Chapter Nine
They shall become one flesh

Twelve days after the funeral service, when Mother was fully recovered, I knew that history would repeat itself. She would leave again, and leave her ever-loyal Housecarl to raise that child who seemed always to haunt her. She would go on adventures, fall in love, save the world. She would find her destiny far, far away where she could be who she really was: Elaira, that free-willed, beautiful Nord with flowing locks of red hair and an arrow notched and ready to fire. And me? I would let her go with a kiss and a hug and the silence that children were expected to offer.

She would send me letters and gifts, ever the doting mother. She would send her love and convince me that she missed me. She would pretend to worry for my health and my happiness, while she soaked in her own. All the while, I would respond and tell her I was fine. I would not tell her how I was stuck in a town once more; missing her even though I wouldn't want to. I would grow up and move on; I would pray and live.

It would be months later, maybe years that she would feel like returning—she would come and embrace me like I hadn't changed at all. And maybe I wouldn't, but her arms would feel different around me. Her freckles would have changed their pattern somehow; her scent would be scattered. She would be someone new, someone different, and I would wish I could be too, and I would scold myself for saying nothing, and I would wonder at my silence that never seemed to falter.

I was sure that these were the events that were going to occur; because all the signs were pointing towards that end.

It was the 13th of First Seed, 4E 210 that Mother stood in front of the gates of Whiterun, her inn keeper's apron exchanged for her black armor, and I stood in front of her, ready to let her go with a kiss and a hug and my own silence.

It was a cold, grey day and I thought it was befitting. The winds were sharp and the bare skin of my neck and face were covered in goosebumps. "Goodbye," Mother said to me, before looking to her left expectantly. There Lydia stood clad in that steel armor I hadn't seen her in for years. I frowned, and took a shaky step forward, somehow thinking to grab Lydia.

"Be well, Loralei," Lydia said, not looking at me straight. I took another step forward, more frantic this time. My heart pulsed, and my vision blurred, not from tears but from confusion or heartbreak or other.

"W-what?" I breathed, looking from my mother to my housecarl. "What do you mean?" I gulped, my throat constricted and dry. I grabbed Lydia's arm, but she stayed still as I held onto her.

"Lydia is coming with me." Mother pronounced, looking strangely at me clinging onto Lydia.

"Your Thane Mother has commanded me to join her in Elsweyr," Lydia explained. I shook my head, suddenly very scared. I felt like ripping through Lydia's skin just to make her stay, ripping through my mother's to make her go away. Maybe I could let my mother go with a hug and kiss, but not Lydia, never Lydia.

"No," I begged. "Don't do this…don't do this to me." My eyes tore between the two women, and my heart strangled as Lydia stood tall, never wavering, never moving, never flinching as I squeezed her arm. "Don't go!"

"I'm not staying here, Loralei! Now get off Lydia!" I released Lydia's arm, and took a step back, careful not to fall. I felt drunk, like my brain was incoherent with what was happening. I shook my head like a mad woman, my hair probably falling loose from its braid.

"Don't go," I repeated, struggling to swallow. Mother looked at me with a scold, disdain showing on her face. She probably thought I was weak, pathetic. She had no empathy for me, no sympathy for someone so apparently dependant, but I wasn't looking at her. "Don't go," I whispered, my regard to Lydia. In her eyes I saw guilt and I saw pity and hated her for it. "Don't leave me." I was speaking to Lydia, and Lydia alone, but my mother clucked at the pathos reverberating off me.

"It is my duty and my pleasure to leave." I shook my head. I tried not to believe her. But though I knew she loved me, she loved my mother just as well. And she loved duty and honour and adventure as much as my own mother.

"See? She wants to leave," Mother taunted: angry, irritated. I ignored her, my eyes hurting from looking at Lydia so hard, from neglecting to blink. I clenched by jaw and let Lydia go.

"Fine, leave then." I sounded tragic, my voice undone by sobs and snot and sadness. "But if you leave, don't you ever—ever come back!"

I wanted Lydia to turn to my mother and smack her, or even just tell her no. I wanted her to run to my side and take me home, and be my real mother forever. But she only looked at me, for real now, pleading, sad. She looked at me and I swore she was telling herself not to cry.

"It is my duty to protect the Thane Elaira," was all she said. Her voice was strained and hollow. All my life, she had always seemingly been enough, enough mother and father, angel and guardian. But with these words she shattered those years of love and safety into nothing. I felt like smacking the betrayal off her face.

I wiped my tears quickly, and turned to my mother, feeling anger and discomfort. The hate in my chest soared so high in that moment that I could have raised the angry dead. "I hope I never see you again."

My mother only smiled. She looked old and worn, as if she was too tired for any more games. And maybe she was. Maybe her vitality had been drained from her. Maybe her soul had been ripped from her very bones. But she only had herself and the gods to blame.

"I'm sorry you feel that way."

I didn't stay to watch them leave. I ran home, into my tiny bedroom, and I wished the walls had been enough to kill me the first time.

"So you really told them to never come back?" Runa said, worry and awe on her pretty face. I nodded, feeling both shame and pride. The two of us were sprawled comfortably around the Breezehome living room, while Mila worked on the fire. It was late in the evening and I'd decided to have Runa and Mila over for the night. Runa had come from the inn, I had come from the Temple, and Mila from her mother's vegetable stand. Carlotta had been growing old and ill and Mila had taken her place at the stall. We were all tired and hungry, but I found comfort being around these two friends. Still, I noticed Dagny's absence, even after the many months since her departure.

"She didn't seem like the type to just get up and go," Mila noted. Runa and I exchanged a knowing look. She snickered, and I smiled thoughtfully.

"You'd be surprised," Runa returned, getting up to fetch Mila some leeks.

"Do tell, darling, I'd love a good story," Mila smirked, setting up the pot on the now stirring fire.

"There's not much to tell," I began, rather dryly. "After my father died, she left and only came back two months later to watch my twin brother die. Then we moved to Riften and she married a good man, then went on this month-long heist with a red-haired man, and then that good man left us. So then she left for two years and came back with a new husband and made me move to Whiterun. And now she's gone again, and she's taken the Housecarl with her."

To my surprise, Mila laughed, shaking her head as she boiled the cow bones. "What a life!" I snickered in return, looking to my hands. They were pale, the lines of my veins rather dark. I wondered if it was the side effects of magic. I wondered if they were just like that naturally.

"Yeah, Elaira's been quite the bitch," Runa said, returning with a basket full of veggies. Mila grinned at this, and shook her head.

"She's not the best person, perhaps, but she must be some kind of traumatized." Runa scoffed, but I thought of what she told me, those years ago, when we were travelling to this plain little city, of the arrow that pierced my father's heart. I thought of her last words to her only son, and I wondered what they were. I thought of how she never got to hold that dead baby Matilda.

"Nah," Runa said, sitting back down. "She's just real shrew at heart." I laughed, but I remembered that book and that pretty little ribbon from so long ago. I thought of her singing me to sleep, and telling me tales from back and back and back. Recalling the burn in my chest, I shoved those thoughts away. It was easier to agree.

"I suppose we'll just have to get on without her—without them," I said, standing up to help Mila with the broth.

"Do you think you'll stay here?" Mila asked. Runa began peeling the potatoes, as she looked away, silently awaiting the answer. I knew that my answer would affect her. "You could always stay with us if you want. Ma wouldn't mind."

"There's no point in leaving. Not unless Mother forces us to. I'll take her room." I turned to Runa. She still concentrated on her potato, slicing off its skin slowly, carefully. "If you want, Runa, you can move into Lydia's room." She turned to me now, her face lighting up.

"Do you mean it?" I smiled and nodded. She remembered to put down the knife before she took me into a hug.

20th of First Seed, 4E 210

Loralei,

I have written to Jarl Frothar, and Breezehome now belongs completely to you. Everything left inside and out of that property belongs to you. You will receive, or have already received, the document of ownership.

I still own all of my previous part of the Inn, but I have it formally that you will receive 50%of the total shares. I have hired a Redguard woman to help Olfina and Ysolda to work at the Inn during my absence. You are free to work there whenever you wish, but you are not obligated. None of that business should interfere with your work at the Temple.

I've sent you a sum of coins that should be around 5000 septims, though I cannot be sure how much the Empire has collected in taxes.

The rest is up to you to earn and save. You are on your own. Neither Lydia nor I will bother you again. Live well, my child Loralei.

Cordially,
Elaira Auvrea-Arnith
Thane of Solitude
Thane of Whiterun
Dragonborn

I did receive the documents, and the payment, as promised. It was a strange feeling, knowing that these things that were promised were my own, and I did not know why it felt so wrong that it was her who had given them to me. I had never thought to have to earn my own, but I'd never expected for my emancipation to come so easily. It was rather unsatisfying, sitting in my house, along the wooden table, documents laid out for me to review. It seemed too formal, too small of an event to be anything at all.

Wasn't this growing up, becoming one's own, supposed to be some epiphany where you suddenly feel older, more responsible, more fully-grown? Was it not supposed to be brand new, like some strange rebirth? Did I not deserve something with more grandeur, something with more sentiment and nostalgia? Would my childhood, which was so long and demented, just mix in with the rest of life?

I always imagined that life was like a long, intricate staircase, each step a new development, each step a new stage. I always pictured that my own freedom, the becoming my own would be some sort of platform. But as I sat at that table, where I'd sat for years now, and as I looked blankly at those pages that were supposed to be more, I realised that perhaps my life was just a hill, going up and up, going higher and higher, with no relief or end in sight.

Rain's Hand was rather warm, though the snow still littered the ground, and at night the chill would return, and I would pray for those without a blanket. On a particular day in the beginning of the month, I found myself playing chess with Lars in Dragonsreach, while Runa drank tea with the rest of the Jarl's party. I assumed I was not the only one to notice as she sat to the right of the Jarl, their chairs not inches apart. Nelkir stood next to some strange man who leaned on the rail, looking down at Whiterun Hold. He stood stiffly, with his hands shoved in his pockets.

Another strange girl of about sixteen, who had come from the west of Skyrim, sat amongst the Battle-Borns and the Jarl. She sat somewhat far away, looking enviously at Runa. The girl was pretty, though unexceptional. She did well to hide the flaw, dressing herself in fine linens and expensive jewels. She had introduced herself as Mae, of the Greysong clan. I had never heard of them, but Lars had whispered, "Old, honour, pride," and I knew that she would not interest me much. Still, it had been Lars who had excused the both of us from tea on the great porch, to play a 'friendly' (Lars was a competitive oaf) game of chess.

The game had never made sense to me, though Mila could win in two turns. She and Lars had tried to teach me plenty of times, though to no avail. I reminded myself that for Mila's next birthday, I'd have glass chess pieces made for her.

"You know why they call this place Dragonsreach, don't you?" Lars said; looking around the porch as I tried to remember the moves each chess piece could make.

"Of course I do. It's all some people talk about around here," I said, moving a random piece and hoping it was legal. Apparently it had been. Lars took his turn, claiming one of my pawns. He was holding back. Or maybe he wasn't, it's not like I could tell.

"I can't believe your mother trapped a dragon in here, and then rode it!" he said, in awed amusement. "I mean, I'm not scared of much, but you gotta be some kind of brave to ride a dragon."

"Or just plain stupid," I noted, taking my turn again.

"Sometimes people have to be stupid to be brave," Lars told me, all seriousness as he made his move.

"How wise," I grinned, rolling my eyes.

"Checkmate!" The boy called pumping his fist in victory.

"What a wonderful victory," I said dryly. He continued to smile anyway, those dimples taunting.

"Now don't be a sore loser, Loralei! I can't help it that I'm so smart!" I clucked at him and rolled my eyes.

"You know, narcissism is never attractive," Lars reset the table, the grin still lingering, and I tried not to wonder what he was thinking about.

When the Battle-Borns and I went to leave Dragonsreach, Runa stayed behind. I gave her a hug and did not question it. If it mattered she would tell me, if not then, then whenever she felt it was the right time.

It was still dark out when I was shook gently out of my slumber. I had not been asleep long enough to dream, and I sat up in confusion. Runa's bright face was in front of my own, her cheeks flushed and her hair in disarray. Her hands were cold against my shoulders, and her cloak was still tied around her shoulders. "What is it? What's wrong?" I demanded, looking strangely at the smile on her face.

"I've done something, Lorie," I frowned as I watched her read me. I sighed and moved her hands from my shoulder into my own.

"Oh Runa," I said, "what have you done?"

"Well, who, you should ask!" I gasped and squeezed her hands. They were beginning to warm. My heart pounded, stammering in worry and maybe joy.

"Runa!"

"It's okay, he's going to marry me!" she promised, shifting on the bed.

"Who?" I asked dumbly, trying still to understand.

"The jarl." She squeaked and smiled wider, shaking in excitement. She took me into an embrace and I returned it, giggling with her despite my worries.

"Did he really say he'll marry you?" I asked, cocking my head.

"Well," she looked away and I searched her face. "No, he hasn't mentioned it. But he wouldn't let me do that if his intentions were any different… I mean he's a Jarl!" I forced a smile and nodded, doing my best to reassure her. Frothar was a good man, a nobleman. But Runa was a girl and a nobody. Frothar would not have forgotten that.

"C'mon," I began after a moment. "Let's get you a bath,"

"Perfect," she swooned. "Then I can tell you all about it."

"Spare the details," I demanded. Together, we laughed and I got up to light up the room.

"Do you ever miss Riften?" I asked her. We sat on a bench outside the temple, only days before my birthday, late winter snow gliding gently through the sky. I watched curiously as a soft flake of snow melted on Runa's pretty face. Her lips crinkled into a small smile as she pondered my question. I noticed she was wearing rouge. I wondered where she'd gotten it.

"Yes and no," she answered simply, fiddling with her crocheted mittens. I had given them to her some time ago. I wondered what she had meant, but I did not need to ask. "It will always be home…always. But I've always wanted to leave."

She looked away from me, staring blankly into nowhere, her thoughts of a home we both seemed to share.

I had often wondered if I would ever get to know Whiterun like I had Riften. There I had known all the cracks, all the people, all the places to hide. I had counted the flowers in the little garden beside Honeyside, noting on the way the plants would change and grow. I had walked the pathways of Riften, remembering the clicks of my fancy shoes, and the creaks of the stubborn wood. I had walked all the pathways in Riften, I had sat on every barrel. I had recognised each shade of grey in that Riften sky as its own, never the same grey twice, no matter how hard it pretended. I had breathed that crooked city's polluted air time and time again, and I had learned to love it always.

Many things had become beautiful to me in Whiterun. The city always had a way to make me think of white, though it was unlike the way Riften gave me thoughts of grey, and unlike the way Solitude burned blue. The city was bright and pleasant; quiet and boring and its honest simplicity reminded me of lives I could have lived and lives I might have wanted.

It had been nearly three years since I'd first set foot into this coquettish little city, and I had grown and I had watched the world grow since. I had wielded magic, I had seen death. I had sung like a fool and I had drunk like a Nord. But it could not be what Riften had been, and I wondered why someone like me could find such a ruthless, honest, and cruel place like that grey city to be my home.

My birthday came with a large celebration. Runa and Olfina gathered the townspeople at the inn, promising free cake and free drinks for all. The Redguard woman who had arrived the week before spent the entire day preparing foreign soups and recipes for the whole town to enjoy.

The inn was bustling with music and noise by nine o'clock, and the bar was hot and sweaty from people and the humidity of the beginning of spring.

The Inn was nearly full to the maximum, and even people I'd never met found themselves eating a slice of my giant cake. Even Olfina sat at the bar speaking slowly with one of the Drunken Huntsmen. Even Ysolda had come back from who-knows-where, smooth talking some handsome Nord with a thick black beard. Even Braith sat at the edge of the bar, fiddling with her fork as she ate alone. I wondered if I should have gone to her, to thank her for being here. But more than one reason was telling me that she had not come for me at all.

I saw Nelkir too. He spoke to some stranger by the rickety stairs, sitting by a bench that Belrand had made last year. He was with yet another man I'd never seen, and I wondered about his connections. I wondered if this was an old friend he'd known since childhood. I wondered if they were old companions from his time spent elsewhere. I wondered if the strange man was a secret prince, and Nelkir knew where to hide him. I wondered if they did not know each other at all, that if that strange man knew Nelkir was Nelkir the Bastard they would even speak in the first place. I looked away from them though. I found that I did not want to know.

The entire Battle-Born clan was scattered around the inn. Olfrid, Lars' grandfather spoke silently and seriously with his son-in-law. I looked in wonder at the pair. Olfrid and Idolaf shared the same, serious faces, eyebrows always raised in superiority. I wondered if the war had changed them, if they were happy, joyful men before this long, unending war shaped them into people who could cut off ties with their friends from back and back and back. I wondered when and how they became Nords who could repudiate their friends; forsake those who had never before been foe.

The wives of those two serious men chatted comfortably by the fire, laughing in hushed gossip. I wondered in awe at the differences between these women and their husbands. The war had hit those women the same as it had struck those men, and I wondered why they were better at hiding it.

The youngest Battle-Born stood by the door, a lazy grin on his face and a half empty tankard of ale in his hand. When he caught me looking at him, his grin turned into a smile and I found myself blushing. I wish I felt shame, but I didn't. Instead, when he cocked his head to the side, gesturing to the door, I nodded. I looked away for just a moment as Lars set down his tankard, opening the inn door. I caught Braith's eye, and I wondered if what I saw in her was accusation, if it was envy, if it was sadness. I remembered not to care as I turned to the door.

The air outside was cooler, though humidity still floated, frizzing my hair and weighing down on my breaths. A few guards strolled along the town, patrolling patiently and lazily. I looked around the market square carefully, and found Lars leaning against Belethor's General Goods, arms crossed. He watched me as I approached him.

"It's quite the party," he complimented when I stopped in front of him.

"I confess I don't know half the people in there," I admitted, delighted to make him snicker.

"Well maybe they know you," he suggested, unfolding his hands to shove them in his pockets.

"Maybe," I agreed, looking behind me as someone opened the inn door, light and noise spilling outside. They laughed and stumbled and I smiled. "People seem to be enjoying themselves though."

"Well," he began, looking passed me. "The formula for happiness is music and alcohol."

"So," I began after a moment. Lars looked back to me, removing his hands from his pockets and removing himself from the pole. "What did you get me?"

"What did you want?" he asked calmly, running his hand through his hair. I heard the inn's door open behind me but I ignored it. He did too.

"Just this," I said before stepping closer. I kissed him slowly, and there was no hesitance as he returned it, his arms circling around my body.

The warm seasons were always bright in Whiterun, and I appreciated those days where I could sit on that bench outside the Temple and pray to Kynareth with the rest of nature, the way She had meant for it. It was the middle of Second Seed and I sat under the Gildergreen with my hands clasped around my Amulet, giving silent blessings and wishes and hopes for me, for Her, for the living and for the dead. The thick branches of the tree shielded me from the sun, though warmth was still steady on my skin.

It was a small, youthful voice that interrupted my prayers. "Could you spare a coin?" I opened my eyes and dropped my hands. In front of me stood an Imperial girl, only six, I guessed. Her complexion was dark and dirty, her hair dark and messy, braided randomly but tightly. The circles under her eyes were dark and old, but her black eyes were somehow bright with youth.

Quickly, I brought out my satchel, and handed her a clean, gold septim. I cocked my head as she grabbed it, crying: "Oh thank you! Divines bless your kind heart! I'm soo hungry."

"What's your name?" I asked. Cheerfully she smiled up at me; one of her front teeth was missing.

"I'm Lucia," she said, pulling her coin into a little baggy she must have carried around.

"Why are you begging?"

"It's... it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one that's been nice to me since... since mama..." she paused, looking away from me now, her young black eyes glossing over. "...Since she died. My aunt and uncle took over our farm and threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything. I wound up here, but... I—I don't know what to do. I miss her so much..."

She stood there, crying shamelessly like the child she was. I supposed I should have hugged her, given her consolation for her losses. Maybe I should have given her more coin or a flower or a blessing from Kynareth. Instead I just watched as she continued to cry, and I wondered how things could possibly be like this.

It was a long time before I found myself inviting her to stay with Runa and me at Breezehome. She smiled at me then, wider than I'd ever seen someone smile before, and I took her hand as I led her through Whiterun.

She hugged me when I showed her the room I used to sleep in, and just to be sure, I left the door open.

With the war at a lull, I found myself learning more and more of the worship of Kynareth. It was one hot afternoon that I found myself in the temple all alone. I cleaned up here and there, stocked shelves, read religious scriptures, and dawdled around, feeling pleasantly alone and useful. There was a certain peace in being in this place, especially on my own. It felt like a place where I was enraptured in peace and blessings and silence. Except on this day, my peace was interrupted by a boy with dishevelled hair, walking solemnly into the Temple with his tunic clinging onto his body in the late summer heat.

"Lars?" I called. He stood in the doorway, his head bowed. I approached him until I was close, but still careful not to touch him. "Lars, what's wrong?"

"Riften." I frowned as he looked up at me now. His shoulders were still hunched and his blue eyes were wet.

"What?" I asked stupidly.

"The Stormcloaks, they took Riften… Jon was fighting."

"Is he…is…"

"I don't know yet." He collapsed into my arms and we stayed that way for a while. I stroked his hair too soothe him. I hoped it helped.

I held Lars' hand from the back of the crowd, not removing my eyes as they buried his uncle's dead body in the ground.

I tried not to hear Olfina's shrieks and sobs as they filled that once-bard's grave. I whispered my prayer.

"May his soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

Mila smiled slyly as we ate apples by the river. She and Runa had been swimming while I'd lounged under a tree, twisting rope into what would hopefully become a necklace. They now sat soaked in their clothes, munching on apples like the horses not far off. Lucia and Lars played some game or another down the river; Princesses probably. Lucia had made a makeshift crown for herself out of flowers. I noticed Lars had a crown of his own.

"So, do you love him?" Mila asked randomly. Runa looked surprised at the question.

"That's none of your business!" Runa proclaimed, blushing behind a shy smile. I wondered if I had ever seen Runa smile shyly.

"Oh come on! We're your best friends, you have to tell us!" I giggled, and looked at Runa expectantly. I took a bite of my apple for effect as she eyed me.

"I suppose I do love him," she answered calmly, squeezing water out of her hair, which was dark from wetness.

"And he loves you?" Mila asked. She received a scoff from Runa, who flicked water at her.

"Of course he loves me! We're going to be married!"

"When do you think that will be?" I questioned. I tried not to sound accusing.

"When he asks," Runa said. We snickered and Runa changed the subject, though we all knew that her mind was on that pretty boy who was meant to rule.

Except, Frothar never did ask.

His betrothal to Mae, of the Greysong clan was announced on the first of Mid-Year.

Runa got home late after the party had ended, disheveled like I had seen her many times before.

Except this time she cried.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" I asked as I brushed through the knots in her long, golden hair. She sat on my bed, looking sadly at her reflection in the mirror. Her face was red and blotchy from crying. She had an ugly crying face.

"I was angry with Frothar. He deceived me. I took him away when he had a moment. He told me that it didn't matter, that none of it mattered… Then he left when his fiancée called him. And—and the Balgruuf bastard had heard it all." She paused, looking at her hands. "He asked me what I expected."

"What happened next?" I asked, putting down the brush to begin plaiting her hair.

"What do you think?" I looked at her in the mirror. Her face was empty; blank; finished. There was a long moment when neither of us spoke. "…He told me told me we were the same… bastards."

I waited for her to cry again, for her to curl up and bawl and cry and cry and scream. But she didn't; she only looked at me as I watched her until she asked, "Are you going to tie that?"

I thought it wouldn't happen again, that the Bastard of Balgruuf would disappear once more. I thought that Runa, that my lovely, beautiful Runa would be back to normal in a fortnight. But she wasn't. She was blank and betrayed and used. But maybe Nelkir could change that brokenness, even just temporarily. I wondered if that was okay.

I brushed her hair night after night, and I thought I should ask the questions that seemed to linger between us. But I held on to the notion that it was Runa, and if I was meant to know, she would tell me. Now, or later.

I did not know where Runa was on many occasions, though I supposed it was none of my business whether she was in a bastard's bed or in her own; safe and warm and virtuous.

Except this was Runa—my lovely, beautiful Runa who hadn't played her lute in weeks. This was my best friend of many years who I loved so much. And maybe I did not have the right, but I cared that she was broken, and I cared that she was empty, just like she cared when I was. It did not matter that I was a child then, with mommy issues, and she was now a woman nearly grown with problems far beyond my own comprehension. We were both broken and we both needed fixing, even if it was no one's place to fix us.

Still, I found there was nothing I could do. I was wise enough to know this.

There was only one person who could fix Runa, and that was herself.

It was late in Mid-Year when I saw the letter. It was left carelessly on the kitchen table, and at first I had not known what it had been. I had just gotten home from Temple, and I felt dirty and exhausted from the magicka I'd had to use. Soldiers were pouring in more and more since Riften, and I felt uneasy as the Stormcloaks were regaining their ground.

I had been making my way to check to see if Lucia had gone to bed yet. I knew Runa would not have.

I thought perhaps it was a notice or a report that Runa had left on purpose for me to see. But what I found inside was different.

26th of Last Seed, 4E 210

Runa,

I'm sorry.

—N

I wondered what it meant only for a moment before I walked over to the fire to let it burn.

Kissing Lars was always different. Sometimes he would be rough and pull my hair and push me up against walls. Sometimes they would be just little kisses, playful and sweet. Other times, he would drag his warm mouth across my neck, leaving me marks I would always blush to think about. There were even rare, private times where he would not kiss me at all, but whisper secular wickedness into my skin as he let his hands roam, and all I would be able to think about was his hot breath travelling across my skin. Sometimes his kiss would be tender and hot, and he would kiss me for so long that my lips would be sore after, and my cheeks flushed for hours.

And I found that the way I kissed him changed too. Sometimes they would be quick and swift: a secret goodbye or a secret hello. There were even times when I would drag my mouth down his neck, and he would groan and let me mark him. Or we would just cuddle, and he would rest his head on my lap while I stroked his hair and left butterflies of kisses across his jaw as he talked to me about his father, about his friends, about his past and about our future.

It was a peculiar thing, whatever it was we were doing. I wondered if it was love, if it was romance. I wondered if it was just a line of friendship that we had somehow blurred. There was once that I thought maybe we were like Nelkir and Runa, but when she looked at the marks on my neck and told me that I was lucky, I knew that it was not the same. Maybe there was just as little commitment and steadiness, though I doubted it, but I knew that neither Lars nor I were broken enough to have to need each other to want each other. I knew that I was with him because I wanted to be with him. I did not kiss him because I was afraid no one else would let me. I did not laugh and play with him because otherwise I would be alone. Still, I could admit that the one similarity between Lars and me, and Nelkir and Runa was that there was no pretending. Lars and I didn't pretend to be something that we weren't, and neither did they. I wondered if Runa was glad for it.

Somehow, I doubted it.

Only the Priestesses of Kynareth were witness to my baptism. I was calm as Acolyte named me Priestess of Kynareth. I felt safe as the Amulet radiated through me and I received my blessings. I wondered who would be proud of me.

It was the third of Heart-Fire, and Lucia was fast asleep downstairs. Only the nighttime noises of Breezehome could be heard in the silence as I brushed Runa's hair. She looked at herself in the looking glass, her blue eyes empty.

"I told him I loved him." I should have felt surprised. Instead chills ran up my arm as I noticed the shift. The shift in her, in them, in everything. I wondered why she started pretending.

"And?"

"He reminded me that he is not his brother." I said nothing. "I thought we were the same."

"You were wrong. He was wrong." She nodded, closing her eyes and sighing. After a moment I watched as she rested her face in her hands. She did not cry. I held her, hoping that it meant as much to her as it did me. "I love you, Runa."

"You're the only one." I laughed and she did too. She still didn't cry.

Nelkir looked at me strangely as I approached him. "Loralei," he greeted stiffly. He dressed well today, and I wondered what the occasion was. Perhaps he always dressed like this though, and I just never noticed before. I doubted it.

"Nelkir," I returned. He sat on the bench at the stables. It was a cold day, and I felt nostalgia as my skirts whirled around my legs. "Are you waiting for a carriage?"

"Yes," he answered simply, fiddling with something in his hands. I did not look to see what it was. Some things were too personal.

"Where are you going?" I asked, shifting on the bench as a harsh wind blew. He looked forward, his angular face straight and serious.

"War," he answered. I felt the need to grab him and shake him and call him a coward.

"Why?" I asked instead, because he had the right to run away. It was a right I'd never forgotten. His voice never changed; it never shifted. He didn't crumble into tears and explanations. His expression remained hard, serious and forced. It was the same it had always been.

"Because I lied."

It was then I realised it was only Nelkir who had been pretending. The realization made me want to grab him and shake him and call him a coward still. But what else could bastards hope to be?

On the 30th of Frostfall, Markarth was captured by the Stormcloaks. Thousands of Imperial soldiers were dead, claimed by those savage and ruthless Nords who called themselves the revolution.

There were no festivities for Whiterun; not even for the Gray-Manes. I stayed at the Temple and prayed. Runa joined me, and I blessed her with all I thought I could possibly give. She cried, and I told her the lies and the promises she deserved to hear.

It was early in Sun's Dusk when the first snows fell. Jenssen and I were healing while Danica and the other Priestess prayed and tended to the Temple's needs. I was bandaging a man around two years older than me. He had not fought in Markarth, but had been assaulted by a Stormcloak on his way to Riverwood. He was a handsome boy with dark skin and red hair. He had scars all over his body and I wondered if they'd been from big battles, or clumsiness and carelessness, or from fighting with his brothers. I thought to ask, but I was afraid. Memories were fragile things in times of war.

He must have only newly joined the war though, because he smiled at me playfully, and spoke with me like a comrade. He quipped with me and tried to ask me about my life. Perhaps it was a sign of a hopeful spirit, a naivety only found in those who had not been around for a long time. But it could have also been a mask of some sort, to hide the scars in his mind and in his memories. It seemed that soldiers were the worst kind of people to attempt to unravel. I didn't bother.

"So, do you plan on being a Priestess for the rest of your life?" he asked me as I sat him up to test something or another. Sometimes I had no idea what I was even doing. I figured I'd know if I was doing it wrong.

"Do you plan of being a soldier for the rest of your life?" I quipped half-heartedly, pretending to be distracted.

"So long as the war rages, so will I," he said. Perhaps to him it was brave, but I could only think of how it was such a waste of life to fight in a war that would change nothing, a war that would be forgotten in the long list of rebellions and attempts at power. No one would be remembered.

"This war will never end," I warned, washing my hands in the water basin. The water was cold, from the winter air.

"It might," he said hopefully. "I might be a war hero by the end of it."

"You might be dead." Jenssen shot me a look, but I ignored it. It was a dry attempt to get this young boy to go do something safe, and I supposed I didn't really care all that much. So I shut up, but so did the boy.

I always wondered what had happened to him.

"Oh, it's you," Braith said, rather distant. She glanced in my direction for only a moment before she looked away again. We sat on the bench facing the Gildergreen. Its dead branches were peppered with snow, the soft winds blowing the snowflakes around gently.

"Do you want me to move?" I asked, monotone, indifferent. It wasn't freezing, but it was cold enough that I wore my cloak and my hat, warm and comfortable in the outside. The sun was out and bright, and the town was out and about, running their afternoon errands. Runa and Lucia were down by the market stalls, buying food to stock up in the inn.

"I don't care," she said, still looking at the tree. I had the urge to look at her face and try to read her thoughts, but I didn't want to be the first to look. Braith was never someone I understood, and never had I wanted to understand her, but there was something surrounding her that I wanted to investigate and peel apart. Maybe it was because I was not used to someone who so blatantly disliked me, and I wanted to know why. Maybe it was because I wanted to like her. The former was more likely.

We sat for a while in silence, and I wondered if it was uncomfortable. I felt very aware of myself, careful not to twitch or say something stupid, or even breathe too loudly. Braith however seemed calm and uncaring as she watched the tree or the snow or nothing at all.

"I'm leaving Whiterun," she said suddenly, and I wondered why I got to know.

"Because of me?" It was the first thing I assumed. I turned to look at her. She looked at me only then. She'd won.

"Not everything is about you," she scowled. I recoiled, ready to say sorry. I didn't. Don't apologize, I reminded myself.

"I know," I found myself responding, though I figured she didn't care to hear my excuse. "Why then?"

"There's nothing for me here." She stood up and turned to me, forcing me to look up at her. I wondered if I minded. "I know I'm a brat and a bitch, and maybe I shouldn't be. And maybe I shouldn't say things or do things, and I'm not asking for forgiveness. I just want to say that if our paths don't cross again, that—" She paused and looked behind me. I desperately wondered what she wanted to say, but as that something surrounding her peeled apart, I chose only to wonder what she saw, or what she searched for, and I wondered why she was saying these things. "Tell Lars," she began again, but then blinked and breathed and looked confused. She shook her head and I knew better than to press her for what she was going to say. "Never mind… bye I guess." I watched her hesitate for a moment and I thought I should say something or hug her or tell her thank you. She left when I said nothing.

There was something strange about Lars when word got around that Braith had left, but I said nothing. Whatever had been between them had not been about me, and I was thankful for that.

On the thirteenth of Evening Star, 4E 210, Carlotta Valentina died, leaving only a daughter and a vegetable stand. Her funeral was short and quick, and I thought it honoured that hardworking woman well. The single Priest of Arkay buried Carlotta in a small ceremony, and her remains were left in a coffin in the Hall of the Dead. I noticed as the sermons put her to rest, that the Hall was becoming overfilled. I wondered what they would do with the bodies once there was no more room.

I remembered to say my prayers when the priest finished.

"May her soul rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

Lars cried when Mila said goodbye. He begged her not to go, and she cried too and told him that she had nothing left. I remember that he told Mila that she had him, for forever, and I wondered how he felt when she said it wasn't enough.

I was sad too; sorry to see another go to war.

The 31st of Evening Star brought many gifts to this little city. Jarl Frothar gathered the town in my inn, and announced with what seemed like happiness, "Dawnstar and Winterhold have been claimed by the Empire!" The inn roared and cheered, and I was afraid to look at Olfina, the only Gray-Mane in sight. I looked instead at Runa who seemed not to be paying attention at all, staring at a piece of parchment with more concentration I'd ever seen on her face. I only ignored it though. She would tell me, now or later.

What the contents of the paper held must have been good though, because I managed to get her to play a song, and she did it beautifully, as if it hadn't been weeks since she'd last picked up her lute.

The town celebrated the Old Life and the New, and the victories and the hopes of this war that would one day mean nothing.

When Nelkir returned home in the beginning of Sun's Dawn, 4E 211, I believe I wanted him to stay. I don't know why. Maybe it was because I liked him, and how he was silent and calm and used to give me the creeps. It could have been because I would never forget him. I knew that he had made such a mark, an impression into my skin without even touching me. I knew that he would never go forgotten in my brain. Maybe I wanted him to stay because I didn't want to have to remember him.

There was also the chance that I wanted him to stay for Runa. I knew that somehow they fit, like two puzzle pieces that belonged nowhere else but together. I knew that if anyone was for Nelkir the Bastard, it was Runa the Nothing. I also knew that if Runa was not the one for Nelkir, than no one was. No one at all.

Perhaps it was for a selfish, personal reason that I wanted him to stay. Maybe I saw that I was the strange bastard that people looked over. Maybe we both understood all too well what it felt like to live in a shadow. Maybe I knew that when he was gone, I was alone.

Whatever it was, I wanted him to stay and even if we never spoke or even looked at each other, I would know the difference if he was gone.

He proposed to Runa though, and she said no.

And then he didn't stay. He left to where everyone else seemed to leave for.

I never thought I could envy Sovngarde.

His brother had been the one to find him, hanging from a rope, made intricately and expensively, a rope made for a King. A rope, made apparently for a Bastard.

The day after Nelkir's funeral, I found a thin book, bound in leather. It was a journal, many years old by the look of it. It was set on a bench in the temple, and I had only looked in it to see whose it was, so that I could return it. It was Nelkir's and it my heart lurched at the thought that he'd come to the temple before he killed himself. I wondered what he'd come looking for, and I wondered if it was me or Her or her.

It was probably an invasion of his privacy, but I took my seat on the bench and I read it. I read his thoughts and his memories and his opinions. I read of his feelings and his loves and his hates and his life. And I read it because no one else would, no one would ever pick up this bastard's journal and read it and learn of this boy who thought he lived alone in the shadows.

I knew that journals and diaries were meant to be private and forgotten, but I believed Nelkir would want someone to know him and his loves and his hates, and remember those memories he would never forget. Even if it was just me, the daughter of the Dragonborn who meant as little as him, he would want me to think of him when I thought of Bastards and of Runa and of that time when he lied.

I kept the journal from Runa though. I was still too selfish to let Nelkir have her in Sovngarde. He would have to wait, like my brother and my father and my sister and Belrand and Jon and Carlotta and all the others. They would all have to wait and see if enough would have stayed the same for us to return to them.

And the rest of us? We would have to let the gods guide us. Who else would?

Runa cried for eighteen days, never leaving her room. Lucia knocked on her door on the twelfth, and then she walked away when Runa only continued to sob from behind the door. Lucia knocked again on the seventeenth, and I heard from my room as the little girl sang, crying with the broken girl for reasons she did not even understand. I found myself listening with my ear against my own door, and I prayed with all my might that Runa did not run away.

When she came out of her room on the nineteenth, she asked for a bath. Lucia told us stories as I plaited Runa's hair. We all fell asleep in my bed, clean and somewhat calmer than we had been in a very long time.

On my sixteenth birthday, I asked for no celebration. It felt wrong to celebrate anything so soon. Runa and Olfina made me a dinner though, and we ate like we were a family. Lucia had drawn me a picture of a dragon, surrounded by a blue sky. "Blue flowers," she corrected, when I mentioned it. It reminded me of many things, and I thanked her because it was good to remember.

Runa wrote me a song and a letter and she told me many things, like I knew she would. She didn't spare the details. I expected the least.

Olfina and Ysolda had hired Imperial performers to put on a dance and a show for our private viewing. It was a strange, enticing dance to a melody that sent shivers down my spine. It forced me to feel alert and sleepy all at once.

Lars saved his gift for later, when everyone else had gone. It was a book, 16 accords of Madness volume X. I kissed him in thank you and laughed because he remembered. Later that night, he told me he loved me, and I kissed him again because I did too, but I didn't say it back, because it would only be a curse.

It was a hot day in Second Seed, the winter gone as quickly as it came, surprising Whiterun. Runa and Lucia had been swimming, as I'd picked the berries, but it was getting late into the afternoon and we'd all retired for a snack. We were eating snow berries by the river when Lars came running over, his clothes loose and his hair messy.

"Do you want to hear the good news or the bad news?" he asked, masking the fact that he was out of breath.

"Bad news!" chirped Lucia, her mouth full of snow berries.

"Okay." He plopped down beside me and grabbed a berry from my hand. "The Stormcloaks have claimed Morthal."

"Ew," Runa said curtly. "Now tell us the other news." I was the only one who noticed the use of other rather than good. I tried not to eye her.

"Markarth is the Empire's once again!" Lucia cheered and I clapped enthusiastically with the girl. Lars smiled brightly, his teeth stained red in berry juice.

The summer stretched long into Frostfall, keeping the people of Whiterun hot and healing as we all adjusted to the world and how it changed and how it would change.

I taught Lucia how to read, and Lars taught her how to ride a horse. For her seventh birthday, he bought her a young black folly who she named Beauty. Jenssen taught her little tricks of magic and I was happy to see that she was loved.

Runa began to write more and more songs, and though they started as slow, sad ballads that she all named Nelkir, they soon became smooth, delicate songs that she named Runa.

The war was quiet for a while, and I spent my days both praying and practicing alchemy, making potions for hours each day, for the battles I was sure would soon ensue.

I was right.

On the twentieth of Sun's Dusk, the Empire entered Riften and Ivaarstead, breaching the Reach. Men and women fought for twenty days, and they were sent to temples all across Skyrim to be healed and to be returned.

I healed one hundred soldiers, and I watched one hundred die. I made sure to learn all their names. I wrote them down on the back of a used piece of parchment, and when it was announced that the battle was won, I returned to the temple and I kneeled, reciting each of those names. I prayed for the fallen Stormcloaks too, who were barbaric and wrong, because if this many of the Imperials had died, I could only imagine how many Stormcloaks had fallen. As the town celebrated behind the doors of the temple, I said my prayer for those people who were not people anymore.

"May their souls rest in Sovngarde for the rest of eternity."

It was the twentieth of Morning Star that a courier came up to me. He was dirty and out of breath, and only asked my name before handing me my letter and running off again.

The parchment was thick and off white. I was not shocked at the scrawl in blue ink.

14th of Morning Star, 4E 212

Dear Loralei,

Lydia and I are in the Alik'r Desert. Yesterday was Ovank'a and I thought of you. I just wanted to write you a quick letter to let you know that you are still with me.

Lydia says she feels a strange connection with Stendarr after the worshipping, but I'm sure she'll get over it. He is the God of mercy and justice, and would be quite well suited with Lydia, but I remind her that I'm the one she must worship!

She laughed when I said that. So much for being my ever loyal Housecarl!

Stendarr be with you,
Elaira

P.S. Tell Jarl Frothar congratulations on his upcoming wedding!

P.P.S. I heard about Nelkir. He always was such a sad, strange bastard boy.

Frothar and Mae's wedding was a beautiful affair, stretching throughout the entire city, covered in snow and people.

I held Runa's hand throughout it all. I didn't think she needed it, not really, not for Frothar's wedding. But I knew where her thoughts lay, and I was with her. Later, after we'd escaped the feast, we cried together.

There was something very novel and impractical in the way Lars and I were together. Perhaps we ourselves were complex, beautiful creatures of human nature. We were broken in weird places and twisted in others. We had family drama and personalities that would bore the average person. Our dreams were muddled in childhood trauma and we did not know who we were meant to be. Our loves and likes, our pet peeves and our hatred had been formed by our discomfort with the cards that the universe had dealt us. And yes, we were messed up and complicated people.

Together though, we were simple. When we met, we were both young and rich, both wise and naïve. We were a boy with a lot of pride and girl who blushed. And we fell in love the way we were supposed to. We were the boy and girl next door, the friends who were never really friends. We were a cliché romantic novel that young girls read and dream about. We did not know what we wanted or where we wanted to be, our lives were unsure. But this romance, this stupid little clichéd love affair was set in stone and steady.

We deserved it. We belonged together, in this simplicity that comforted us. We deserved the passion that didn't have to mean anything other than simple wanting.

And on that dark night in First Seed when he knelt before me, one knee in the snow and he asked me, "Loralei, will you marry me?" I said yes. I kissed him and we hugged and we spent the night kissing and holding and talking because we could, and we were supposed to, and we wanted to.

I'd never seen Olfrid Battle-Born look so happy. He nearly jumped on me when Lars and I told him the news. Lars' family was delighted to hear that he would marry me: a respectable, wealthy priestess with a house and the shares of the inn belonging to her. I was glad they approved of me, though I was shamed by their reasons why.

Runa cried when I told her. And it was selfish of her, but I understood that she was happy for me and did not love me any less. She cried because she deserved to be happy for herself too.

The rest of the town, to my surprise was extremely content with the match, and together they planned an engagement celebration.

It was loud and bustling, and the town watched as Lars and I lifted a floating lantern into the night sky. Runa played a song as I watched it disappear and as the citizens began to dance.

"OH! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!"

It wasn't long before I joined in.

There was a rain storm on my seventeenth birthday. The air was sticky and humid, the town sweating in heat. Runa and Lucia stayed at the inn where they took care of the guests, hoping to bring comfort to the citizens and themselves in the hot spring day.

Meanwhile, I was in my house, with Lars. He made me tea, but I didn't drink it. Instead, we lay on the floor drenched in heat, speaking little.

"You know, there's one way we could cool off," he said, smiling crookedly at me. I looked at him expectantly.

"And what would that be, Lars?" He snickered before sitting up.

"We could take off our clothes." I sat up, laughing. Rolling my eyes, I responded,

"Shut up." He laughed and continued,

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts!" I smiled and pushed the hair out of my face. Rain clattered against the walls of my house, and I wondered who would fix the leaks.

Lars watched me thoughtfully as I glanced around my house, trying not to notice. I assumed he would move in here, and live with Lucia, Runa and I. I imagined that during the evenings, the four of us would sit at that long wooden table, eating whatever concoction Runa and I had created. I imagined that during the day, Lars and I would plant flowers at the front of the house as Runa would fiddle with her lute on a chair she'd bring outside. Lucia would play with her dolls in front of us, hosting tea parties and giggling to herself like the fool she was. Olfrid would walk by and Lars would ask about the war. Lars' mother would follow behind and scold her father and her son for only ever speaking of the war. When my thoughts drifted towards the night, and I imagined Lars holding me, kissing me…

I blushed and turned to him, trying to see if he could read my mind. He looked at me curiously, frowning at my apparent panic.

"What's wrong?" he asked. His eyes were bright, curious, kind.

"I love you," I found myself confessing. It was the first time, and I wondered why. He smiled now, touched, and I tried to return it. My heart thudded rapidly and forcefully against my bones. He leaned close, his fingers touching the hard line of my jaw. His lips were warm and wet from perspiration, and I assumed mine were as well. I met his movements with my own as he kissed me. It was tender, loving and different, the way it was different every time.

Lars moved his fingers down my neck, tracing my collarbone, the curve of my shoulders. My hands were on his chest, moving up to his neck, then into his hair. Slowly, we kissed, and patiently, he unlaced my dress.

It didn't scare me or intimidate me as he pulled my clothes off, piece by piece. It didn't frighten me or make me feel scared as his hands roamed my body, naked, plain. He only stopped kissing me to look at me, and I blushed before he kissed me again. He stopped one more to remove his tunic, and then his pants.

It was probably tacky, losing my virginity like this, on my seventeenth birthday, probably years before our wedding, on the floor my mother used to wash. But it did not seem to matter as he moved inside of me, touching and loving all the skin on my body. Lars kissed me and held me and he whispered filth against my skin, and I closed my eyes to remember all those dirty, incoherent words even he would forget. And yes, perhaps I should have waited. I would have shamed my mother if she'd known, but what difference would it make? Why hold out on something that seemed to connect us both, something that reassured us of how we loved each other?

I couldn't think of a single reason.

I could think of a million, when one month later, at the end of Second Seed, I sat on a sick bed in the Temple, Danica's hands on my midsection.

"You're with child," she said. And I squeezed Runa's hands, ready to throw up all over again.

I begged Lars and his family to move up the wedding so I would not give birth to a bastard. But Lars' mother shook her head, and her husband looked angrily at Lars. Olfrid told me to get out.

I thought Lars would follow, but he didn't.

He only found me hours later in the temple, when my knees were sore from praying. He looked uncomfortable and sick. He stood far from me as I faced him. I could tell he was forcing himself to look away.

"The wedding has been called off," he said after a long, uncomfortable time. I felt my throat hitch and I felt weak.

"Why?" I knew the answer.

"I have to marry a virgin," he looked at me accusingly, like it was my fault, like I could have, should have stopped him. He looked at me for a long while, expectantly. He wanted me to apologize. He wanted me to say I was sorry, and to beg him to be my husband. But this was not my fault. It was ours and I was a fool for believing he would see it as such.

"Well, good luck with that then," I said, trying my hardest to be nonchalant. He didn't deserve my anger. Not even Lars Battle-Born deserved my apology.

I turned away from him instead of looking for his reaction. There was a moment of hesitance before I heard his footsteps and then the door slam shut.

I cried after Runa sent for my mother. Lucia stroked my back and sang me lullabies, shushing me. Runa held on to me and laid her head in the crook of my neck. I rested my hand on my belly and I wondered why it felt like nothing.

"Where are we going?" I asked steadily as we loaded the carriage. Mother hauled up our bags with a grunt before giving Lydia a letter of some sort. I tried not to be baffled at the sight of them. They had arrived yesterday, and all our efforts had been towards moving out. Maybe it was cowardly to leave like this, but I did not care. The child would have to learn not to as well.

"Solitude," Elaira said, turning to me. Her eyes were bright and ready. I could already tell she was someone new to me. I nodded as she helped me into the carriage. Lucia and Runa followed. Before Elaira shut the door I swallowed, suddenly desperate and scared and needing to say it.

"I'm so sorry." She blinked and for a moment I was scared. She was as unpredictable as a wild sabre cat. But then she smiled, her eyes twinkling.

"You went from praying to the mother of gods to the god of life and wind, what else could we expect?" Runa burst into laughter and I smiled. Lucia asked what we were laughing about before Elaira shut the carriage door with a click.

Still, as we started off, I prayed, to Kynareth and to Mara, and I asked for guidance; for myself, and for the child. We would both need it.

Author's Note: So this is the longest chapter I've written at 11.3k. I had a lot of ground to cover, and I hope I did a good job. I love all your support, and thank you for R&R! We have only six more chapters to go!

Published on 29/09/2014

Edited on 25/06/2015