A/N: I know it's been so long since updating that I shouldn't be expecting any of my readers from when I first started writing this story to be coming back around. But I guess I'm still holding out hope that some of you received the update notification. If you are one of those readers, please send me a message to say hi. It would be lovely to see you and I hope you enjoy the rest of this story. I'll likely be posting a new chapter every few days until the story is complete. After this one, the next two are ready to be posted, and the following two are nearly halfway finished. I'm still debating on whether I'll add a final chapter to tidy up loose ends, but I still have a few days to decide that. I probably will. I kind of don't want to end my journey with Marieka, but it's time. Thank you all again. Your reviews, favourites, and kind words (and constructive criticism) have always kept me going - even though I took an awful long time to get back here.

Marcurio

You always were the one to show me how
Back then I couldn't do the things that I can do now
This thing is slowly taking me apart
Grey would be the colour if I had a heart

'Something I Can Never Have', Nine Inch Nails (Reznor)

If traipsing halfway across Skyrim on foot took so long, why did the return trip by carriage always seem so much longer?

Marcurio sighed. He still had so far to travel, as his carriage approached the town of Ivarstead. He leaned back in his seat, stretching his arms and back as best he could to shake off the stiffness of the long journey from Dawnstar. He would be the only traveller on this carriage that would continue to Riften. The others – a married Nord couple and their son, just come of age – were pleasant enough companions in the wagon. The boy, Oskar, was brought to the foot of the Throat of the World to take his first pilgrimage up the Seven Thousand Steps. He excitedly asked questions of his parents for nearly the whole journey. Marcurio even joined in on the conversation. Oskar's parents found it odd for an Imperial to have such a towering knowledge of Nord history and legend, but they welcomed the break he offered them from their son's relentlessness barrage. He was also very familiar with pilgrims, as Kvatch – the city where he spent most of his childhood – had seen its fair share. Despite the city's own storied history, he knew it was no longer the place for him.

The mage for hire had always displayed an affinity for Nordic culture. It was one of the reasons he immigrated to Skyrim from Cyrodiil in the first place. The other, of course, was in pursuit of education. The College of Winterhold was hands down the finest institution from which to learn magic in all its forms. He had spent several years specifically under the tutelage of the Altmer, Faralda. His continued pursuit of more and more knowledge, coupled with her assessment of his attitude as "caustic and impertinent", led to what could only be called his expulsion from the college. He continued to study on his own, heading south with the intention of returning to Cyrodiil.

On what was to be his final stop in Skyrim – Riften – a chance encounter with a guard introduced him to the idea that he could offer his services for septims. The guard hired him to escort a shipment to Shor's Stone on behalf of the Jarl. There had been reports of witches appearing on the roads to the north, and the guards felt some extra arcane protection would do them well. The arrangement went swimmingly and that was really all it took for Marcurio. He spent the next near decade making his home at the Bee and Barb and travelling with many. He offered protection, magic instruction, companionship on the road, and even cooking lessons, if one were so inclined. It wasn't a particularly wealth-generating enterprise, but he only truly wanted enough to live. He lived for the adventure and had experiences he never would have imagined possible back in Kvatch as a young boy.

Perhaps that was why he never minded the risk – he had lived more than one lifetime in his few decades on Nirn.

The carriage creaked up the final ascent to the town and Marcurio found his eyes drawing upwards towards the massive mountain to the west. The Throat of the World was the highest peak in all of Tamriel and was a sight to behold in person. Young Oskar's excitement was palpable, as he jumped up and leaned over the side of the cart. His father reached his arm forward to pull him back in, causing Marcurio to chuckle quietly. Perhaps the boy would one day find himself to be an adventurer too.

The village was busier than the mage expected. People worked in the farm fields and at the mill. Guards patrolled the main road, no doubt to protect from wildlife as much as bandit attacks. A few pilgrims could be seen walking towards the bridge that led to their destination of the Seven Thousand Steps. Across the bridge, near the first wayshrine, a solitary figured descended – no doubt exhausted from climb judging by the slow gait.

When the carriage slowed to a halt at the other end of town, Marcurio looked to the right of the road at the building in front of which they stopped. The sign at the entrance read Vilemyr Inn, and he made a note of how it really looked like just another home. It mattered not, as he would not be staying the night.

The family of three rose from their seats and gathered their bags. Marcurio nodded politely at them.

"Best of luck on your pilgrimage, Oskar," he said, smiling at the boy.

"Thank you!" Oskar exclaimed. "I wish you were staying so I could tell you all about it!"

"Our paths may cross again one day."

With that, the family exited the wagon and headed up the stairs to the inn.

Marcurio turned his attention to the carriage driver. "When will you depart for Riften, good sir?"

The driver looked over his shoulder. "Not until early evening, at least. Got to get some food in my belly and a pillow under my head for a few hours."

"Please don't leave without me," the mage replied. He took a deep breath. I guess I've got some time on my hands.

"Like me to bring your pack into the inn for safekeeping, mage?" The driver extended his hand towards Marcurio, who nodded and pull the pack from his shoulder to pass over. His supplies were dwindling, and the bag was half empty, so he didn't worry about its security with strangers. Besides – his coin purse was really all he needed until he returned home.

He stepped down from the back of the cart and looked south in the direction the cart had travelled. The day was barely a third passed, but the morning sun warmed the air and shimmered on the Darkwater River. The bridge looked like the perfect vantage point to get a clear view downstream. He walked at a comfortable pace, nodding at passersby in the street.

When he reached the cold stone rails of the bridge, he placed his hands on the dampened rock and leaned forward. He lifted his face towards the sky, closing his eyes and allowing the sun to warm him. Days like this were few and far between in Riften, and his recent trip to Dawnstar saw nothing but snow and wind. This was a feeling to be treasured.

He opened his eyes to look down the river, but his attention was drawn to his periphery. A small, hooded figure slumped against the rail of the bridge. It was the pilgrim he'd seen earlier descending the path near the wayshrine.

His curiosity got the better of him and before he realized it, his feet set out for the pilgrim.

"Do you need any assistance, friend?" he offered. "I've never made the journey myself, but I imagine it's exhausting."

The pilgrim looked up slowly and stone faced but said nothing.

"I…don't mean to intrude or interrupt," he continued. "But…wait. I know you."

As the pilgrim looked up to meet his gaze, he recognized she was not a pilgrim at all. He'd recognize those markings on her face anywhere. She was the mage who had hired him months prior in Riften.

But what was her name again?

The Breton woman had come to the Bee and Barb to seek him out directly. He suspected she'd heard him speaking to others who passed through and knew he was for hire.

"Mage," she began. "I believe you might be a useful travelling companion."

The woman was certainly abrupt. "For five hundred septims, you can find out." He winked at her.

She rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh. "Well, I suppose that will have to do."

"I'm very useful," he replied, puffing up his chest as he stood in front of her. "Brains, magic and muscles. All in a very handsome package, I might add."

She sized him up and shrugged. "I suppose I don't have too many other options, do I?"

"I am an apprenticed wizard!" he exclaimed defensively. "Or…I was at one time. But no matter. You pay me the coin. I will produce results."

"If nothing else, you're confident."

He reached for his pack, opened it, and pulled out parchment and a quill. "For good reason," he stated. "Now, before we get started. Let's get this contract taken care of."

His memory did not serve him well now, as her name still eluded him. But he would never forget their travels. They had explored nearly the entire province, and mostly underground. They searched Nordic tombs, caves, and not one, but two Dwemer ruins. It was then that he remembered in the first of the two ruins, he had nearly killed her. A narrow passageway, the activation of a Dwemer construct which he spun around to defend against, and the bolt of electrical energy that exploded from his fingers missed the Dwemer spider completely, hitting her square in the abdomen. Her robes protected her only minimally against his powerful spell, and she collapsed to the ground. Once the area was safe from the mechanical sentinels, Marcurio carried her back the way they had come until he reached a small room. Someone had recently set up camp in what could only have been a Dwemer apartment once upon a time. The bed, though carved of hard stone, had a mattress and furs for warmth. The shelves were filled with books and tomes. But whoever had been there recently had not yet returned. And so, he lowered her on to the bed, and began working to heal her wound. He wrapped her abdomen with bandages, poured a potion slowly into her mouth, and let her rest.

The Breton evidently remembered this incident just as well.

"Marcurio," she groaned, as she looked at him.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. "Why are you alone…Marieka?" He celebrated privately that his memory finally filled in the missing piece.

"I…"

She looked up at him, and he saw the tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Her lower lip quivered as she pulled her cloak tighter around her.

Marcurio quickly kneeled on the ground beside her, putting his arm around her and pulling her closer.

"Hey…hey…" he sputtered. "Whatever's happened, we can get you through it. What can I do to help?"

She squeezed her eyes shut as she collapsed into him. He felt helpless. Their travels together made them acquaintances, but not necessarily friends. He didn't know her. He didn't know what made her weep – what had broken her. He knew she was Dragonborn. That alone must have placed the world's weight squarely on her shoulders some days. But he didn't know.

Marieka continued to cry into him. Her shoulders shook as she released her grief.

"What do you say I help you to the inn?" he suggested. "I'll get you settled into a room and if you want to talk, we can. Or you can be alone. Whatever you need."

Her nod was barely perceptible, but he responded by lifting himself off the ground and nearly picking her up, providing support once she was shakily on her feet. He placed his arm around her once more and they began the slow ascent up the road.

The return to the Vilemyr Inn was near silent, save for the ragged breaths of the mage beside him and her occasional sniffle. Marcurio had helped her to one of the long benches near the hearth once they were inside. As he waited for the innkeeper, Wilhelm, he glanced over his shoulder to look back at her. She stared straight ahead into the fire, her hands gripping her cloak tightly as they sat in her lap.

Once Marcurio had rented a room for her and retrieved his belongings from Wilhelm thanks to the carriage driver, he returned to her side and escorted her to the room. He helped her to the bed and placed her belongings on the nearby table. A solitary candle lit up the room from the bedside table, dimly illuminating her face. Her tears had ceased, at least.

He pulled a chair towards the bed, positioning it across from her and sat down. He took her hands into his own and looked at her once more.

"Marieka."

She looked up at him slowly.

"What's happened to you?"

She closed her eyes, shaking her head sadly. "It's over."

"What's over?" he replied, puzzled.

"Alduin. The World Eater is dead."

He sat back in the chair, furrowing his brow. "But…that's a good thing, isn't it?"

She looked forward, but not at him while she continued. "It was the only thing keeping my focus from…" Her voice trailed off. He leaned forward again and squeezed her hands gently. "It's Brynjolf, Marcurio. He was attacked in Whiterun. And…"

"Is he alive?" he asked.

"I don't know."

He knew the Nord thief well from the Bee and Barb. They'd had an unwritten agreement that the Thieves Guild would not trouble Marcurio in exchange for his arcane assistance if the time called for it. But he didn't know what existed between the thief and the mage, even if he now heavily suspected their relationship from her current state. And now…he might be dead.

Marieka told him everything. The kidnapping by the Dark Brotherhood. The loss of their baby. The attack in Whiterun. He was surprised that she had gone from not saying a word to overwhelming him with information.

"I'm so sorry for…dumping all of this on you," she mumbled.

"Don't you dare apologize," he replied. "And I'm…I honestly don't even know what to say, Marieka. What you've been facing. It's not something I'd wish upon my worst enemies."

He studied her posture. She was hunched forward, muscles tightened. She'd probably not relaxed in months.

"Why don't you try to rest?" he suggested. "You must be exhausted." She nodded and he helped her remove her pauldrons, bracers, and boots. "Do you have a change of clothing in your bag?" She shook her head, and he headed out of the room, indicating that he'd return shortly.

When he had found some clothing she could borrow from the inn's bard, he returned to the room to find her passed out on the bed, still in her armour. He smiled wistfully, pulling the furs at the foot of the bed up over her.

Once again leaving the room, he approached Wilhelm.

"My good innkeep," he began. "Is the carriage driver still around?"

Wilhelm pointed his chin in the direction of a table towards the entrance. The man in question was bent over the table, scooping large bites of stew into his mouth. Marcurio slid on to the bench next to him and smiled slyly. "Say…any chance we could redirect that carriage to Whiterun for tomorrow?"

When Marcurio stirred, he looked around in a daze, wiping the sleep from his eyes. His confusion lifted once he saw the Breton mage on the bed across the room from him. The previous day's conversation had flooded back, with all the recent traumatic events in Marieka's life. She did not sleep soundly, and he heard her mumbling, but could not make out the words. He sighed. There wasn't much he could offer her, aside from an ear and a shoulder to cry on. And he had given both gladly.

As his eyes adjusted to the dying candlelight, his attention was drawn to the small window in the roof. It was still dark outside, but he could not tell if that was because the dawn had not yet broken or if the day was overcast. But as no music played from the bard in the inn, and no voices could be heard, it seemed to be the former.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, resting his elbow on the adjacent table. He knew he needed to get more rest before the continuation of his journey once the day began, but the chair was not proving to be a useful resting place. He noticed there were two small pillows on the bed, and she only used one. He decided to retrieve the second to place under his head on the table. Or behind him on the chair. He wasn't sure what would have prevented aggravating the crick that had developed in his neck any further.

Just as Marcurio reached his hand out for the pillow, Marieka's body shuddered, and she jumped awake with a cry.

"Brynjolf!"

He placed a hand on her shoulder, centering her back in the room, and reassuring her she was safe. But it did nothing to protect her from nightmares.

"Oh," she cried. "Marcurio. I'm sorry…I didn't…"

"It's all right, Marieka," he replied. "I think you were having a bad dream."

She sat up straight on the bed and nodded. "I can't stop seeing it. I can't stop seeing him." She did not cry, but her wavering voice betrayed her emotions clearly.

To have witnessed the blade being plunged into his chest. His stumble backward. His crumpling to the ground. Marcurio knew the thief was tough as nails, but he also knew of whispers of the Dark Brotherhood. Few who were in their sights lived to tell of their experience with the assassins. They were efficient and effective, and from Marieka's description of the circumstances of the attack, he feared there was no way the man still breathed. He planned to prepare for the unavoidable while they made the journey to Whiterun. Though from what he could tell, she had already accepted the inevitable.

"Listen, Marieka," he began. "I have arranged for the carriage to travel to Whiterun today. I will make sure you return there safely to…" His voice trailed off, not truly wishing to remind her that she would be saying goodbye.

"I'm not sure I want to go," she replied. "I'm not ready. I'm…I'm not sure I can face this."

"Avoiding things is a good tactic for caves and ruins," he offered with a weak smile, "but this is something different. You need to know what happened. And I will be there to help you say goodbye." It was impossible to avoid the truth.

She looked at him. The weight of those silent seconds felt heavy – like lifetimes.

"…I know."

He squeezed her hand gently.

"But…you don't have to come with me," she said. "I brought so little with me from Whiterun. I have no coin to give you."

He shook his head. "Ignoring the fact that most of the items you asked me to carry for you during our last journey, you gifted me, I'm not doing this for money. I'm doing this for you, Marieka. You're my…friend." The last day put into perspective that she was as close to a friend as a mage for hire could have. No sense in denying that.

"Thank you, Marcurio."

"Think nothing of it," he whispered. "Now there are still some hours before we begin our journey. Why don't you try to get a bit more rest."

Marieka nodded and adjusted the furs to cover herself once more. Marcurio grabbed the extra pillow and placed it on the table. As he tried to make himself comfortable by resting his head upon it, he watched as her eyes closed. He didn't suspect either of them would sleep much more than they had, but as his eyelids shut, the darkness surrounded him, and he drifted into unconsciousness.

The journey to Whiterun was less unpleasant than Marcurio had expected. The weather held for the trip, and the oft-encountered challenges on the road were thankfully absent. No bandits. No wildlife. And no dragons. He hoped that with the news of Marieka finally vanquishing Alduin that the dragon attacks would be fewer and further between.

He helped her off the cart and into the city once the carriage stopped at the stables. As they entered the gates, he looked around at the bustling street. He'd only visited Whiterun on previous trips for quick stops at the inn, and primarily at night. He'd never seen how busy this city could be during the day.

"You said you have a house here," he prompted.

"Yes," she replied, pointing in the direction of Breezehome. "Over there."

They made for the home, but only made it a few steps before a man – a Nord and a Stormcloak – came running in their direction. Marcurio made ready to send a bolt of lightning at him, but the man called Marieka's name.

The man reached for her, pulling her into an embrace. "You've returned!" he exclaimed.

"Ralof, my friend," she replied.

"The dragons, Marieka," he cried. "Not more than two days ago, we saw dozens of them flying from the east. We made ready for an attack, but they continued past. What does that mean?"

"Alduin is defeated, Ralof."

His eyes widened. "You have done it, Dragonborn? You have saved us? Truly?"

She stepped back, slumping her shoulders.

"I couldn't save Brynjolf," she muttered.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, his eyes widening further still. "You don't know!"

Marieka stood in front of him, unblinking.

"Know what?" Marcurio interjected. "Tell us, Nord!"

Ralof grabbed her forearms roughly.

"Marieka…Brynjolf yet lives."