Hullo, everybody! Sorry for the wait, but I literally had no idea how Marrick should follow up after his argument with Rontu. Please review, and I hope you enjoy! -LR

I'm half asleep when the quiet smell of sausage and baking bread crooks its finger through my nostrils and I rise up in bed like a draugr, not noticing the small boy sitting cross-legged across my thighs until I've almost knocked him over.

I reach out and quickly grab his arm before he can hit the mattress, and then pull him back up where I can see him. I study his bewildered face with a lazy smile.

"'Morning, Papa!" he stammers, still in shock.

"Mmhm. And, how can I know for sure that you're my little boy?" My youngest son's face becomes indignant, and I chuckle as he throws his arms around my neck.

"Papa, it's me! It's really me!"

"Well, you sure look like my Steinar," I say, suspiciously. "And you sure sound like him. But, there's only one way to know…" I run my fingers down his sides and he leaps away like a leaping thing, cackling madly. My face practically splits with my grin. "You're him, alright."

"I told you! I told you!"

He stares from big, green eyes- eyes like my mother's- as he keeps a careful distance from me, at the foot of the bed, giggling to himself.

Before he can escape me, I lunge out of the bed and scoop him up and over my shoulder, tickling the backs of his legs as he screams in laughter. Shaking my head and smirking to myself, I romp down the stairs and into the main hall.

Torryn, our third son, sits on the carpet by the hearth, his tongue poking from his mouth as he focuses on plucking off his winter boots. As soon as he turns and sees us, he jumps up from his place, one boot still stuck on, and hobbles towards me.

"Papa!"

"How's my big man?"

He grins sheepishly as I ruffle his rust-red hair.

"I went hunting with Mama and Segen," he says proudly. "And, I shot a duck!"

"Did not!" cries Steinar from my shoulders. "Segen prolly shot it for you!"

"Did too!" Torryn snaps back. "I did too shoot a duck!"

"Boys," I say warningly. I smile down at my son and ruffle his hair again. "Did you, now? When can we eat it?"

He shrugs carelessly, no doubt in impression of his older brother, but the proud smile is still there.

"I'd show it to you, but Mama made me clean it. All the feathers and stuff. Doesn't even look like a stupid duck, anymore." He stares bitterly into the hearth, the fire's glow lighting up his face. "Cleaning ducks is woman's work, anyway. She should've made Pidal do it."

I sigh heavily.

He may have Rontu's hair and the brown eyes she'd have had if they weren't Zo'an, but there is no doubt about where his misogyny came from.

"Where's your mother now?"

He shrugs, and another, deeper voice answers for him.

"She's still in the woods," says Segen, his tall frame stepping through the front door. He undoes the fastenings of his cloak and hangs it out in the porch before rubbing his hands through his jet-black hair, slicking back the snow out of his long, thick braid. "She says she'll be back. We were tracking this buck, and she thought you and Pidal could make venison stew. Sent me on to walk Torryn back and let you know."

"Divines know she can't cook, much as I love her," I mutter.

Segen snorts.

"Funny, she'd say the same about you."

I'd flip him off, but the younger ones are in the room. He can probably tell. Our oldest son, at nearly eighteen, grins and rolls his snow-white eyes before they settle on Torryn. He raises his brows as he nudges him with an elbow.

"Did he tell you about his duck?"

"All about it," I laugh, and settle down in my chair. "Is Pidal in the kitchen?"

Segen nods.

"She wanted to have breakfast ready before Mama got back and before you woke up."

"Uh-oh," mutters Steinar. He climbs down my shoulder and arm until he's sitting on my knee. "Guess I woke you up too early, Papa."

"That's because you're a big stupid head," sneers Torryn.

"You shut up!" Steinar shoves his mess of pitch black hair from out of his eyes and glares at his older brother savagely. "You troll-breathed goon."

"Both of you shut up!" calls our eleven-year old from the kitchen. She steps through the doorway to reprimand them. "What if you wake up Pa-" Her black eyes fall on me. "Papa!" Her excitement turns cold as she slides her gaze over to her younger brothers. "Which of you woke him up!"

Her lips press together tightly and her brow furrows. I know exactly where this is headed. By the look of terror on my sons' faces, I know they do, too. So, before anyone has time to give anyone else a black eye, like last time, I decide to run a little interference.

"Hey, baby sweetheart," I smile. "Hey, little Sabrecat." She turns those big, dark eyes on me, and they soften up immediately. "I got up on my own," I tell her. "Is that okay?"

Pidal glances about shyly, a little embarrassed at having almost snapped.

"Oh," she says softly.

Behind me, I can hear Steinar and Torryn heave sighs of relief. I smile more warmly for her and take a few steps nearer.

"Did you make breakfast, Pidal?"

The dark brown girl hangs her head, her short, choppily cut ink-black hair rustling slightly as she does. She nods it up and down.

"Oge`," she says hoarsely. "I wanted it to be ready for you and Mama. I wanted to surprise you."

That's my girl.

"Well, I smelled it and woke right up. Sausages, right?"

Her face lights up and she nods again.

"Eggs, too. And spiced braided bread."

That's. My. Girl.

"Well, then, what're we waiting for? Let's set the table."

Steinar's face scrunches up.

"What about Mama?"

"What about Mama?"

At the sound of Rontu's voice, I can't help but whirl around to face her.

"Mama!"

"Ma!"

"Mama!"

"Mana!"

She stands barefoot at the end of the hall, snow dripping off of her, with her discarded boots visible in the front room. A tan, fur-lined, heavy wrap cowl is draped around her and she throws her hood back, grinning madly as frizzy rust-red hair falls around her chin, framing her face.

She grins, and with a tug, drags a felled buck into the great room.

"Dinner is served, my little wolf pack!" she cries, white eyes brimming with joy. Easy as that, they abandon me, galloping across the room to be next to her. Even Segen, old as he is, to grab the stag by his forelegs and haul him onto the kitchen porch for skinning while the others race at her ankles as she makes her way over to me, smiling.

"Marrick."

Shazaa's been standing in front of my cell for a good six minutes before ever actually calling my name.

It's been six or seven days since she left the Blue Palace. Elisif hasn't had me to court since I Shouted, and she's tripled the guard. Every night, he makes his way over to see me, and manages to get them to leave one way or another. I know he wants to talk business, so we can move along his coup. But, I can't. I know he thinks I'm being pissy about Rontu, but the truth is… the truth is, I'm terrified.

I don't know what made me bring up Segen to her.

If I hadn't, she wouldn't know that the same way something is holding her back from forgiving me, I would hold the loss of his first five years against her for gods know how long. I can't help it. I want to have had the chance to dote on her, all full of my baby. I want to have known for myself what his first words were and have witnessed his first steps. Notch and loose his first arrow.

I throw back the last of my tankard of mead and wipe my mouth on my sleeve.

Skin his first stag.

"Marrick," he calls again. "We need to talk about the coup."

Divines know I've only driven her further away.

"I understand that your passions are high right now," he begins, "but, I must ask that-"

"And, you're the prince?" His mouth shuts and he gives me a hard look. That makes me smile. "Of course, you are. Every princess needs a prince."

I can almost hear the man grit his teeth.

"I am not here to discuss the past," he says firmly. "We need to speak about the-"

"That's why you were so mad, that time, when I told you to look after Segen- you knew he was our little boy. Mine and hers." I try to stop my smile, but I can't help it. "You feel like a cuckold. Like she was your woman and I gave you horns."

"Marrick, I am asking you, man to man-"

I snort, and the snort turns into laughter as I squint into the darkness at him.

"Man-to-man, that's fucking rich," I grin.

"Fucking impossible!" he snarls. "Just like your son, I swear to every god."

That sobers me up a bit.

"Listen, fucker, don't talk to me about my boy."

"And, why not?" he scoffs. "I've spent more time with him than you." And, there goes my happy drunkenness entirely.

"Step into the cage," I hiss.

"That cage is for animals. And, apparently, it's in use," he says curtly. "Honestly. How could anyone ever want you for their King? You can barely bring yourself joy, let alone the people of an entire country. Just look at yourself. You fall all to pieces, throwing away your chances with a woman who will always have a torch lit for you. Even if she won't carry it. Even if she hides it away, because she's afraid, she'll always have it lit."

I smirk, "We still talking about Rontu here?"

"You're a fucking fool," he laughs coldly, in the darkness. "What a pathetic man it is, to be both Dragonborn and King." I roll my eyes and lean my head against the wall. "You need to fight, Marrick. That's your whole issue; you and everyone like you." I let my head thud against the wall, trying to shut out his lecture. "You need to fight for that future you dream of having with them."

All at once, I feel very exposed. Very vulnerable.

Images of little pale boys scrapping and a young brown girl with dark laughing eyes flash in my mind.

"What did you just say?" I whisper hoarsely. His clothes rustle as he shifts hesitantly in the darkness. I sit up straight, furiously defensive. "You don't know what you're talking about!"

I hear footsteps as he draws nearer to the cell.

"There are two kinds of people who talk in their sleep," he says, a smile on his voice. "The kind who talk too much. And, the kind who have something to say." I chew on the inside of my cheek. "You need to fight, Marrick. Or, that future will slip away. And, you'll have none to blame for it, but yourself."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" I snap. "Adjin?"

I'm still laughing, hard at that, when I hear something that stops me cold.

"He's not. But, I am."

I almost don't believe it.

Denial would be easy, if it wasn't really him. But, I can feel his presence, like I feel hers.

I don't know how to react.

I'm getting really tired of him, actually.

His sudden appearances and disappearances. His never finishing his work with me; never really sticking it out when he says he will. And, above all, his constantly showing up at the side of whatever Redguard male I happen to be furious with at the time.

A flame sparks where they stand, side by side, and he whispers something to the flame that makes it turn bright white before multiple smaller lights shoot off from his hand, lighting every sconce on the dungeon walls.

He stands tall, his arms crossed, clothes far more glamorous than ever and colorful as life.

A deep indigo headwrap is wound tight beneath a sapphire blue Alik'r hood. A large, gold coin hangs from a chain attached to the headwrap, and the coin falls over his brow. A forest-green spidersilk longshirt falls to his upper thighs, with a yellow sash of fabric tied neatly around his waist. His black harem pants are of the same fabric and are tucked into the tops of his high travelling boots. A large, brown overcoat, embroidered with swirls of red and gold is draped about his shoulders. His eyes are lined with dark khol and strings of colored beads droop around his neck. Gold cuff bracelets and a ringless moustache complete his look.

Honestly, he looks more extravagant than ever. He's dressed like a god.

He regards me carefully from the other side of the cell bars.

"There you are," he says, bemusedly. "Couldn't really see you, without the light."

He crosses the room in leisurely strides and reaches for the latch to the cage.

"Adjin, no, it's enchanted-" I start to say.

But, even without the key, he just opens the door, reminding me once again to never forget who he is. He turns from the cell and begins walking right out of the door, sucking all the firelight with him. Shazaa and I have a moment to share a look of complete shock before the room falls dark. We race to follow him up the serpentine staircase.

"I take it you two have met?" he asks amiably, beginning to climb the steps. "It very likely wasn't under the best circumstances, but I suppose any way you slice it, it wouldn't ever have been."

I'm not in the mood for his easy-paced conversation and his tongue-holding, so, almost viciously, I jump right into it.

"Adjin-" I don't honestly know what to say next. "Adjin, where have you been?"

He keeps walking.

"I was in Hammerfell," he confesses.

I look at Shazaa sharply, but he doesn't seem surprised.

"Hammerfell?"

"Hegathe, to be exact. Then, to Taneth."

I'm growing impatient.

"Well, what the fuck for?"

"Be mindful of how you speak, insolent fool," Shazaa seethes, his teeth gritted. Well, look who's grown a tongue. "You have the honor of addressing Himself, the Magistrate-Elect of the City of Hegathe."

I stop walking.

He and Shazaa continue up the staircase, oblivious to my shock.

"Adjin…" I breathe. "Adjin… why? How?"

He shrugs ever so slightly, before reaching the top of stairs. He disappears through the entryway , his shadow falling through after him. That's when I realize it.

His shadow.

It's really, very bold for it to be the middle of the night. His shadow is dark enough against the wall for it to be sunlight. Or at least firelight…

My heart seizes.

I realize I can't hear the ocean. I can't smell it, either. There are no gulls and no dock bells. I start racing up the stairs, two steps at a time, then three steps at a time, flying for the mouth of the doorway.

When I reach it, I have the brace myself against the frame, my eyes thrown wide and my jaw dropped open.

Solitude is on fire.