So Braith is a redguard? The daughter of Amren and Saffir? I really wish Bethesda could have differentiated the Skyrim children a bit more. I wanted to adopt a little Khajiti kitten! Anyhoo, hope you enjoy; a review would be almost as fabulous as you. Oh and repetitive swearing. There. I warned you.

An enormous room. Grand, if a little ostentatious, and cavernous enough to put Dragonsreach to shame. An enormous, oval-shaped room, with a traditional stone floor, seeming colder, even bigger without any inhabitants. Mila Valentia had never seen something like it in all her life, nor ever read of such a place in any book. The floor was carpeted with thick, luxurious fabrics of vivid orange-red and dull purplish hues. She looked left and rightwards and spied an ornate throne that matched the strange carpets and seemed to loom towards them. It was set in a root that was laden with mushrooms and emanated a strange, throbbing aura.

"I have a feeling we're not in Skyrim anymore..." Mila found herself muttering aloud. "...Kodlak?"

"She- she did it!" her little brother was moaning and panicking just behind her. His eyes were wide with astonishment and fear. "She actually did it! She wished us away! Amelie wished us away!"

"The story wasn't real, ice-brain," Mila rolled her eyes at him. "Weren't you listening? If Amelie'd managed to wish us away, then it would mean a Daedric Prince was in love with her. That would be crazy, right?"

Kodlak's lower lip pushed up slightly and he was looking more pathetic and scared by the moment. "Hush," Mila grabbed his hand and squeezed it. She may have been precocious and spoiled, but she did love her brother really. "Stay close to me, and I'll keep you safe." Kodlak nodded once, twice, three times more in rapid succession. "There has to be a reasonable explanation for this."

"Well, well," a nasally voice interrupted Mila's display of bravery, and ruined the moment. "If it isn't Mila and the milk-drinker."

Mila turned on her heel to face the interrupter with her meanest, haughtiest glare. It was a potent mixture of her mother and Amelie, and had the Wolf twins backing away back at Jorravskr (though Mila had yet to figure out whether they were mocking her, she was sure she was on to a good thing). Braith, horrid common girl, was staring at her. All of Mila's fear and curiosity was forgotten when she came face-to-face with her arch-nemesis, or as she liked to call her: the Skeever of Whiterun. Children have a strange way of forgetting important things like that.

"Oh look, Kodlak," Mila replied. "A baby haagraven!" In some ways Mila was grateful for Amelie's awful babysitting; it gave her access to lots of books young girls shouldn't be reading, and a wider range of ugly creatures to insult Braith with. Honestly, the horrid girl was just jealous because Lars played with her. Maybe if Braith was less of a bully. Oh, how irony is lost on spoiled young girls.

"Is this your doing?" Braith demanded. "Some stupid prank of yours?"

"I could ask you the same thing!" was Mila's incense retort. The two of them jumped when, suddenly, a good nine or ten children came into existence, seemingly from nowhere. And then more, until the room seemed positively crowded with them. Mila felt a sharp pain in her hand and realised that Kodlak was squeezing so tightly, she nearly couldn't feel her fingers. Carefully, she extricated her hand from his and allowed him to hang on to a bit of her skirt instead. Lars Battle-Born appeared at her other side with an identical expression of fear and curiosity.

"Something is very wrong here," a well-spoken girl, one Mila did not know, was saying- to herself, it seemed. She was a Breton, by the look of her and deathly pale as if her Ma never let her play outside. She looked towards the walls, where sconces held flames of alternating blue and orange. "We should not be here. None of us."

A circle of children was beginning to form, the sound they made a mixture of demanding questions, cries of "oooh!" and insults to friends and strangers alike. "Remove your hand from my person!" one of Jarl Baalgruf's daughters, whom Mila knew only by sight, was berating Lucia- an orphan girl who she sometimes played with. "None may touch the daughter of the Jarl!"

"I'll touch whatever I want, Miss Priss!" Lucia argued back and shoved the girl with a dirt-smeared hand as if to show her. Mila shuddered at the sight of the muddy hand; she hated unclean things. She always washed her hands before helping her Ma at the stall, and never trusted someone who had dirt under their fingernails. So, although a spoiled brat, Mila was also the sensible sort and thought to rouse her fellow children into one group and perchance go exploring.

"Alright!" she bellowed hotly. "Listen up! Who's in charge here!"

"Being a higher rank than- well- all of you," the Jarl's daughter replied first. "It's only fitting that I assume the mantle of leader."

"I'm a Jarl's child, too!" said another child, a boy. "Perhaps I should be the leader!"

"No! Me!"

"You? You couldn't lead your way out of sweet-shop!"

"Why would I lead us out of a sweet-shop? Obviously you're too stupid to be leader!"

"Yeah!"

"Nuh-uh!"

And so on and so forth went the argument, every child trying to shout over the other. Braith punched Lars, Mila punched Braith and one dirty orphaned boy threatened to have them assassinated. Apparently he knew how to do such things, and had done so before. Kodlak watched with wide green eyes, his thumb inadvertently finding its way to his mouth. He did not try to suggest himself as the leader, being easily the youngest by six years. Yes, much too young for that sort of funny business. He was reassured by the arguing. Surely none of them would be so stupid as to argue if they were all in danger, right? He wished his Pa or Amelie were with him. They had that hero's way of always knowing what to do. Not Amelie, he told himself and pouted firmly. His chest hurt whenever he thought about how she must have wished them all away. What other logical explanation was there?

He had let go of Mila as soon as she had lunged for Braith in a bid to claim leadership. Kodlak found himself backing further and further away from the fight so as to not get hit. He remembered the way his Pa liked to dodge and back away in fights and how it annoyed Uncle Vilkas to no end. Kodlak thought hard for a moment when he thought of his Pa. He did not miss him yet, but was sure he would begin to, if they didn't get back soon. Could anyone have wished them away? Would either Ma or Pa want to wish him away? Kodlak squashed the thought as simply preposterous as turned his large eyes to the end of the room where the throne was- he wanted to sit down and think on the business. Maybe when the leader was selected, he could advise them. Probably not. As the youngest child in Whiterun he was used to getting the short end of the stick in games and had no expectation.

But the throne was no longer empty, but occupied. On the throne was a man, or more accurately, a God. Kodlak felt sure he'd know what was going on, and although Ma had told him never to talk to strangers he also felt that situation warranted a different strategy. The apparition noticed him immediately as he approached and one corner of its mouth quirked upwards in bemusement.

"Are you a midget?" it asked as soon as Kodlak was within hearing distance. "Or a child?"

Kodlak frowned, and thought hard. "Child," he said at last. The figure sagged with almost comical relief.

"Thank Me for that! I wasn't sure if I'd gotten the words right," he told the little boy, conspiratorially. "And are you all children? No midgets?"

"No midgets," was Kodlak's solemn reply. "Quite sure, sir."

"Oh aye?" the strange, white-haired, white-eyed man leaned forwards and grinned. "And what is it those baby mortals are in such a tizzy about, lad?"

"Oh them?" Kodlak pulled his thumb out of his mouth to answer. "They're trying to decide on a leader."

"A leader?" The man threw himself upwards so he stood and his voice boomed and echoed off the walls. The group of fighting girls and boys fell silent as the strange white-haired man began to stalk towards them. "Traitors! Heathens! Usurpers of my throne! I should have all of you chained up and beheaded for your treason!" he suddenly turned and smiled kindly at Kodlak. "Except for you, baby mortal. You can stay here."

"Er... fanks." Lisped Kodlak, hesitantly.

"All adventurers need a leader," a girl piped up from the back of the group. "In every book, there's already a leader."

"You've already got a leader, lass!" the man doffed an imaginary hat to her and threw his head back to laugh. "Me! No ifs or buts! I'll send you off to bed with a switching and no supper- not a bite of anything I tell you!"

"Ah," the man wiped a tear from his eye. "I could be such a proud father."

"Can I be your advisor?" Kodlak asked quickly, wanting to get into the position before anyone else could claim it. "Every leader needs an advisor! I'm awful good with advice!"

"I've already got an advisor," the man told him, snootily. Kodlak told him that one could never have enough advisors and was hired on the spot. The two of them had taken a shine to each other already, much to the disagreement and jealousy of Braith who liked to be the advisor so she could boss people about.

"And just who are you?" she demanded fiercely, her eyes fixed him with a challenging stare. There were murmurs of the question repeated and rippling through the group. All but one silent girl repeated it with a curious look. She already knew who he was and was struck silent with discomfort and fear. Her name was Babette and she was not actually a child, but a vampire stuck forever in a little girl's body and knew far more than any other son or daughter in the room.

The man puffed his chest impressively, teeth white, eyes wild and bowed low all pomp and charm. "Sheogorath!" He declared, letting his voice echo through the room. "Daedric Prince of Madness! Lord of the Shivering Isles!"

The children stared. The Mad God smiled.

"Charmed!"

Seconds after the high, piercing scream, Amelie was wrenching the front door open with one hand and summoning wickedly red flame from the other. She was rarely relaxed anyway, but the switch from her 'relaxed' to adrenaline-fuelled dragonslayer was lightening fast and unmissable. She had received little oppurtunity for adventure in the past several months. Baby-sitting didn't count. That was a nightmare, not an adventure. Subtle difference. Since the resolving of the civil war, a significant number of soldiers, surviving Stormcloaks and Imperial both, had taken up the sorts of jobs that Amelie would wander around doing. Mines and forts were cleared out, without her help these days, and sellswords practically swarmed some cities, such as Markarth. Even Bjorn had been a soldier in the Imperial army, before he had become the Harbinger and their newest Companion had been one also.

In any case the whole damned thing meant less work for her, the original wanderer of Skyrim! She should have had the job copyrighted. Now there were other people solving her mysteries, slaying her dragons even! Going wherever the roads took them, as Amelie had always done! With the debacle at the College of Winterhold also resolved and the World-Eater gone, Amelie found not much use for any of her talents past a little tutoring to travellers. Oh and brat-uh-babysitting. So, she was indecently ecstatic that Something Bad was happening in Whiterun. Something was finally happening in Whiterun! Nothing had Happened since she'd trapped Odahviing. She was overjoyed.

But totally super-serious, too.

"What's happening?" she demanded, kicking her front door shut behind her; the flair for dramatics was manifesting itself again. "Thief? Dragon? Oh please say it's a dragon!" she strained her ears for the familiar sounds of screeches and roars. Bjorn was kneeling on the floor, looking at something, whilst Vilkas had his sword drawn and raised in a defensive position. Carlotta stood behind them with the back of her hand pressed against her mouth in distress. Strange little sobs were coming from way inside her throat, and the other hand twitched and flailed at her side in panic. Amelie felt a funny sense of guilt and foreboding tingle through her body like three Cliff-Racers and a spiced wine all at once.

She dared to ask. "Bjorn? Vilkas?" and the foreboding feeling intensified. "Where... Where are Mila and Kodlak?"

"They just... They just..." Carlotta's voice was a strangled choke that tapered off at the end. Oh shit.

"They just disappeared!" Vilkas finished in a guttural growl. "Right before our eyes! But how? And why?"

Oh shit, oh shit.

Bjorn's expression was one that Amelie only used when fighting Blood Dragons or if her impressive collection of enchanted weaponry was being threatened. It was a mixture of paternal love and cold promise. He stood up, something clutched in his hands whilst his eyes swivelled left and right and his nostrils flared as if scenting for something. Amelie realised what it was. Her ebony dagger. The children had been gone- wished away, she was sure of it- but the dagger had been left behind. Bjorn's fingers- quite capable of snapping her delicate Breton neck- were clenched around its hilt. And, if some far-fetched conjecture and supposition could be relied upon then Amelie was quite sure the man was a werewolf. And his children were missing. And it was entirely her fault. And all she could think was:

...shitshitshitshitshit...oh shit, oh shit...

She felt like she hadn't panicked so much since the memorable gate-crashing at the Thalmor Embassy, or perhaps even her final stand-off with Alduin. She tried very hard not to hyperventilate, very, very hard- but Carlotta was crying in the background and Vilkas was swearing up and down that he'd find the little ones. Scariest of all was Bjorn with her dagger inches away from his face and the way he breathed in deeply, as if searching for a scent.

"That's an enchanted blade!" Amelie blurted out in a blind panic. She rushed forwards and found it easily passed into her hands from Bjorn's. He trusted her opinion she realised, sick with guilt. Perhaps she could find a way to sort it out in time, but time was exactly what she needed right now. She could not rectify her mistakes if she was thrown into the Dragonsreach Dungeon. And so, the only conceivable way forwards was to (sort-of) lie.

"Do you see the way the blade gleams ever so slightly?" she murmured in a low, strained voice. As if responding to her words the edge of the blade glinted a dull, ominous red. "I'd wager that's an offensive enchantment. Fire perhaps, or... to absorb health." She fought to keep her voice neutral, knowing that there wast he distinct possibility that Bjorn think her erratic heartbeat was caused by more than the disappearance of his children.

"Silver-Hand?" Vilkas offered up a suggestion.

"None left." Bjorn growled. Amelie swallowed but it felt like there was sand in her throat. And this was why everyone said: "Don't cavort with Daedra. Shit gets real, fast." Okay, so they didn't say it like that, but Amelie was sure that was the gist of it.

"No scent," Bjorn had continued. "Only Mila's..." he turned so suddenly to Amelie that she almost shrieked like the guilty criminal she was. "Another enchantment?" was all the Harbinger asked.

"Some Illusion magics could... in theory... scramble a scent," Amelie resumed her sort-of lying. "I've never tried."

"Have we had any jobs that could anger someone so powerful?" Vilkas was saying. "A blade like that, doesn't belong to a common thug."

Their suppositions were interrupted by shouts coming from further North of the hold. All four of them snapped their heads towards Dragonsreach where the stampeding of armor-clad feet could be heard along with yells and commands. A large group of Whiterun guards suddenly swerved into view, surprisingly quick. One at the front, the leader of the guard- a name Amelie had never cared to remember- was shouting.

"To arms! To arms! The Jarl calls for aid from the good citizen's of Whiterun!"

"Guard!" Bjorn shouted to him. "What's going on?"

"Harbinger!" he replied, "and Dragonborn. It's the Jarl's children, they've disappeared! Into thin air you'd think, from the way the nanny told it."

"Our children, too!" Carlotta wailed, suddenly, eyes bulging. "That cannot be a coincidence!"

"Yet, I cannot see a connection," Vilkas concluded, his dark gaze suddenly fixed to the horizon. "But we should sweep the surrounding area. They can't have gotten far. Amelie, you come with me. You, go with the Harbinger."

"Carlotta, get inside," Bjorn told his wife. "I'm sure Amelie wouldn't begrudge you the use of her home."

"N-no," said Amelie, faintly. She was being led in the direction of Whiterun's main gates, and everything was happening so quickly-

"Dragonborn," the guard said. "I hope you're as good at finding children as you are at slaying beasts."

Shit.

So that's that. Not as long as the first chapter, but hopefully not too short. Hopefully, enjoyable too. Also, I'd like to make a quick announcement so- hmm- skip if you dislike authors notes and announcements. But tell me if you enjoyed it!

Sooo... I'm writing another Skyrim fanfiction. It's huge- incorporates Stormcloaks, Dark Brotherhood, Thieves, Thalmor, Dragonborn and Daedra. Sort of tumbled out after I finished re-reading the Game of Thrones books. It has multiple criss-crossing story-threads and multiple protagonists: Khajit brothers, a thief, an assassin, the Dragonborn, plotting Thalmors and underground anti-Thalmor revolutionaries. And spies and plots and conspiracies and all that kind of beef: seriously, I felt like Mephala writing it... just with less arms and all that... Anyway cutting to the chase: would you read such a thing? would you... CO-WRITE? Or, have you read this and thought that you have a totally awesome, three-dimensional character that I could use in it? PM/leave a message in the review to let me know, sweetlings. That would be cool.

Ta for reading, have a beautiful day!