Note: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Trigger warning for fat-shaming, fantastic racism and mentions of cannibalism, death, torture and violence. War breeds traitors, collaborators and those who will do whatever they must to survive – the scars of the Great War are downplayed in Skyrim beyond a few mentions. This story is as much about the scars of the past as it is about the effect politics has on people's lives – but it's also about redemption and hope.

…

Confessions

My niece is the Dragonborn. My civilian niece is the hope of us all.

To say that Irkand was stunned was a gross understatement. He watched Lia limp into Whiterun, supported by a plain-faced, heavy-shouldered Nord in Legion armour with whom she was obviously familiar, with Farkas proudly carrying the skull of the offending dragon on his shoulder. Following behind with the whelps, the Redguard was trying to gather his thoughts and words before he blurted out something that would sound doubtful of Lia's ability to cope with the burden of the Prophecy. Vilkas, tall and lean to his brother's giant bulk, was openly shaking his head in disbelief despite seeing the dragon's soul be absorbed.

"Who's the Legionnaire?" Irkand finally asked of the broodily handsome twin whose temper ran as hot as the springs of the Aalto.

"Hadvar of Riverwood," the smartest of the Circle replied. "You don't remember him?"

"Not particularly," Irkand admitted.

"He was the one with the blond friend who wanted to join up once his term in the Legion was over," Vilkas, who never forgot a name or face, said.

Irkand vaguely recalled a skinny twig of a Nord teenager with a blond friend who was about twice the size of him. "I didn't recognise him with all that muscle."

"Maybe we should send a couple of the whelps to Solitude if Legion rations put meat on the bones like that," Vilkas noted dryly.

"I wouldn't punish any of the children by making them suffer in the Legion," Irkand said dourly. "Not even Torvar."

"Wait, are you saying I'm not good enough for the Legion?" groused the semi-drunk Nord from the back.

"He's saying the Legion isn't good enough for us," Athis informed the brownish-blond man sardonically.

"Oh." Torvar mulled over the statement, which took a few minutes. "So, how is the Dragonborn going to defeat the dragons? By eating them-"

Irkand's fist shot up and out, laying the whelp on the ground as the others stared. "That is my niece," he rasped to a winded Torvar.

"And she's a pretty adept mage in her own right," Ria said as Njada helped Torvar to his feet. "The flame atronach was hers."

Vilkas regarded Irkand carefully. "She needs to toughen up," he said cautiously, speaking as the Companions' senior trainer.

"I will grant that," Irkand said as he rubbed his knuckles. "But I remember when Lia came to us, skin and bones."

"I know." Vilkas' lips pursed. "Will you be leaving the Companions to rejoin the Blades?"

Irkand and Farkas burst out laughing. "Why don't we just say that my husband told the last of the Blades to go shove it," the giant said cheerfully. "'Course, might have had something to do with the fact that I told Delphine that if she insulted Irkand's honour again, she'd answer to us."

"She's already going to meddle in things," Lia said with a sigh. "I'll be seeing her at Ustengrav."

"What's so important about some old barrow just outside of Morthal?" Vilkas asked with less manners than Irkand liked.

"Because it's a place where the Dragonborn has to go on pilgrimage to honour the founder of the Greybeards," Lia answered. "I can't do that, of course, until I go up to High Hrothgar."

"If you know where to go, why not just go to Ustengrav?" Vilkas asked in disbelief.

"Because the Greybeards are going to be pissed enough the Last Dragonborn is Blades blood," Lia countered acidly. "I will need their help, so it behoves me to honour their traditions."

Vilkas had the decency to flush with shame. Part of his duties was to maintain the traditions of the Companions.

"I want you to come to Jorrvaskr before you go," Irkand told his niece. "You need to toughen up physically, Lia, if you're going to go sword to claw with a dragon."

"I'd actually rather hire a couple sellswords and hit the bastards with spells from a distance," Lia answered dryly.

"I'll see if General Tullius will let me come with you," Hadvar said. "It's in the Legion's best interests to help the Dragonborn."

Irkand glared at the Nord. "If you think I'm letting that half-sized Colovian get his hands on my niece when the Empire let us die at Cloud Ruler Temple, you have another thing coming!"

"Tullius isn't Titus Mede," Hadvar challenged, eyes flashing. "Besides, I proposed to your niece shortly before the dragons showed up and she accepted."

"I've known Hadvar for a few years," Lia said in the awkward silence that followed. "Figured if I was going to die, I might as well get married first to one of the best men I know."

"Balgruuf's going to love that," Irileth muttered.

"I'm sorry to have ruined any plans people made around me," Lia continued, her voice bright and hard. "I never asked for this – but well, it's happened. I'll have to do the best I can and pray to Akatosh it's enough."

"It will have to be," Irkand said unhappily. "I don't like the idea of you wandering around Skyrim fighting dragons…"

Lia smiled at him, a flash of the cheerful child she'd been once appearing in that plump, worn face. "I wager I don't like it more than you, Uncle."

"True," Irkand admitted grudgingly. "Go and report to Jarl Balgruuf. We and your… betrothed… can talk later."

He watched the crowd carry her up to Dragonsreach and buried his face in his hands. It was the Executioner's job to train the Dragonborn… but how could he be as hard as he had to?

…

Skjor patted his Shield-Brother on the shoulder sympathetically. Irkand, who was typically an abstemious man, had put away three bottles of mead and stared moodily into the fourth as the second to the Harbinger sat down at the same table. The skull of the dragon Mirmulnir, granted by the Dragonborn to those who actually killed the beast, gazed emptily from its place on the wall above the remnants of Wuuthrad. Farkas had officially entered the realm of legend with this kill.

"Your niece has been granted Lydia as a huscarl and both Jenassa and Uthgerd have vowed to follow her," he reassured the Redguard. "I guess those stories about your bloodline are true."

Irkand smiled mirthlessly. "Or it's a mad bet between Akatosh and the Madgoddess."

"Perhaps both." Skjor shrugged. "I hope you're sober. Kodlak's called a meeting in the Underforge."

Irkand rose – slowly but steadily. The Redguard resistance to poison, which alcohol technically was, served him better than even the beast blood.

It was almost dawn and the whelps had been given a day off as celebration, though Athis was already working on the pells at the far end of the training ground. Skjor and Irkand paused, evaluating his technique, and the Redguard nodded in satisfaction. "He might just be ready to learn the Akaviri blade-dances," was all the former Blade said.

Under the Skyforge, the old magic of Hircine tingled on the werewolves' skin, the totems glowing with an eldritch light. Old magic, older than maybe even the dragons, heated the forge above and shaped the Companions who guarded it below. Here, a Companion died and was reborn as a member of the Circle.

Kodlak, who was slowly succumbing to the straw-death as he fought against the bargain he'd made decades ago, stood tall and proud in the centre of the Underforge. Skjor sighed inwardly, respect for the pack leader warring with the knowledge that Kodlak would defy the tenets of the Circle and force a choice upon them all. He didn't want to fight his alpha, but…

"So your niece is the Dragonborn," the Harbinger said to Irkand without preamble. "And Farkas told me of your discussion with Delphine."

"Hi, Kodlak, how are you?" Irkand retorted sarcastically. "I'm wonderful! My niece will be going spell to claw with the fucking World-Eater!"

"In Sovngarde, if the legends in the Chronicles of the Companions are true," Kodlak said sympathetically. "I don't think the issue will be Lia's lack of ability – she'd half-killed the dragon before we arrived – but it will be her lack of honour."

Irkand's gaze went flat. "Explain."

The Harbinger's gaze was compassionate. "As you know, I maintain my contacts in the Fighters' Guild of Cyrodiil, Hammerfell and High Rock. For the most part, we mostly share news about potential dangers and trade techniques – I'm sure you've noticed that some of the finest warriors in Tamriel just 'happen' to drop in and pay a visit."

"I always thought it was our reputation, but you explicitly inviting them makes more sense," Vilkas said unhappily. "But what does this have to do with the Dragonborn?"

"When Lia came to us six years ago, I contacted the head of the Fighters' Guild in Bruma to get an idea of her history," Kodlak answered carefully. "There's… no easy way to put this, Irkand. Your niece was an active collaborator with the Thalmor and sold out several Blades to them."

Irkand's fists clenched and he said, "Why tell me now?"

"Because until today, she was just a minor Legion cook with a sordid past. Now, she is the Dragonborn who will shake the world with her Voice."

Farkas went to his husband's side, wrapping a comforting arm around the Redguard's shoulders. "Shoulda said something sooner, Kodlak."

"Perhaps, but I didn't want to destroy all of Irkand's illusions about his niece." The Harbinger sighed. "Perhaps Lia is repentant, perhaps not. But I felt Irkand should have the whole story before making any decisions involving the Dragonborn."

"We better go talk to her later today," Farkas said to Irkand, whose face had gone stony, only his brown eyes glittering with rage. "Just remember, you can't hurt her because she's gotta face Alduin."

Then the giant led his husband out as the other members of the Circle looked at each other. "That was cruelly done, Kodlak," Aela said sharply.

"The truth is often cruel, Huntress." Kodlak coughed and spat out some gunk. "Irkand is our best hope for finding a cure. I don't want him to leave us and chase after a nithing with a dragon's soul."

Vilkas scowled. "You mean he is obedient enough to do as you wish! I want to be free of the beast blood, perhaps even more than you, but it should be our choice. Not yours!"

"What of your brother?" Kodlak shot back as Aela and Skjor exchanged glances. This was getting too manipulative for their liking. "If Irkand makes the choice, Farkas will also reject the beast blood."

The Hero-Twin's lips peeled back in a snarl as Kodlak struck his sore nerve. "You should be honest about it, Harbinger. This is… too dishonourable, this sneaking around."

Thank you, Vilkas, Skjor thought as he slipped out of the Underforge. It would hurt to lose his temperamental brother but… well… Vilkas and the beast blood ill-suited each other. If it was Vilkas' choice, Skjor would respect it and even aid him.

Aela soon joined him. "We should tell Irkand," the Huntress advised. "Kodlak will season his words appropriately."

"He was telling the truth about Lia," Skjor noted unhappily.

"Of course. Irkand told us that Arius set geasa – mind-control spells – as easily as others breathed, so if she had to survive no matter what…" Aela answered. "But I think the Dragonborn deserves the right to speak for herself, hmm?"

"Indeed," he agreed, kissing his mate on the cheek. "Here's to hoping it ends well."

…

Lia was down in Jorrvaskr by noon, clad in plain brown linen that shimmered at the edges with enchantment. "Healing and stamina regeneration," the Dragonborn said with a grim quirk of the lips at Vilkas' raised eyebrow.

"Irkand wants to see you," was all the arms master said, jerking his chin at the stairs which led to the quarters beneath the meadhall.

He'd raged and wept all night and through the morning, allowing himself the release. Now he had a clear mind and a willingness to let his niece speak for herself.

Farkas remained as mediator because, if Lia had inherited her mother's temper, this would get loud and ugly very fast. But the poison needed to be purged and Irkand needed the truth.

Once they were inside the room he and Farkas shared, the door was closed. Lia regarded the grim-faced giant with pursed lips before looking to Irkand. "Judging by that face, you've learned some of what I did in Bruma," the Dragonborn said softly.

"Collaborating with the Thalmor?" Irkand asked, allowing the edge of his anger to sharpen his voice.

"Yes." Lia's admission was stark. "I also worked for the Thieves' Guild, spent some time in the College of Whispers as a necromancer, and sold poisons to the Dark Brotherhood before they were wiped out in Cyrodiil."

"Why?" Irkand was hoping that he could pin the blame on his father somehow, that it was some kind of spell…

"If anywhere in this world is fit to be purged by dragon-fire, it's Bruma," Lia answered quietly. "After the massacres at Cloud Ruler Temple and the Great Chapel of Talos – both of which I survived, incidentally – the remaining Talos worshippers and Blades faded into the mountains and conducted a guerrilla war. After they killed the Chief Justicar of the Thalmor in '95, the goldskins came to the town in force and made the Legion decimate the survivors. We were divided into ten and forced to beat one of our number to death until someone could tell the Thalmor where the Blades were hiding."

Farkas blanched. "By the gods…"

"That someone was me. I'd drawn the short straw, y'see, and would be beaten to death." Lia's smile was mirthless. "They were using the old Akaviri fortress on the Serpent's Trail. Wasn't much of a battle, not when the Legion battlemages tore the fortress walls down with Alteration and the Thalmor raised corpses to overwhelm the defenders."

Irkand regarded his niece with a sick expression. He didn't know what to say.

"The Thalmor crucified the survivors… and then were going to kill me in order to make a point." Lia crossed her arms and looked blindly into the distance. "I invoked the Red Rage of the Madgoddess and when I came to myself again, I was standing over the half-eaten limb of an Altmer on the Skyrim side of the Jeralls."

"Kodlak wasn't kidding when he said you had no honour," Irkand finally said in a sick voice. "How can you justify it?"

Lia's turquoise eyes flashed with anger. "I don't. I'm not going to blame Grandfather for this. But you know nothing of what it took to survive in Bruma. The first winter, we ate what meat was given to us and didn't ask where or who it came from. The only reason we weren't completely purged was because of the Legion."

"But to betray the Blades?" Farkas asked softly.

"Those Blades were little more than bandits. The assassination of the Justicar? They set fire to a building that had civilians in it." Lia's voice was now thick with rage and disgust. "So far as I'm concerned, both sides were monsters who made monsters of everyone who came into contact with them."

Irkand's mind flashed back to Falinesti and the sabotaged water-wheel that drowned dozens of Bosmer – just to rescue a few Nords.

"I… need to think for a while," he finally admitted. "Go to High Hrothgar. We'll speak on your return."

Lia's face grew regretful. "Sure, Uncle. I'm… sorry I never told you before this. But you were living such a good life that I didn't want to ruin it."

"Do you regret what you did?" He had to know.

There was infinite sorrow in Lia's voice. "Every day."

"Then there's hope for you. Just… go. And safe journey to High Hrothgar."

Lia nodded and left. Irkand sat down on the bed and stared at his slim, long-fingered hands – a bladesman's hands, a killer's hands – and wondered if he had the right to judge when he'd done acts more terrible than his niece's.