hear her; I pretend she never said a word. My spoon trembles between my fingers. She told me it would stop. She told me I wouldn't have to do it again.

"Marrick, it's- it's nearly ten."

I bring my gaze up to hers, to gauge her expression. She's scared to death, more scared than I am angry; she can barely get the words out. I'm immediately ashamed.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'm sorry, baby; this is the last-"

"Don't say it," I mutter hoarsely, dropping the spoon- not because I'm angry, but because I'm shaking too badly to hold it. "I'll go. Just please, don't say it. Not this time."

Without another word, I leave my mother at the kitchen table and I stoop to roll back the bear fur on the floor of the front room, revealing the latch in the floorboards. I'm crying, but I don't let her know it. I can't let her see.

Once I'm inside the hole, we take a moment. She watches me, her eyes alive with apologies in a face set like stone while I stare back at her. I used to try to smile, in this moment. Now, even that small a lie seems too much for me to handle.

She shuts the door, and I'm still pretty alright, in the semi-darkness. Light streams through the panels of the floor, striping my face and striping the dark. At least I can see my hands.

When she throws the rug back over the door, though, I am shrouded in darkness.

My breaths are sharp and panicked, heart slamming against my rib cage.

I hug my knees to my chest; it is so dark.

So dark, that I suffocate.

So dark, that I die a thousand times.

A bright light floods my cell, and my hands rise to my vision's defense.

"Marrick Stray King."

The voice is old, deep, tired and judgmental; my favorite.

"Don't wear it out, darling." The light draws closer and I shy away; scared as I am of the dark, I shy away. Somehow, being striped by the light and the shadow of the bars seems far worse. "You charging me?"

"Theft, arson, disturbing the peace, resisting arrest, obstruction of justice, whoring, defacing property, piracy, attempted theft and murder."

"In that order?" I smirk. "Your list seems a tad bit wanting; are you sure that's everything?"

"Aye, that's all." The light shifts to the other hand. "For this hold, that is."

My smirks graduates to a grin.

"Thought so."

"In the others, it's all more of the same, with one major outstanding crime, in Solitude."

"The crime that is my blood and bone," I whisper absently.

"Eh?"

I've adjusted to the light by now; I see all. My eyes wander lazily over the figure in the cell doorway.

"My very first crime," I explain to him. "My base-birth."

They came bi-weekly, seeking me in every house in the Solitude slums, reaching our home at about ten. Every time. Without fail.

Whether it was Skeevertown, Barrelbottom or Salt City, where we lived, slummers like us never said a word. They knew my mother and me; they knew us.

They didn't know the would-be Queen.

They didn't owe her anything.

When they came, it was without symbol or mark; nothing to trace them back to the Blue Palace with. No, they were farmer's clothes; the clothes of the poor, as if it was one of us acting as traitor.

In some ways, looking back, even more than their physical abuse, or their foul mouths and dirty looks, that was the worst of their disrespect.

I was four.

Still impressionable, they thought, still young enough for them to take me to poor, barren Elisif and have me forget Ileana.

Still gullible enough to give a new mother.

My mother dug the pit herself.

Every night, for a very long time, they would come through, throw about what little possessions we had, and then, they would leave.

My mother dug the pit herself.

In it, I faced the darkness, the prospect of maybe being taken away from the only thing I'd ever loved, and forced to forget her before I could avenge our suffering.

In it, I faced Oblivion itself; I was a crime.

Was born a crime.

"A crime of love", my mother always said. But a crime nevertheless.

"You charging me? Or, what?"

"No remorse, eh? Can't really say I expected it, from the likes of you." He shifts his weight, so he's leaning against the wall of my cell. "No, I'll leave you here to rot. Just until they come for you, that is."

"Come for me?" My brow furrows. "They?"

The guard nods.

"Aye. Your fines have all been paid." I sit straight up, the name Rontu beating in in my chest. "Paid in full by the Solitude Royal Treasury." He grins crookedly as all breath leaves my body. "Seems they really want you, boy." Gods fucking damn it. "They'll be here around ten."

I pause.

The cackle that explodes from me is uncontrollable, forcing tears to prick in the corners of my eyes. I'm laughing so hard that it hurts.

"They come for me at ten, as I hide in the darkness of the hole!" I howl. "Persistence pays off, Elisif! You've got your prince! You've finally got your precious prince!"

He left me there, crooning madly to myself.

I am here much as I was for the start of my experience in the Dark Cells: without a sense of time.

I have no way of knowing how long I've been in this gaol. And, when I hear the soft pad of footsteps, and the creaking of doors, I have no way of knowing if it is ten o'clock or not.

In any case, my heart beats peacefully when the door locks click open and another body enters my cell. It's not in me to fight this anymore. It's not in me to escape.

"Have you come to take me then?" I ask the figure dryly. "Back home, to my dear mother?"

The figure is silent, staring at me for a while.

"Everyone knows that blizzard boys have no mothers," he chuckles. "They're snow dolls, that your Talos builds to play with."

I straighten up instantly.

"Kematu?"

"He."

"I don't believe it; let's have light." Kematu concedes, and snaps to his fingers a small flame, which he brings to the wick of the sconce on the far wall. "By the Nine- it is you!"

He's about to respond, when my right hand balls into a fist and comes crashing across the left side of his face. Kematu doubles over for a moment, pressing his fingertips briefly to his cheek.

"I'll give you that," he says coolly, his eyes relenting. "But, only because you had to watch me ride away with your son. And, were I in your place, I know I would have killed me."

"Where is my son; where did you take him?"

He's incredulous: "Home to his mother, where else?"

"You'd better be telling the fucking truth," I snarl, "You'd better be." As ridiculous as I'm being, considering I'm in no position of power, Kematu nods that it is the truth. "Why are you here?"

He pauses in pressing his hand against his cheek, and shrugs. "I am in need of a confession," he half-whispers. "I have many things to say, and no time to say them in. They come for you soon, you know."

"Things about what?"

"Things about Rontu."

I've barely given him a chance to say it before the same fist curls and slams into the same cheek.

"I'm taking that one," I tell him, as he spits out a mouthful of blood, "because I also had to watch you use my woman for your own purposes."

"My own purposes?" Kematu scoffs. "Really?"

"Does she even know what she's done?" I seethe, almost desperately. "Does she know that you've been hired by the Aldmeri Dominion? Does she know that you're on the payroll to capture someone she would have been helping otherwise?"

Kematu blinks a few times, in surprise, which I take to mean that he's shocked about how much of the truth I know. But, that thought shatters into pieces when he breaks out laughing. And laughing.

And laughing.

That only serves to make me angrier.

"You think this is funny?" I bellow. "Are you not her friend?"

"Were you not her lover?" he manages to say, still laughing. "Do you know nothing about her? Any truths?" At my blank look, he shakes his head, face lit up from mocking me. "You are a fool, blizzard boy," he grins, and spits out more blood. "You are a true fool."

This fact makes him break out some more, and he tries to calm himself by taking a seat, motioning for me to do the same.

"Stop laughing!" I snarl, slamming my fist into the wall. "This isn't funny!"

"No!" he agrees, still in mirth. "It isn't funny, at all. Not one bit." He shakes his head and turns back to look at me, and I realize that none of his laughter has reached his eyes. "It is sad. Very sad. Especially for Rontu." My eyes narrow and I lean forward, letting him know he has my full attention. "Iman Suda," he says, and looks at me expectantly.

There's a long pause before I decide to bite.

"Who?"

"Your latest squeeze; Iman Suda."

"No," I tell him, "No, I was last with a woman called Saadia."

Kematu shakes his head. "Merely a pseudonym. But, in reality, she is Iman, of House Suda, in Taneth. We Alik'r are not mere sellswords; we are sworn to the service of our Magistrates. Mine and my Company's, is Magistrate Giaz Ibn Rahaim."

Rahaim?

"Isn't that the name you gave the man in blue, at the Swindler's Den?"

Kematu nods tightly, "His son. At the time, he was living in the house of Raigatz O'Naharis."

Now, there's a name I know.

"Rontu's father?"

"Just so. Giaz left his son's up to the famous swordsman, asking that he be treated with the same regard as Raigatz's own sons, and given the same privileges. As part of Hegathe's small council, Raigatz was expected to bring his sons to many meetings. This is done to give them experience in rule, and an understanding of how it ought to be done."

"So, even though Giaz's son was Tanethian, he got to sit in on the small council," I echo. "A privilege, for Raigatz's sons."

"Just Rontu, at that point," Kematu says. "By this time, both Adjin and Jarsha were off on adventures of their own. It fell to her to assume the duties of the O'Naharis heir. Raigatz saw her as an equal to his sons, and so presented her with an equal birthright."

"That explains a lot," I mutter absently. "And, how does Saadia tie into all of this?"

"Iman," he corrects me. "She seduced Giaz's boy, and though him, learned the city defenses he was privy to, in addition to learning those of Taneth. He thought that he loved her, or at least that she loved him," he sighed. "You see, Nord, it isn't us Alik'r who are on the payroll."

". . . No," I breathe, the gravity of the situation weighing on me. "No no no no no no no."

There is no laugh now. Kematu gives a slow, grim nod before reassuring me:

"And, that isn't the worst of it, I'm afraid."

I'm too afraid to hear what he's going to say next, because I can already connect all the dots in my head. For some mad reason, I keep thinking that if he never says it, it will never be true. The truth will never be alive, even though it's been true for Rontu for almost ten years.

That thought hardens me, gives me strength.

I wouldn't let it be another truth that she has to bear alone.

"What's the worst of it?" I ask.

He gives me a look, already knowing that I've realized, and he says it for me, aloud.

"With those plans, Hegathe fell. And with it, Rontu's parents, her house, and the whole of Barak-dur."

I let out a slow, steady breath.

Then, I draw in another, and I let that one out.

And then, I do it again.

Why had I doubted her?

I saw her spit in Saa- in Iman's face; I saw how broken she was about it all. It wasn't like she was removed from it. She was more affected than I could ever have known. And, if that wasn't bad enough-

"Oh, fuck," I whimper. My whole body stills, and my mind wipes clear. "She saw me," I whisper hoarsely, more to myself than to Kematu. "She saw me, she saw me, she knows I was with her, she knows that I- she knows that we-" I couldn't bring myself to finish the words; it's like saying them will end me.

What must she think of me now?

It seems a harmless enough question, but when you match it with my horror and my fear and my sheer weakness at just thinking it, it becomes very lethal.

What must she think of me now?

I remember speaking to her, the day before I left, and telling her how wretched and how hollow it made me feel to know that she had loved Brynjolf, someone who I hated with my all. I asked her to imagine how she'd feel if I'd slept with a woman who she hated more than anything, more than the gods could allow.

Just imagine how you would feel, I said. Just imagine.

Brynjolf was just some man who got me locked up for less than twenty-four hours.

Iman was the thief of Rontu's parents.

She was the very fire that reduced her home to ash.

She was each and every Elven soldier who came through to trample her city.

And I had slept with her?

"No," I muttered tonelessly. "No. No. No. No. No-"

"You can't do anything about it now, Nord," Kematu said gently. "It wasn't as if you knew. She hadn't either, until a few months ago."

"Please," I manage, my voice strangled. "Please, don't. Don't. The facts are the facts; there's no sugarcoating what I've done." I feel rather than see Kematu watching me with a newfound respect, and it reminds me of another unexplained factor. "What of the boy?" I ask him, eyebrows pulling in. "What of my son?"

He shrugs.

"The boy is the boy. Nothing more."

"I don't accept that," I snarl, shaking my head. "No, he knew, when he came to say his goodbyes; he knows that I'm his father." Saying the words aloud gives me pause. I cock my head at Kematu. "Did you tell him?"

He shakes his head before leaning it back against the wall of my cell.

"No. I didn't."

"Then who?"

"The boy has known for a while, Nord. Do you mean to say you never saw it?" At my dubious expression, Kematu sighs. "He said there was a letter. One that was hidden behind a brick, in your safe house."

My blood turns to ice.

"I know the one. Rontu wrote it, five years ago, and it's been about a month since I first had it. . ." My breath deserts me. "By the Nine. He could have always known. So many people pass through breezehome, even when I'm not there. He could have slipped in, seen the brick with that Zo'an eye. . ." I trail off, shaking my head in disbelief. "Then, from that night in the alley; the night I first saw him standing there. . . he always knew he was mine."

I can feel my eyes glazing over.

And, while I don't need Kematu thinking less of me than he already does, I can't help it.

He's my son. He's my little boy.

"Nord," Kematu mutters briefly before relenting: "Marrick." I look up, shocked out of my feelings. It's the first I've heard my name from him. "I can't tell any man what to do; not you, not Rahaim, not the boy. Certainly not Rontu." He rises to his feet. "So, do not take it lightly, when I say that if you truly love them both, you will find them and claim them. Before it's too late." He makes as if to leaving, but pauses and seems to calculate something. "It's Turdas," he informs me, "Turdas, the fourteenth. And, it's about eight o'clock, in the evening."

"Thank you," I whisper.

Kematu gives me a nod of acknowledgement before opening the cell door and looking around, cat-quiet. He then turns back to me, wearing a small, but genuine smile, his hand extended. "This is goodbye then, friend."

"Wait." He pauses. "How do you say it in Yoku?" I ask hoarsely. "How do you say 'Chaos'?"

He observes me for a moment, before allowing a small smile.

"Azrael."

"Azrael," I echo, in wonder. "Azrael . . ."

"You must know it isn't his real name?"

"Of course, I do," I chuckle helplessly. "But, it's better than nothing."

Kematu's brow furrows and he leans against the door, his visage speculative.

"Before we part ways, I wanted to apologize. Not just for all the evil you have faced, or all that you have yet to face, but for the evil I may have caused you."

"What do you mean?"

He shrugs absently, lost in his thoughts.

"In hindsight, it still seems that I've done the right thing. He needed closure- they both needed closure."

"What do you mean?" I repeat, brow furrowed. "I don't understand."

His eyes return to mine with a strange light to them. His smile is apologetic.

"You will."

From one moment to the next, he's gone, faded into the black of the gaol.

I'm alone again. But, at least this time, I have a lantern.

It reminds me of the night when we went to Swindler's Den; my son and I, and the conversation that we had.

"You're maybe the worst thief I've ever seen."

I snapped the reins so that Fenris graduated from a walk to a brisk trot.

"The very worst?" I raised my brows and smirked. "Seems I'm doing something right."

"Just the opposite," he protested, hooking the lantern to its stem on the wagon. "You're too predictable. When those guards started chasing you, you should've been able to outsmart them."

"Oh?" I scoffed. "The way you outsmarted Lars Battleborn? Huh? The way you outsmarted him, right into his fist?" I flicked the gauze on his cheek and he knocked away my hand. "Were you outsmarting him then?"

"He was a little quicker than I'd thought he'd be," he sighed. "I was trying to avoid physical contact."

"What?" I snorted. "Did your father teach you to stick up for yourself?"

For the longest time, the boys said nothing; he's as silent as can be. That silence was the most disturbing thing in all creation, and when I turned to glance at him, he was staring up at the stars. His face and eyes were calm. Thoughtful. Unfeeling. And, that's when I saw what I should have seen in him the moment we met; the same reality I see in myself:

"You haven't got one," I mutter. "Have you?"

He takes his time answering; a heavy sigh, too old to be his, leaving his lungs.

"Of course I have," he says coolly, "I just don't know who he is."

I remember feeling at that moment that we he switched ages. That he was near thirty and I was-"

"How old are you, really?"

"Four and a half."

At those words, my heart stung. That young? It absolutely couldn't be.

"You said you don't know your father," I ventured. "How about a mother?"

Azrael hesitated, but could not help the huge grin that spread slowly across his face.

"Yes," he smiled. "I know my mother." At the thought of her, he became more animated, sitting up in the bed of the wagon, delighted. "She's strong and brave and- and-"

"Beautiful?" I smirked. I know the feeling. "Clever?"

"The most clever," he insisted gleefully. "The most beautiful." His smile softened and his brows raised. "She's my whole world."

I regarded Azrael carefully.

"Just as my mother was to me."

His dark eyes flicked over to meet mine, almost in surprise.

"Your mother?"

I threw my head, laughing hard.

"Is it so difficult to imagine me having one?"

"Well, no," he smiled, though it quickly waned. "And yes."

"Yes?" I laughed once, perplexed. "What yes?"

"Dunno." he shrugged. "I guess I just feel that at some point, you're old enough to be your own mother and father. That they're in you enough for them to always be watching, even if they're gone."

This hit home very hard and very true. It killed me, how much he reminded me of myself. And, it wasn't just because I grew up the same as him: without a father, loving my mother and being only four. It was because even at his age, he was thinking the thoughts of a grown man.

"Tell me about your father."

"He's a great man," he said, shrugging. "A sailor. The captain of his own ship."

"You've seen it?"

"That's how my mother calls him, 'the captain of his own ship'." He scratched his stomach. "But, when I'm old enough, I know that we'll meet; someday, we'll make. He'll come for me, or I for him, and together, we'll see the world."

By the dimming light of the sun, his eye caught a bright look, a promise between himself and the father he didn't know. I knew even then that he would keep it.

"And leave your most clever and beautiful mother?" I asked, partly to know the answer, and partly to change the subject.

He shrugs, "She'll come, too, maybe. I dunno. She hates the sea."

She hates the sea.

That's when I should have known; when I almost knew. Something began to brush against the back of my neck, trying to remind me of where I'd heard that said. Before I could connect the dots together, though, the boy stretched out his arm to me.

I glanced from the cobblestone road to his open palm.

"What's this now?"

"An apology," he said, shrugging. "For the way that things turned out. I always wanted to meet you, you know? But, I guess I didn't know what meeting you would mean. And, I didn't know how easily everything I'd thought would be uprooted. . ." He trailed off, a faraway look in his eye. Just as quickly as it appeared, it vanished. He shrugged again. "For the best, I suppose. In any case, I'm glad to have met you, Marrick."

My brow was knit as I considered his words and their unseen depths.

Seeing no other way around it, I clasped his little hand and shook it.

"Same here, kid." I chanced another look at him, only to see that his contemplative expression had been replaced by one of tiredness. "It's a little ways to the Den," I told him. "You might want to get a little shut-eye, hn?"

He shook his head, "I'm not tired."

"Alright then," I smiled. "Want to talk a little more?"

Again, he shook his head, "No more questions. Alright?" He blinked slowly, eyes heavy. "I don't want you to figure it out.'

I laughed loud and hard, but it didn't disturb him. He was already halfway gone.

"Alright, little man," I chuckled. "No more questions."

The light of the lantern played over his young face as he lost the fight to sleep.

"I don't want you to figure it out," I echo, and scoff, shaking my head. "You knew. You always knew."

I turn my thoughts to his mother, my Princess.

My Queen.

Even with all the wrong I did her, she did nothing but right by me. She told our son all the better things; she never fouled me in his eyes. She didn't let me become my father.

I can feel the ghost of my child's embrace, his hands locking tight behind my neck, as if he would never let me go. If only I had known; if only I had been more brave.

I turn my thoughts to his mother, my Queen.

I turn my thoughts to the night before I left.

"There's no room for him," she said, shaking her head, eyes desperate. "There's no room for anyone. Marrick, there's only you," she half-laughed, half-cried. "There was only ever you."

My heart was thundering in my chest. I was fighting the urge to just grab her and hold her, until all the world ended. It scared me. We'd been together for months now, but I still couldn't shake the feeling that we were moving too quickly; that I cared for her too much. Even in terms of the blood-bond- I was at peace with it. I would have happily died for Rontu, even with this new truth about Brynjolf; I would have died for her, made a life with her, torched my ship for her. . .

It scared me.

And, I didn't care that it scared me.

The words fought their way to my tongue: "Only me?" Rontu nodded furiously, brow knit, her face honest and open. I couldn't deny her, not with her looking like how I felt. I smiled for her. "That's a start."

She smiled back, her face full of relief.

"Thank the Nine," she breathed. "If only you knew just how much I-"

If only I knew?

Before she could have the words out, I cupped her jaw in my hands, and brought her face up to mine, kissing her soundly.

If only I knew?

If only she fucking knew!

I closed my lips around her tongue, sucking it gently out of her mouth before plunging back into it. She trembled under my fingers, and it didn't take much for me to realize that I was trembling under hers.

Her brow was worried still, lost in my kiss, and she suddenly opened her eyes to see me staring at her. What she hadn't known, leading up to that moment, was that I always stared at her when we kissed. I liked seeing what I could make of the immovable Rontu O'Naharis.

It was the only time I could really tell that she was as mad for me as I was for her.

Her eyelashes dropped to half-mast as she tried to hold my gaze.

I captured her lower lip between my teeth and bit down until she went boneless in my arms.

"Marrick!"

That lit something in me, the way it always lit something in me, and I forced myself to end the kiss before it turned into something else entirely.

"I'm sorry," she muttered against my mouth, "I'm sorry, Marrick."

I held her to me, stroking her hair; I've always loved her hair.

"You go down," I said. "I'll be alright. I just. . . I need a minute."

Pale eyes, full of worry, focused on my face, searching for any reason to doubt or to argue. Finding none, she regained her confidence in me, and smiled gently.

"Of course."

I watched her enter the tomb and step down into the crypt. I watched until she disappeared. Then, I started walking. The square was full of people, going about their business, unaware of the world of dragons that I bridged to their own.

I walked around the city, and I made it to Maven's place. I visited Honorhall Orphanage. I sat amidst the noise of the Bee and Barb.

Finally, I made it to the Temple of Mara.

I sat in the back pew, my back straight, hands folded in my lap.

A priest exited the back room and noticed me sitting there. He took the seat next to me and smiled.

"Blessings of Mara upon you, friend. My name is Maramal. How can I help you today?"

I took a moment, staring studiously ahead at the golden statue of Mara.

"I'm in love," I whispered hoarsely. "She's my whole world."

"Blessings of Mara, indeed!" He nodded his head congenially. "I congratulate you."

My shoulders lifted and dropped, "We can't be together." I was resigned to it; I knew it was the truth. "We should have been. But, we can't."

The priest was stunned. He took a few moments to compose himself before responding.

"Why do you say that?"

I shook my head, "I read the Book. They know I read the Book. They came a few nights ago, and I killed them. She's not safe with me, not while I have the Book in my head."

He shifted in his seat, his interest and concern apparent.

"What is this Book, you've mentioned?"

"Black Book," I replied dumbly. "The eyes, once bleached by falling star of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of thought. The rest is vulgar fiction, attempts to impose order on the consensus mantlings of an uncaring godhead. First-" I stopped abruptly, as does the text itself, my eyes wide. "First, what? Is there more? What does any of it mean? Why did I pick up the book in the first place? Who is the godhead; is it me? Is it you? Is it her?" I thrust an accusatory finger at the statue of Mara. "Why did I do it; why did I open the Book?"

It took years to control the madness. It took years to suppress the words.

"Son," the priest said gently, "Son, just calm down."

I shook my head violently, "To stay with her is to condemn her, that's something I cannot do." I fixed glazed-over eyes on his, my smile weak. "There's another man, one who loves her, as I love her. This isn't a mistake; I know I'm meant to leave her, so that she can be happy."

"You're making a terrible mistake; love is as simple as two yes's."

I shake my head again, my eyes swimming, "I have to say no."

We slept in the same bed, Rontu and I. I wanted a bigger bed- Brynjolf's bed- but even then, I didn't want to see her on a another man's mattress. So, we slept in one of the regular Guild bunks, squeezed happily together. I liked to sleep with my arms around her, and found myself unable to when she was beyond my reach.

Aye, it was that night.

The night that Miraak first came to me.

It was only briefly. But, it was him.

I saw a glimpse of my future; of Rontu in my arms.

She was dead.

The bed was empty, and so I woke up. I could hear voices coming from the cistern; Rontu's and her brothers'.

They were chanting something in Yoku; they were chanting a song of their family.

In watching them, I became more convinced of what I needed to do. She would be happy, even without me. I would not let her die.

I left the Ratway and then Riften as quietly as possible, travelling south along the road until I reached it.

Darklight Tower.

Almost in a trance, I made it to the top, where the hagravens were waiting. They were the most hideously deformed beings I've ever seen, cringing from light, and snarling as they crept forward on raised feet, feathers protruding from their forearms and beaks from their faces. There were three, each uglier than the last.

"I need a curse."

"You?" snorted the first. "You are already cursed."

She flicked the beautifully golden thread, stretching desperately- pathetically- between my Princess and I.

"No," I said hoarsely, unwavering, as they began circling and inspecting me. "I need a curse, to mute this curse. I need something even darker to interfere. What's your price?"

They crooned, leering at me, and I knew in that moment that I would have done anything- anything at all, if it meant saving Rontu. My Princess.

My love.

"Price, what price?" cackled the first witch. "A briarheart, that's what you'll need. Your request is payment enough." She turned to her sisters. "Fetch the needle," she hissed. "Fetch the Spriggan sap."

The upstairs gaol door creaks open, and a series of boots come trampling down. I pinch out the lantern, casting darkness all about the room. The clanking of steel boots seems endless; I know that after so many years, Elisif has come for me.

By the time the reach my Dark Cell, I am standing tall and proud, my hands at my sides.

"Take me to her." I say, resolved. "I am ready."