When Vilkas finally found her two weeks later, it was by accident.

He'd been roaming Skyrim, following Dagny, or really, following stories of her. As near as he had been able to tell, she was currently in Solitude, and he was about a day and a half behind her. He hoped to catch up with her before she moved on, but it was hard to predict. She spent a day or two in some places, but once in a while, she would spend weeks helping people with small issues.

It was late in the evening, on the road between Markarth and Solitude, and the sun was just disappearing behind the mountains when he saw the lone rider ahead. At first he thought nothing of it; more often than not, lone riders were mercenaries, and were on a mission of some sort or another. But then they got closer, and he recognized the war-axe strapped to the rider's pommel.

"Dagny," he breathed, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He had missed her, and she didn't even have the decency to answer his letters. He was simultaneously furious, and relieved.

He knew the moment she recognized him, because she drew up short. Her horse unhappily tossed its head and stomped, but stayed where it had been stopped. Dagny was frozen, her skin suddenly pale as she stared down the road at Vilkas.

He didn't move. Didn't dare to. If he wasn't careful, he was sure she would run, and then he would be chasing someone who was aware he was after them; thus far he'd been lucky. She had been easy to track because she was not actively avoiding him. If he were not careful, that could all change.

He saw the moment she decided not to run, and suddenly he found he could breathe again.

"Vilkas," Dagny said, dismounting and leading her horse toward him. "What a… surprise."

He had hoped to see her smile, had hoped at least a semi-cordial greeting, but she was stilted and withdrawn. His heart sank. After all this, she looked as if she wished he were anywhere but here.

"Dagny," He nodded, his features schooled to impassivity. He knew he had to be careful; he did not want to send her running again. "Did you get my letters?"

"Letters?" The innocence in her voice was too deliberate, her expression too carefully calculated. He saw right through it, but it left him perhaps more puzzled than he would have been otherwise.

If she had received and read the letters—and he knew she had at least received them—then she would either reject him, or she would feel the same. He couldn't think of why she would pretend she hadn't gotten them unless she was trying to spare his feelings? Or perhaps she had not read them due to some circumstance?

"Ah," He finally said, nodding as though this made sense to him. "Perhaps we can eat together then, and talk a bit. I have some matters I wish to discuss with you."

She gnawed on her lower lip, and seemed to think about his offer much longer than something like this warranted.

"Alright," she said finally.

He knew the worst was yet to come, but he couldn't help feeling incredibly relieved.