Sorry for the really long delay, a mix of laziness and work were the biggest factors. Again sorry for any mistakes in advance. My beta was unavailable and I wanted to post this really bad anyway. Reviews and criticism are always welcome and appreciated.

Ch.4

Rain fell upon Riften for the second day in a row. A young altmer woman sitting at the bar of the Bee and Barb noted while looking out the window as she nursed her mug of mead. The bartender, an argonian woman by the name of Taneeva was cleaning out a glass with a semi-dirty rag shook her head at the girl. The high elf found herself wishing that she had more gold for more drink, but she barely had enough for the room for another night. She hoped that the rain would stop by tomorrow so she could move on. She sighed and walked to her room. She thought of ways to make money, but other than prostitution and thievery, none really came to her. She couldn't steal, sure she was quiet, but had zero experience because she grew up noble in the Summerset Isles. She was pretty enough she supposed but, the fact she had considered prostitution at all showed how desperate she was.

What was she doing? She was the youngest in her family and was sent to join the army so she wouldn't be an inconvenience for her mother and five siblings all for being a little cynical of the Dominion's government. Part of her believed that her family was behind her getting sent to Skyrim for her first assignment in the first place to avoid shame.

By the Eight… no she wasn't Thalmor anymore, Nine, she couldn't name a bigger ass end of nowhere than this frozen hellhole of a country. Her brother Lysys, was probably laughing his ass off at that fact or bored now that his little sister wasn't around to jab at with insults about how forgotten and alone she was. She sighed and thought to as how she ended up in this bar. Being ambushed by Stormcloak rebels and faking dead. She had to leave her armor behind, so that they assumed the Nords took her away to be imprisoned or worse. It wasn't a bad plan actually. Despite being poor as dirt, she was free, free of the thalmor, her family, and duty. It felt… good.

She got up from the bar and walked up the stairs and into her room and sat on her bed. She pulled out the band holding her long thick golden mane of hair, letting it fall around her shoulders. She would have to cut it soon. She realized she would have to change her name as well, that of course went without saying. Her old name wasn't even given by her mother or father, but by a Khajiit servant by the name of Kajha. Kajha was to closest thing she had to a mother until Lysys made up some lie that got her taken away like many of her friends. Her "real" mother actually seemed surprised she had a sixth child when it happened. It wasn't long before she was sent off to the army to be a brainwashed Thalmor propaganda spouting idiot.

She stood up and propped up a shard of mirrored glass so she could see how to cut her hair properly when a thought stuck her. Most her life had been order this, prim and proper that. Screw that, she'd forego using the blasted mirror, she began cutting without it and when she did pick it up, she gasped. Part of her, the old part, wanted instantly smooth out the uneven parts, but another brought a chuckle to her lips. She began laughing quietly. When she had settled down, she looked again. She smiled, it was perfect. Now that she had a new haircut it was time for a new name.

She thought hard as it wasn't as simple as picking out a new one. It was a new life to go along with it. It had to be something decent. Thunder rolled and she jumped, and looked out the window. The rain picked up and hammered on the building even more. Just then her new name came to light. She got up and climbed down the stairs. She walked straight out the bar's front doors and felt the cold wind and rain fall on her face. After standing for a time in the cold biting rain and wind she heard a voice call out to her.

"Aye Lass it is a wee bit cold out here to be standing around like that," She looked over to see a red haired nord walking toward her.

She shrugged, "Just thinking, my life is very out of order right now," She let out a small chuckle, "Things just aren't going well."

"Aye Lass, I know what that is like," He walked over and leaned on the wall under the canopy. "In fact I think I found something for you that might turn your problems around."

"Oh, what's that?" the altmer asked.

The nord smirked, "First let me introduce myself. The name is Brynolf and I have an opportunity for lass down on her luck." The altmer raised an eyebrow. "Don't look so cynical, meet me by my stall tomorrow around noon, and you'll hear all about it. If not out of curiosity then perhaps a bit of coin."

The altmer thought a moment, she needed coin and it sounded like this Brynolf had something to sell, so she would at least see what this was about. "Alright I'll see you tomorrow then."

"That's the spirit lass," he said enthusiastically, "Now it wouldn't hurt to have a name, I gave 'ya mine now it's only fair."

It was the altmer's turn to smirk. She looked up at the rain falling on her face. She smiled and looked back at the nord, "Rayne, you can call me Rayne."

Farvos Athrel wasn't a big fan of the Stormcloaks. In fact he'd go as far to say that he hated them which was saying much because he was never the type of man not to truly hate anyone. Most were racists, and those that were halfway decent were blinded by Ulfric's glory chasing. He shook his head as he walked up the stairs of the slum that was the Gray Quarter of Windhelm where all the Dark Elves were forced to live. His job wasn't terrible. He worked at the mill for a decent wage. Chopping firewood and taking it back to Windhelm to fill orders. It got him by, since his parents died. Killed by bandits they were, the Stormcloaks did nothing about it of course. They weren't nords so their deaths were unimportant, at least old Brunwulf Seemed to care. The Nord man a great example of true Nord honor.

As he walked to the mill, he pulled out his knife and began twirling it in his fingertips, trying to continue the practice of dagger play his father taught him. His father was a member of the Morang Tong, a famous assassin's guild out of Morrowind. His mother had always frowned upon such things as she was more of a straight up fighter though being a former fighters guild member.

He put the blade away once he reached the farm. He found the logs ready to cut, and began chopping. A few hours later he had his cart loaded and a new stack to chop for tomorrow piled up. He got the note from Anga which read out the orders to which houses needed them. He rolled the cart back to Windhelm and guards let him through without too much fuss for once. They were probably a bit chilly ing the barracks as of late. Farvos smirked as his little act of payback.

He continued delivering the specified amount for each house. After leaving Brunwulf Free-Winter's home he noticed Idesa Sadri and little Grimvar Cruel-Sea. His breath hitched a bit, Idesa was around his age only having seen twenty winters. He had a crush on the young dunmer woman for a while. Whenever they would talk, he would stumble over his words.

"Hey Idesa, how… are you and Grimvar doing today?" he asked nervously.

"I wanted to play with Aventus Aretino," the young nord almost shouted, "but Idesa won't let me." Idesa sighed heavily.

"For the last time, the boy is cursed, the path he walks is only to his own doom, and if you truly want to play with him it will only lead to your own as well." She chastised.

"What's the lad doing up there anyway?" Farvos asked.

"Preforming the Black Sacrament,"Idesa stated plainly.

Farvos didn't know how the respond to that, his father always talked about the Dark Brotherhood and their strange ways with distain. Farvos thought they were all killed during the Great War.

"Can we go to the Candlehearth hall now? I'm hungry," Grimvar said anxiously.

"Yes we can," she said leading him away.

"See you later Idesa." Farvos said," Maybe..."

"Yeah, farewell Farvos," she said quickly, too distracted by Grimvar tugging on her dress as he dragged her toward Candlehearth Hall.

"…we can get a drink together later?" he finished as she walked away. He sighed. He was going to finish his deliveries for the day when he heard a tapping sound from inside the Aretino house. He had almost forgotten about the boy and what he was practicing. He figured he could talk some sense into the boy and turn him away from this path. He walked up the door and turned the handle, only to find it locked. He grumbled and pulled out his father's lockpicking set which he kept on his person at all times and went about trying to open the lock.

"You have issues, you have been pinning over the same woman for what… eras? And searching for her throughout the ages in hopes she'll simply leap out of some coffin somewhere into your arms and live happily ever after in some dark and dreary castle for eternity." Aela shook her head as she walked back to Whiterun with the Layla.

Layla frowned, "When you say it like that… well it takes away the luster to a wonderful tale." Her mood was dampened a bit, however she knew Aela was right in some small way. Regardless of her feelings for the Volkithar princess, Serana was out there somewhere alone and probably going insane by herself. She sighed, "Your right to a degree, while I admit I am a bit obsessed, There have been times where I have taken lovers… and not eaten them." she added.

Aela chuckled, "Anyone interesting? Surely you have met many heroes in your travels."

Layla let out a small laugh, "More like Gods." She said looking over to see Aela had stopped and was staring at her.

"Like who?" Aela inquired sensing where Layla was going with this.

"Well you know that ninth god that popped up after the empire formed, I may have met him in an inn after some battle over by the Reach before he came into said godhood." Layla rubbed the back of her neck.

"You slept with Tiber Septim," Aela didn't quite believe it, but the Vampire had no real reason to lie and by her age it was possible.

"That was his name," she snapped her fingers together, "It was a wonderful night and the things he could do with his thru'um," she let out a small sigh, "That is what made the encounter so enjoyable as well as memorable." Layla gave Aela a knowing smirk.

Aela raised her hands in defeat, "Fine I am inclined to believe you. It still seems outlandish to me." Aela resumed walking with Layla. Layla looked down at the Dragonstone she carried under her arm they retrieved from the barrow. It was written in ancient Nordic so she could read it well enough,"How much do you think they will give us for this?"

Aela shrugged, "Enough, but I still have a claw to return to Riverwood. So I'll just claim my share when I get back."

Layla nodded, "I'll make sure to tell that imperial steward to split it between us and you can pick it up later. I will probably be leaving town as soon as the jobs done."

Aela held out her arm, and Layla grasped her forearm, "It was good to meet even if you are an undead blood-sucking leech."

"You're not so bad as well for a wet-dog smelling shapeshifter," they nodded their heads in respect and went on their separate ways.

"NO NO NO NO! THIS CANNOTT BE HAPPING!" Layla screamed as she beat the rock face of the out cropping that Whiterun sat upon. Despite the blood and rock chips flying past her face she was too angry to feel any pain. Everything since getting that stupid stone had only gotten worse. She stopping beating the rock wall and turned around to lean her back against it. She slid down and buried her head in her knees. She took some time to calm herself, but every time she envisioned the moment where she killed the dragon, it… just made her more furious.

She still remembered the sensation as the amber tendrils of its soul swirled around the fast decaying corpse, before they surrounded her. She remembered the feeling the power and saw some memories. The sensation was pleasant overall but what she was so angry about was the knowledge that for the past millennia she had been dragonborn. A mortal born with the soul of a dragon and could absorb the souls of other dragons. The kicker was being able to master the dragon speak or thur'um instantly without practice, it was an inborn sense as some might say. Thur'um was the magic dragonspeak, the very same language of Akatosh himself. The Thur'um gave one a power like no other.

One that could level whole armies and vanquish vampire lords for example. For this reason she felt only anger and sorrow. If she had known sooner, she could have killed Harkon and kept Serana from being taken away from her all those ages ago. She wanted to yell and curse at the sun, the Father of Time and Space, Akatosh: Her father. What good would that do?

She needed a drink. She got up and searched for a nearby bandit camp. If one thing hadn't changed throughout the eras in Skyrim, it was the occasional bandit camp that preyed on travelers while as the time they themselves were waiting to be preyed upon.