Chapter Fourteen
The desires of your heart

By the fall, Runa had made a warm home from the house that had belonged to Francois' father, Faendal, many years ago. It had taken all summer to restore what had been used as a hunting shack and a shed for so long, but by the fall it was ready for us to see. I brought Kust, who had never been to Riverwood, and Lucia, who would turn fourteen next spring and was anxious for a trip. I was both sad, anxious, and guiltily excited to leave my children with Lydia and Erik.

We arrived Fridas evening, tired and achy from the ride. When we walked into the house, a strong, warm and familiar smell wafted around me. It smelled sweet and delicious, and both my eyes and my mouth watered. I was almost too distracted to be surprised when I saw Runa bent over the cooling pot in concentration.

"What are you making?" I said, closing the door once Kust and Lucia were inside.

"Stew," Runa smiled. "Rabbit and pheasant."

I laughed and pulled off my jacket. "You've been all over the world, and you make us stew?" I said, not unkindly. Runa bit her lip, giggling.

"I always liked the smell."

The house was very small, and I was surprised that Runa had settled for such. It was all one large room, but she had all she needed to live: a decent bed, a hearth, and the clutter that made it Runa's. Though the bed was straw and fur, and the ugliest part of the house, Runa assured us that she was working on making a fleece and knit quilt (she promised she was better at it now), and that Francois had been working on a nicer bed frame for her.

The decorations around the small house consisted of eccentric tapestries and shelves covered in small trinkets. A large bookshelf sat against the wall, filled with books old and new, in languages lost and practiced. All her colourful plates and mismatched cutlery were piled up in a cabinet, hidden away. She kept her expensive china on display, on a small cherry wood table by the door. I was surprised to see that it was the only expensive thing in the house, not including the array of musical instruments which were hung on the entirety of the wall above her bed (there were at least seven lutes, a number of flutes, and several instruments which were unfamiliar to me).The rest of her furniture was finely made and sturdy, but unimpressive to look at.

It was strange to see Runa make a home which seemed to suit her so well, and suit her not at all. Still, she seemed very happy.

Our supper was delicious, and our room in the inn was welcoming. There was something comforting to be just visiting for once—no change, no commitment—just memories to be made and a familiar home to one day return to.

The second day, while Faendal took Kust and Lucia hunting, Runa took me to the Riverwood Trader. It was a two-story building, with the rooms upstairs and the small trading space below. There, I met Francois' mother. She was a swarthy beauty, only a few years younger than my own mother, but just as striking and imposing. Yet there was a certain grace about her, and a certain youthful passion which seemed like it had never really died or lived.

I met with Francois too. Now, he was a man I could hardly recognise. The freckles which I could once only see up close were now prominent. His eyes were different now too: darker. At first glance, the black wells of his eyes looked empty, but I grew to see that they were full, of family, love, childhood, and other. He still had a gap between his two front teeth when he smiled. Though he was a man, different than the man I thought the boy would grow to be, he still looked just as goofy and beautiful and flushed as the day he had kissed me.

He kissed Runa now, though. On the cheek and on the nose, and he held her hand when they were alone. The sweetness of nostalgia and continuity filled the air when they were together. It reminded me of the simplicity and boringness of Skyrim, and the adventure and confidence of childhood.

"He's going to move in soon," Runa confided in me on the third day, when it rained and Lucia was playing with a dog. Kust was napping on the bed not far from us.

"And he knows this?" I jested.

"Obviously," she chuckled, throwing a cushion at me. "I'm nervous."

"Don't be…You've lived with him before," I reminded her. "In Riften."

"Yeah, and he kissed another girl." I scrunched my nose and threw the pillow back at her.

"Are you worried about that?" I started. "Francois being with other girls?"

"Divines, no," she scoffed. "As if he could want another woman." I rolled my eyes.

"Then why are you nervous?" I questioned, leaning against the foot of the bed.

"I guess that 'nervous' isn't the right word... I'm... excited." She bit her lip and glanced down. Her eyelashes looked like feathers against her pink cheek.

"Oooh, you like, like him!" She rolled her eyes, but laughed nonetheless, and threw the pillow once more. I caught it this time.

"Oh hush, dear. Mockery does not look cute on you," she said. I only sighed and shrugged.

"Ah well, we can't all look good in everything," I sighed, leaning against Runa's shoulder.

"In that, you are right."

"So," I started. "What do you plan on doing now?"

"I dunno, napping looks pretty great right about now..." She looked up at a snoring Kust, and I jabbed her in the arm.

"Don't be stupid. What do you really plan on doing?"

"Well, I suppose I'll fall in love some more, buy some chickens, learn how to make a quilt." She sighed. "I dunno, I'm twenty-three... There's some time for not having a plan."

"Life's short in Skyrim... Aren't you sick of not knowing what next?" I asked.

"I do know what I'm doing next—at least, I know the general idea of what I'm gonna do..." She paused. She had that pained and dreamy look on, the one she had on while she thought. I'd missed that expression. "I mean, Francois is moving in... We've talked about marriage. He wants to adopt some kids... to have some of our own. He says that he will travel with me, that our family could live by the city, by the week, if I wanted to be a travelling bard again."

"That sounds perfect for you, Runa," I said, glancing at Kust. What are we doing next? I wondered.

"He wants to open a business one day though, so we agreed that we might join a Khajiit caravan until I become pregnant or we decide to adopt. Then we'll find some other way to travel. Or you know... We could always find a place to stay and settle...that's an option"

"Would you stay here?" I asked, glancing around the small house. A fire flickered, cracking and popping.

"No, Riverwood is just until we get married. I don't belong here, not really." My heart dropped. Solitude.

"Solitude?" I croaked, wondering why it seemed so dreadful. A vision of the empty, damp streets passed through my mind before I shoved it away. Runa shook her head, and smiled shyly.

"No," she admitted. "Solitude isn't for me. I actually think I'd like to go back to Whiterun... I love that city." I gaped a little, remembering all the years of growing up and playing and making stupid choices. I wondered if Whiterun was where it all really started… or if it was where it all ended?

"I figured you'd never want to go back there," I admitted. We didn't ever speak much of Whiterun. The rare times we did speak of our childhood, we kept it to snowstorms in a grey city, of songs and dances. I wondered if maybe we should have talked about the growing up and the playing and the stupid choices.

"Why?" she asked accusingly, suddenly rigid against my side. "Nelkir?"

"Well, yeah." I said. She closed her eyes and let out a breath.

"I never did get the chance to stop loving him," she began. "...But that's okay. For a long time, I didn't even want to think about Whiterun and everything that happened. But I left a part of myself in Whiterun, in him." I thought about all the pieces of me that were scattered all around the world—all the different cities and all the different people where they'd gotten caught.

Sad, and hopeful, I looked at Kust, snoring on the bed. I loved him; I hoped I could follow him everywhere. I hoped someday he would go with me to all the corners of Skyrim, to find all the pieces I had dropped along the way. But then I remembered—he was already whole and I was supposed to be too. But really, how could I be when my gravity was in Riften, my soul was in Solitude, and my heart was in Whiterun?

"What about you?" Runa asked, when my eyes began to sting.

"Me? What about me?" I said, hoping my voice was steadier than my heart.

"What are you going to do?" she explained.

"I don't think my choices or plans are even about me anymore." I found myself saying. I thought of my daughter, my son, my fiancé.

"Were they ever?" Runa scoffed. I blinked, shocked at such a question. "Just— make a decision, you know?"

"I make all kinds of decisions," I blurted. "I chose to learn an instrument! I chose to become a Priestess, to have kids, to—"

"You did not choose to have kids," she said. I pulled farther away from her. "I doubt you even chose to have sex!"

"Are you implying—"

"No! Not rape! Just—in general, it was probably Lars who—And you still read all his letters! I mean, what's that even ab—"

"Enough!" I almost screamed. Runa pursed her lips and checked to see if Kust was still sleeping. There was silence and I was reminded of all the times I had wished for it, those few times I had asserted it. I hoped Runa would say something now—something cruel and true, something sweet and false, but she didn't and it was me who was forced to keep the silence away. "I plan on... Marrying Kust; having more babies—praying." I waited for her response again, but her face remained still. "I plan on... On visiting Mila and the Imperial city so our kids can fall in love and I can see those curtains everyone keeps talking about. I want to... I dunno... I want to read more vampire books and meet a good, non-human-eating vampire who may or may not fall tragically in love with me." Runa laughed now, and somehow I was encouraged to continue. "I wanna climb a mountain and see a giant... I want to dance on bar counters in—in some dirty tavern—I want—I want to go to Sovngarde and see my father, I want to see Hroar and talk to him again—just to hear his voice, answer his questions... I want my Vittoria to be just like my brother, and I want my Nelkir to make his grandfather proud. I want…" I gulped. "I want a lot of things. And...I plan on doing all of them."

Runa looked at me strangely, and I felt sweaty; both nervous and relieved. I wondered to myself when I'd started wanting so many things. It felt good though, and I was proud that I had become this person—this Loralei who could want things—who could be more than a sister, a daughter, a friend, a priestess, or even a mother. Maybe Loralei could be a dirty, sinful wanter too.

But then Runa asked, "When?" and everything snapped back into focus. Yes, I would marry Kust, and be proud of my children. But all those other things were past the point of dirty; they were silly. I flushed and I tried not to cry. There were no vampires who I could enthrall with my beauty; there was no respect in being a mother by day and a tavern wench by night. No matter how long I journeyed, no giants would cross my path, and the divines knew I was not ever going to say, "Actually, can you make a turn here? There's something I'd like to see." And even those beautiful, magical, swaying Imperial drapes on faraway balconies were—well, they were exactly that: faraway.

"Oh," was all I could respond. And before I could cry, she held me in her arms, and told me of a story about a vampire with a heart of red and gold, and a girl with green eyes.

When Kust woke up later in the afternoon, the three of us went out to find Lucia, who had made friends with Frodnar and Dorthe, two children only a few years Lucia's senior. They were all lounged around Dorthe's father, Alvar's, smithy. It seemed cramped, especially with the large grey dog sprawled between them, but Alvor kept working. He showed us quickly a nice steel sword he was working on. It was dark steel, and sleek and intricate. It reminded me of my mother, so I bought it. "Who is that for?" Kust had asked. I realised then that I would not have a chance to give it to my mother. So, I responded meekly, "Lydia."

We all supped at the inn, with all the families in Riverwood; Frodnar, and his parents, Dorthe and her parents, Sven and his wife (and their remaining children), and Francois and his family.

The inn was run by a large man called Orgnar, He had blue eyes and grey hair that was once dark. He told me he knew my mother once, that she must have been someone great to make Delphine follow her. I didn't ask who Delphine was, but we toasted to her anyway.

We left the next day, which was the last Morndas, and the last day of Heart-Fire. Runa saw us half-way to Falkreath, but stopped when we reached the guardian stones. They were tall mounds of rock which looked much like the stone Runa and I had found long ago. They were placed awkwardly at the turn of the road. To the north, a great barrow loomed, not too far in the distance.

"My mother told me about this place, once," I said while Runa hugged Kust awkwardly. "After… after Helgen, I think. She followed a man out of the city, and he brought her to Riverwood."

"The man's name was Hadvar, if the stories I hear tell truth," Runa replied. She turned to the barrow. "There," she pointed, "that's Bleak Falls Barrow, where your mother found the Golden Claw for Francois' mother."

"Wow… how long ago was that?" Lucia asked, shyly touching the surface of the stone standing in the middle. The form of an old man wielding a staff was carved into it. "Do you think she took a blessing?"

"Maybe," I said. "She never told me though."

"Hmm," Runa started. "The thief, the mage, the warrior… I'd say it's quite obvious, wouldn't you?"

"What, thief?" Kust asked. "It seems a little too cliché for Elaira,"

"It doesn't matter now, I don't think," I said lightly, pulling Runa in for a last hug.

"Give my love to the kids, alright?" Runa said in my shoulder.

"Of course," I said, pulling back. "We'll come again soon, I promise. Good luck with that quilt." Runa chuckled, and stepped back. She waved to us as we mounted our horses and rode all the way back home.

Old Life fell on a cold day, but Kust and I found ourselves outside again, lighting candles on forgotten graves. It was dark out, and only the small little flickering flames and the lantern Kust had thought to bring with us were our sources of light. Even the stars were invisible, covered by the night clouds.

The grass was frozen, and it crunched under our feet. The entire town was a ghost, empty for the night. There was a large celebration at Lakeview Manor, one I had been responsible for organizing. The entire solemn town of Falkreath found itself in my hall, drinking, and singing, and dancing with my children. Kust and I had snuck away when we could, with a cart full of candles and matches and winter flowers.

"So is this a tradition now," I asked, when Kust and I were closer.

"I'd say so," he answered, spreading the flame from one candle to the other. "I'd rather not stay out here all night, though."

"It is ridiculously cold," I conceded, shivering. I looked around at the field of flickering lights and dead people. "I think they're all lit up now."

The cemetery looked like a field of softly buzzing fireflies. It almost gave the impression of life in such a solemn place. For a moment, I thought of my brother and my father's grave. I wonder if someone lights them candles. Perhaps one day, we could visit their graves and pay our respects. Only, it would be no use. I wondered briefly if any of this was any use.

"Yeah…" Kust blew out the candle in his hand and tossed it in the wagon. "Come on," he said, extending his gloved hand. I took it. "Let's go home. There's a party waiting for us." I chuckled, and together we walked home, my thoughts on Solitude, and the warmth awaiting us.

When we reached the manor, the festivities were still in full flare. Our bard, Llewellyn the Nightingale was joined by Runa this night, and upon our arrival, they were singing some old song about a dragon. Lydia and Erik danced together, rather badly, and their daughter laughed with the servant girl in the corner. By the hearth, the stable boy was sharing a cup of wine with the Redguard warrior, Rayya who I'd recently hired to guard my steadfast. All around, there was the commotion of drunkenness and joy, and even the two solemn brothers from town were singing along to Runa's familiar song.

"Ma! Pa!" Vittoria called, her brother in tow. She looked flushed and happy. Her hair was at her waist now, all curls and mess and I wondered if it was time for a haircut. "How were the dead folks?"

"As happy as they'll ever be," answered Kust, who patted the girl's shoulder, and accepted a flagon from Indara, the farmer wife of Mathies.

"Have you eaten?" I asked the children while we embraced.

"Of course, Ma," answered Vittoria.

"Yeah," answered Nelkir, rather airily.

"What did you eat?" I specified. "Candy and pies don't count."

"Uhhmm," Vittoria said. She thought for a moment, looking around. I sighed and proceeded to get them a proper supper.

Once they'd eaten, I let myself join the celebrations.

Runa took my hands into her clammy ones, and twirled me around like a fool. "Where's Francois?" I asked. She spun me around and smiled.

"He's on the balcony with Faendal, I think." She chuckled. "He doesn't drink."

"Why not?"

"He's a dreadful drunk, and quite the lightweight." I laughed, and slapped her arm and we spun some more.

About an hour later, when I was in my cups, and exhausted from dancing (Runa had only just started, of course), I took a seat next to Narri, a pretty serving wench from Dead Man's Drink. She had long, striking features which looked both Nordic and Elven. Her dress was low-cut and revealing, but looked rather majestic on her.

"It's been quite a while since I've seen you," I noted.

"Yeah, you don't come to the inn so often anymore." She smiled. "I miss that dog of yours, though. Where is he?"

"Oh, who knows? Probably chasing rabbits or something; I just figure he'll turn up eventually," I said. She chuckled and we clanked our glasses together. We shared stories after that—of our childhood, our loves, our friends, and the books we'd read and hours passed in a blur of mead and laughter and song.

At midnight, I kissed Kust, and I kissed my children, and Runa and I jumped and cheered and sang together. It seemed as though I had all I ever really wanted; more than I could ever need. My heart felt full and light, and though there are dreams that no family, no love, no necessity can erase, I knew that maybe those dreams could be locked up safely in a little drawer, just for now. So, when the courier came at one A.M. with a letter sealed with L.B-B, I did exactly that.

4E 218 came with the promise of simple life and a good harvest. I had thought that there would be no interruption in my day-to-day life. I figured perhaps Kust and I might finally get married in the fall, that perhaps soon after I would grow with child again. I had hoped for my daughter's fifth birthday, she would come to Temple with me—that after my son's third, he would learn to read. I had wanted fine weather in the early summer so I could finally visit my dear Dagny, who had just given birth to her third child, her second son, in early Sun's Dawn. I even made arrangements in my mind for the coming wedding of Runa and Francois. The spring started with the promise of all these beautiful things—but like most promises, they were broken.

I did not have a calm and simple spring that year. In fact, much changed. The first change was Lucia's vision, and what had happened next.

A man in strange robes had visited her—he'd frozen the world around them and had spoken to her.

"The Psijic Order," she had told us. "They believe I am one of them… they wish for me to join them."

Lydia had frowned, and Erik had said no. Later, they cried and asked her not to go. Lucia hugged them and promised she'd love them always. When I didn't cry, though my heart felt heavy and bound, she told me that I was the only one who'd ever understood. She told me that I had saved her. Then she whispered so only I could hear: a promise that she would never cease protecting me.

She had disappeared soon after, and the night she left, I'd dreamt of a man in strange robes, who had big ears and a soft heart.

The next change began with a letter from Dagny:

4th of Second Seed, 4E 218

Loralei,

It's been such a long war, and even in my position, information is hard to come by. In all honesty, the Empire is very little concerned with the war, but I am a Nord of Skyrim, and the fate of this province is still important to me. I've managed to consult with General Tullius through many letters, and the war seems to no longer be at a standstill.

The Stormcloaks are losing!

They still hold the very edge of the East—Winterhold, Windhelm, and Riften. But the Empire has the entirety of the rest of Skyrim. General Tullius is old now—too old to still be fighting this war—and Elisif is probably too old to bear future kings… but the war ends soon—this summer probably. The Empire plans on laying siege on Windhelm, within the month. Once they have Windhelm, the Stormcloaks will lose their seat of power, and in consequence—Riften and Winterhold. It really is a battle that is long overdue.

I, and I'm sure the rest of Skyrim, is sick of these decades of conflict. This civil war has been a pitiful game of chess. It's long time for it to end.

Long live the Empire!

Good luck, and good tidings,
Dagny

P.S. Just got official word. The Imperials are laying siege on Windhelm on the fifteenth of Second Seed.

"I want to go," I said as Kust read the letter. He frowned.

"To do what? You can't just join the army for one battle! Plus there's not even enough time to train you," Kust reasoned.

"No, obviously I'm not going to fight."

"So what then? You're going to watch?" He scoffed. I pursed my lips and my face grew hot.

"Don't antagonize me, Kust," I said. "I'm obviously going to go as a healer. We're laying siege, so there are only going to be medic tents around the outskirts of the city… but they'll also need healers on the battlefield, where they can act quickly."

"Why do you even want to go?" he asked, leaning forward. "I thought you were against this war."

"That's why I want to help end it," I explained. When Kust said nothing, I felt myself falter. I had thought he might be proud of me, in some strange way. I'd thought he might think I was brave and strong, that he might think I had a chance to change something—to actually do something. "Don't you think that's—"

"Brave?" he scoffed, turning to me. "No, it's unnecessary. They don't need you Loralei… the kids need you—I need you."

"But I'm not abandoning you, I—"

"You are, though. You're putting yourself in unnecessary danger. For what? To live out some stupid fantasy where you're your mother and can save the day?"

"I—"

"You're not going," he swore.

But like most promises, it was broken.

By the time I arrived in Windhelm, the battle was already raging. In the mass of confusion, even in the camps outside the walled city, I found someone who could tell me what to do and where to go. He was a tall Imperial man with a soft, unbefitting voice. He told me I'd need to get some supplies from the healer's tent. There, they gave me mage robes, an apothecary sack, a dagger, and other supplies which would come in use.

The robes felt strange. They almost tickled, and I could feel the magic jump from the fabric into my bones, my skin, my blood, and back again. Somehow, it made me feel stronger, the way I should have felt when I'd told Kust.

I was terrified as I made my way through Windhelm to the section which I was assigned. I had to avoid archers, and I was close to being caught between two swords. I had almost regretted coming, I had almost apologised to Kust in my mind. I'd almost believed he was right. But then I remembered, don't apologise, and that made me stronger the way he couldn't.

Finally, when I got to my section in what was titled 'The Grey Quarter', I saw that it was already a mess of dead bodies and limbs strewn everywhere. For what was a long moment, I was at a standstill, unsure of what to do, how to think, what to feel. People fought all around me, and I had an unyielding urge to stick against the wall, to become as small and invisible as I had once thought I was.

But there was a cry, coming from behind me. And when I spun, there was a greatsword coming down on my neck. I wondered for a minute if it would end there. If after such a long, perilous childhood of death and flowers and neglect, I would die then, like that, like nothing. I wondered if before I had even saved anyone, I would be some sort of war hero. Maybe that's all I wanted though, was to be recognised—seen, just once. Or maybe even that want would go unfulfilled. Maybe if I died then, I would just be another nameless person, laying blue and bloody with a head rolling severed some feet away, dead in the Grey Quarter.

But I didn't die then. Perhaps it was a promise that had been kept, a promise from a little girl, or maybe it was just me, who managed to pull everything together inside of her, just one time, just when it was necessary. The sword crashed down, but not into my neck. I shattered against the surface of some invisible force around me, some sort of protection against my foes.

I almost cried then, because of my stupid, dumb luck which was somehow still muddled in my misfortune. I would have cried, but there was no time, and it was then that my standstill came to an end.

The ward dissipated, and my attacker, left weaponless, reached for another one of his arms. As fast as I could manage, I grabbed my dagger and I stuck it in his neck, pulling quickly away before he spent his last breath killing me in return. I watched blood spill from his neck. I watched the shock in his face and his hands move to his neck, blood pouring over his fingers.

Part of me wanted to know his name. I wanted him in that long list of names which I still kept as my prayer. I couldn't watch him die though, so I turned away and I convinced myself that the reason was that there was no time—no time, I had to keep moving. But I knew, deep in my merciful heart that I should have watched, that the only reason I couldn't was because I was not brave; I was not strong at all.

There's no time for thought, I reminded myself as an Imperial soldier fell and his attacker turned to another. I ran to him, trying not to trip over limbs and organs and dead people. I knelt beside him, crashing to my knees. A painful sting shot up my thigh but I ignored it.

"Where?" I asked, frantically. It was a croak, a noise from the back of my dried up throat, but he seemed to understand.

"Everywhere," he groaned. His voice was just a whisper, something sad, pitiful. Again, I almost cried. Instead, I reached for Kynareth, and magic, and all the health in the world. When it seemed like the wound was healing, I gave him a potion and a bandage, and he was off to fight again.

What's your name? I wanted to ask. But it seemed like in these times, for these Nord men and women, at war, in battle, in a sea of limbs and organs, blood and death; names were nothing but a sadness which could only aid in ripping them apart.

I let a small sob escape my throat as I turned, looking for anyone else who had fallen. As I was about to take a step, there was a loud, hoarse cry, and the sound of steel pulling out of a body. I turned to the noise, and saw a woman, her helm strewn aside, clutching her midsection, where her armor had been torn open. She fell to her knees with another whimper, and there was another cry, this time of a man. I only watched in stupid shock as he ran towards her attacker, and sliced open his throat before kneeling by the wounded soldier's side.

The man turned to me now, and even from the distance I could see the desperation in his unforgettable, expensive, blue eyes. "HELP!" he screamed at me. "What are you doing?! Healer!" I blinked back more tears, and found enough strength and adrenaline to run to them.

The girl had dark hair, which was braided back. Her eyes were dark, and her nose—her nose was perfect. I remembered a midnight so long, and not so long ago, when I had been envious of that long and pointed nose. "Lo-Loralei," Mila breathed.

"Mila," I said, blinking back tears some more. "Don't worry, I'll fix you." I moved to place my hands on her bloody middle, but she grabbed my arm.

"No… don't it's okay." She breathed shallowly. I shook my head, frantically. And Lars, who I could still not look at, pushed her hand away.

"Shut up, Mila!" he said, urging me to go on.

"No, no," she pleaded, but I didn't listen. "I want to die like this…"

"There's no time, shut up!" Lars said, looking past us for oncoming danger. His voice was hoarse, tired, young. My hands were wet with blood as I reached both through the armor into Mila, and through my skin into Kynareth, so I could join the two together.

Mila cried when it was over, but she swallowed the potion nonetheless. Lars helped her up, and grabbed her helm.

"Put it on," he ordered her. She did so blankly, and I looked at Lars then. He took me in for a moment. His jaw was clenched, his face red from blood and blood.

"Why are you here, what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm a healer," I almost whispered. I found myself doubting why I had come, not for the first time. Who could want me now? I wondered. I was a murderer. Was I just like my mother now? Was Kust right—was that what I had really wanted? I felt bile and tears rise, but I blinked and I swallowed, and I refused to agree.

Lars looked like there was a knot twisting inside of him, tightening, burning. I wondered what he was feeling. Battle fury, perhaps: the bloody drunkenness of steel in one's hands and the song of metal on metal screeching in the ash-filled, bloody air. Or maybe he was sad and disgusted, like I was. Maybe he swallowed vomit and tears, and he very much wanted to go home too—but also wanted to finish, to win, to win. That was hard for me to believe, though. He had been in more battles than I could count. Limbs and blood and gore were the common landscape that he knew and understood. The battleground was his balcony, his homestead, his prison. I wondered how long it had taken for him to stop crying and stop being sick at the sight of death and failure. Is that bravery?

More likely he was angry with me, for disrupting this madness which came with the promise of future peace. He was angry because I was just another who went off to war.

"Stop, leave," he pleaded. There was a moment of nothing before I turned around and another cried out not far. I ran towards the cry, and left Lars unanswered. My heart soared and deflated and so sadly, I wondered if anything, or anyone in this world could really make me strong. I wondered so sadly, so softly, if it was ever possible to make me brave.

I couldn't ignore all the pieces of once-been people all around me, even as I forced myself to fix my gaze, my concentration, and my focus on the man in red and brown who had fallen and screamed. It seemed as though all the dead people in the Grey Quarter had been replaced, since already just as many duelists had appeared to fight on top of the corpses. I had never smelled so much blood and iron and rot. It took everything I had inside of me not to cry and vomit, but somehow through the clashing of swords and the storm of mad men, I made it to the fallen Imperial without doing either.

Before long, that man was healed and fighting and dead. Then not long after that, another fell, and another returned to battle, and another died. Some of the next soldiers did not even have the chance to return to battle, and I had to say a prayer for them. Some lived long enough that I did not see them die, but some others were killed right before my eyes.

It seemed like a million years counted in bodies before the Grey Quarter seemed empty of soldiers and massed with bodies. I did vomit, when I was alone save the few who lay not dead but twisting, shaking, crying, dying.

I did not know what to do next until I heard the great call of a man. "Move up, to the Palace of Kings!"

I ran out of the quarter, and I saw soldiers—Imperial soldiers, running north. I followed, running to join with another in mage robes. "Have—have we won?" I asked the healer as we ran. Her hands, like mine, were covered in blood and filth. I couldn't see her face, and I could not help but wonder if she was like me: lost and disgusted, or like Lars: war-hardened and furious.

"We—we've won," she gulped. When the crowd of soldiers stopped, she began to push her way through the crowd. I followed. We reached the front before long, and I saw that we were surrounding some Imperial men and one final Stormcloak kneeling before them. The old Imperial must have said something then. What he said, I didn't hear, or I can't remember. He brought his greatsword up and when he brought it down there was blood and ooze and the Stormcloak's head rolled before his falling body. A song buzzed loudly in my head as the cheers roared around me and I let go of that bile and those tears which I had fought so hard to hold back.

Oh! There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red!

Later the soldiers returned to the camps to celebrate. I would have stayed there for longer, but as the citizens began to emerge from the safety of their homes, I felt a hand wrap around my arm. I turned to find its owner. Lars' face was covered in blood and dirt, but altogether, he looked intact. "C'mon, let's get out of here," he said. He looked tired, and scared. I nodded, and let him lead me through the city. We talked very little, but when we did, he spoke softly, and kindly.

When we got to the tents posted outside the city, Lars was called to celebrate with his comrades. He looked reluctant to leave me, but I was called to the medical tent, and he let go of my arm.

"What will you do now?" he asked.

"Go home, I guess," I said, lacing my fingers together. "I'm tired." He nodded, and began to go, but my breath hitched, and my heart thumped and I almost reached out and grabbed him. Instead, I found myself calling, "What about you? Where are you going now?"

"Home," he said. "Whiterun… where else?" Perhaps he thought I would give him an answer, perhaps he thought I had come here to find him, to save him, to bring him home and give him love after the long war. But that's not why I came, and those were not things I could offer, not now anyway. Maybe he wanted it though, maybe he hoped for it. Maybe I did too. But there were dying soldiers I needed to heal, a man I needed to marry, and bastards I needed to return to.

Still, my heart beat hard and rapidly, despite my knowing it should not. For a moment, I hoped vainly that it was the same heartbeat rhythm of a warrior in the fury of war. But I knew that it was not. It was the heartbeat of a rich girl who had found a simple love in a complex boy. It was the heartbeat of a girl who was no longer allowed to exist.

I swallowed, and I nodded and I went to save soldiers, then I went home, wondering what had changed, wondering if finally I was brave.

I returned home the afternoon of the 17th of Second Seed. My children greeted me with a hug and a kiss. Kust kissed me too, but my heart fluttered nervously. He did not smile, or look relieved. His face was devoid of emotion.

"Let's take a boat ride," he said. I nodded, and followed him out to the little dock, taking his hand while I climbed in. I still wore my riding clothes, and felt grimy. I doubted I would ever feel clean again anyway, so I ignored it.

Kust paddled us out into the middle of the lake, and neither of us said anything, when he put up the paddle, and let us float, I broke the silence.

"How were the kids?"

"Fine," he said. "They missed you, naturally." I nodded, and a waft of sadness drifted through me. It felt strange, to be home. I had been in Windhelm for so little time, and on the road for the majority of the time I'd been away, but somehow I felt as though I'd left part of myself there. I'm a murderer, I remembered. Can Kust still love a murderer? I felt as though I should tell him, as if I didn't, it would be a secret that would weigh me down and kill me in return. But I was frightened. What if he stood in that graveyard and wondered if that man I stabbed would be buried there soon. What if he asked me that man's name, or the colour of his eyes? What if he knew that it was too easy for me, that it should have been harder, that I should have died instead of killed? Is that bravery? "I missed you," he said finally. I blinked, my heart stopped. Maybe he did love me still.

"I—I have something to tell you," I said. I gulped, and looked down at the water. The lake was still, and the surface looked like a smooth plane of molten silver. "I killed someone."

"That tends to happen during battles," said Kust, reaching in to run his fingers through the water. The surface rippled, ever so gently, but I still thought it was a shame.

"But," I said, watching as the water dripped from his fingers. "Doesn't that make me a murderer?"

"I guess so," he said. I looked at him now.

"My mom was a murderer," I said simply. "Do you think she ever felt like this?"

"Like what?"

"Like… dirty I guess. I feel like a thief…" I confessed.

"She was that too," he said, smiling faintly. It was a joke, I knew, but I didn't laugh.

"It's like I stole his life… it wasn't mine to take. I didn't even know his name; I didn't hear his last words."

"I guess it's better that you feel like this. Soldiers kill and don't feel it, at least you're not like that," he said. He seemed so relaxed, but it only made me more anxious.

"But, how can you even look at me the same way? How can my—"

"I don't… look at you the same way. I can't," he explained. I felt my heart drop; I felt it crash to the floor. My throat hitched, and I couldn't help but let a sob escape me. He looked at me, straight in the eyes, and I wondered why any of this was fair.

"Do you still love me?" I had to ask, my hands knotted together. They were sweaty, and my whole body radiated in heat.

"It's not like that," he said, his eyes still boring into me. "Things are just different now."

"It's been three days," I reasoned. "It's not so different. I'm still me, I'm still Loralei."

"Stop it." He sighed. I wondered why this seemed like it was nothing for him. Wasn't he supposed to be angry or sad or frustrated? Wasn't he supposed to want me, to fight for us?

"What does this mean?" I asked, even though I was frightened of the truth I already knew. Perhaps I just wanted to hear him say it, so it was his fault, his doing, him.

But he didn't say anything, because both of us knew it was my fault, my doing, me.

I cried then, I sobbed, and I screamed, and I begged, but because I am proud and rich and broken, and I could remembered all the things that had crushed me to pieces, I didn't apologise.

At first I had felt alone, but then my bastard boy brought me a flower, and my bastard girl braided my hair, and finally my lovely Runa made me stew, and then I was okay again. I was a murderer, I was alone, and I was broken, but somehow I was okay.

The rest of the fall passed with the peace that had been promised in the New Year, and on the last day of the year, while the graves and dead people were left in the dark, I watched Runa marry a boy she loved, so simply. And at midnight, with a flush in our cheeks and a great love in our hearts, Runa and I danced, singing that strange song of death and war and stupid boys, that song which had always, and would always, hold our great love together.

Author's Note: Wow, it's so weird to think there is only one chapter left. There's a strange relief and sadness to finishing this story. Please tell me what you think or wish me good luck or whatever. All your support over the last year and a bit (or less) has been my drive. Thanks for r&r. This chapter has about 7.5k words. 14/15

P.S. Happy Easter or whatever holidays or events worth celebrating!

Published on 05/04/2015

Edited on 16/07/2015