The Last and Greatest

Serana had put her foot down and refused to let them stop by Whiterun again, instead directing the carriage straight through to Riften. Desmond spent the ride there and the walk to Fort Dawnguard trying to familiarize himself with how standard bows worked, only to fall miserably short—he'd run out of wooden arrows to practice with after he kept shooting them out into the wilderness. He had a quiver of Gelebor's sunhallowed arrows and Auriel's Bow, and was too nervous to use either.

Isran was waiting in the main hall when Desmond and Serana returned. "The bow. You have Auriel's Bow," he said, staring incredulously at the bow in Desmond's hand. "I've heard it described in tales, but could never have imagined its beauty."

"You can count on us to get everything you need," Desmond said. "Anyway, we need help."

"Indeed." Isran straightened back up, looking over his shoulder at the smattering of others who had heard them return. "The day hasn't been won while Harkon still walks Tamriel. But what of Serana?"

Desmond frowned, feeling Serana's stare burning into the back of his head as Isran pulled him into a huddle away from her. "What about her?"

"Can she be trusted to lift a blade against her own kind?" Isran asked quietly. "Her own family?"

"I trust her to do the right thing," Desmond told him, filling with pride and excitement: this had to be the first time Isran had referred to Serana without calling her it. "And I hope you can trust me on that."

"I suppose that's as much as I can hope for." Isran released him, turning back to the rest of the fort. "Let me address the Dawnguard and then we'll be off. The men deserve to know that we've finally gained the upper hand."

Desmond leaned back against the crates, watching Isran round everyone up. "Everyone, gather round! Come on, then, we haven't got all day!"

Serana leaned on the crates beside Desmond, leaning over to whisper to him. "Do you really think we have the upper hand?" she asked.

He shrugged. "At least we know Harkon doesn't have it."

"That's as good as it gets, isn't it?"

"Not unless you want it," he offered. Serana shook her head.

"For too long, we've allowed these vampires to poison the night and kill our people!" Isran shouted over the crowded hall. The entirety of the Dawnguard's ranks had assembled, filling the hall with sounds of clanking armor and shuffling feet. "Now we finally have the means to strike back! We now have Auriel's Bow!"

Isran and the rest of the hall looked at him. Caught off-guard, Desmond nodded, awkwardly raising Auriel's Bow as the hall filled with whispers.

"The gods themselves have favored us, and we must answer with action!" Isran went on. "The time has come to finally put an end to Harkon and his unholy prophecy! We will march on their lair and destroy those wretched abominations so they can no longer corrupt our world! This is our fight and this is our fate! This is the time of the Dawnguard!"

Raucous cheering, shouts, and applause. The Dawnguard drew their weapons, heartened. Meanwhile, the speech had had the opposite effect on Desmond and Serana—they both fidgeted uncomfortably and did not join in.

"This is it! The prophecy is no more!"

More cheers. The Dawnguard was ready for war, heading out into the courtyard. Isran stayed behind, an enormous grin on his grizzled face. Desmond pushed off from the crates, hearing the stomping of trolls from somewhere inside the fort as Gunmar herded them out.

"What now?" he asked.

"It's time we take the fight to their door," Isran said. "We meet outside Castle Volkihar."

"Our sense of what's right is what separates us from the vampires," Gunmar added as he followed Isran out, wrangling a few of his armored trolls. "Don't forget that."

Desmond watched as Isran and Gunmar, armored trolls in tow, marched out the door with the rest of the fighters. He and Serana lingered behind in the empty fort.

"So—"

"I don't like this." Desmond scuffed his shoe on the ground, bothered. "It's not—I mean—"

"It's fine."

"It's not fine." Desmond fussed with Auriel's Bow, not entirely sure what to do with it or how to carry it. "Wretched abomination isn't—"

"It's fine," Serana insisted. "I know what he meant."

"I do too, but that's not—"

"Forget it." She shook her head. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't have to be used to it."

Serana cracked a small, rather uncomfortable smile. "It comes with the territory... but I'm glad you think that."

Desmond sighed. "Are you ready for this?"

"I don't think you can ever be ready to kill your parent." She shifted uneasily on her feet. "I'm doing my best not to think of him as my father anymore."

"You can come share Martin with me," Desmond offered. Serana laughed. "Just... let me know if you need anything, ok?"

"We've got enough to worry about right now." Serana led the way out the door, holding it open for him to follow her out. "You stay focused and I'll worry about me. I'll be fine."

Midmorning at Castle Volkihar was cloudy and chill. The bridge was mostly deserted. Desmond looked up, searching for the sun. It was partly hidden behind clouds.

"Think you can hit it?" Serana asked nervously.

"No."

"I appreciate the honesty, but—"

"Are you ready?" Sorine interrupted. Desmond shot her a withering glance.

"No."

"They're not gonna wait forever," Serana pointed out. The bridge was silent, but not deserted. Stone gargoyles lined the path into the castle—the moment the Dawnguard set foot on it, they were bound to be ambushed. And if the Volkihar came out to meet them here...

"What do you think?" Desmond asked Serana.

"Let's just go."

He nodded resolutely and fell into place beside Isran, setting back his shoulders and walking confidently onto the bridge.

Gargoygles burst to life, screeches and roars shredding the tense silence and summoning the rest of the Volkihar. Desmond heard Gunmar's troll howl and throw something (hopefully something, and not someone), yelling from the Dawnguard and shouts from inside the castle.

"For the Dawnguard," Isran announced. "For Skyrim!"

Desmond favored his crossbow, teaming up with a much-improved Agmaer to take down a stone gargoyle. "Nice work!" he shouted over the noise.

Agmaer's response was lost in the noise. Serana had gone sprinting back across the bridge, a pair of death hounds and a Volkihar wizard on her tail. Desmond fired bolts on the hounds, sending them careening over the sides of the bridge.

"You ever gonna use that thing?" Serana shot at him, lobbing a fireball into the wizard's face.

"Not if—"

"Stop making excuses!"

Trepidatious all the same, Desmond drew one of Gelebor's golden arrows in Auriel's Bow. He looked up in the sky for the sun again, and received a stone fist in the gut for his inattention. He slammed back against the railing, the gargoyle glaring down at him, wings outstretched. Desmond fired, the golden arrow landing off-center in the gargoyle's stomach.

The gargoyle exploded in a blast of fiery light, clearing a path on the bridge.

"Find all of them!" Celann hollered. "Don't let any of them get away!"

"Destroy every last one of them!" Durak shouted, tossing Serana a crossbow. She caught it, confused.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Trade you," Desmond suggested again. She scowled at him, launching an icicle into an advancing gargoyle's chest. Desmond tried Auriel's Bow again, this time firing up into the sky at the sun.

For a moment, he thought he'd missed. After all, there was plenty of precedent for that. But, after a moment of confusion and a nonplussed shrug at Serana, the clouds seemed to explode. The sun sent out a burst of bright light, sunbeams raining down on the bridge and all around Castle Volkihar. Whoops and hollers rang out across the bridge as the vampires ran for cover.

Florentius seized the back of Serana's cape and dragged her along, out of the way and into shelter beneath the stone archway as the sunbeams pelted down on every vampire in sight. Desmond followed at a sprint, narrowly dodging another gargoyle's fist as he did.

"Sera, I'm sorry, I didn't think it'd be that bad—"

"It's Auriel's Bow, of course it's that bad," Serana snapped, throwing Durak's crossbow back over her shoulder and tossing an icicle back with it.

Florentius threw up a ward spell as a lightning bolt headed for them. "Arkay and I will take care of the little ones," he assured them. "You find the leader!"

"Leave no vampire in one piece!" Gunmar shouted at them.

"Come on!" Serana kicked open the doors to Castle Volkihar, flames in hand. "This way!"

Desmond followed her through the castle, firing on any Volkihar in his path. Guttural roars told him that a troll had followed them in, ripping apart the grandiose halls of Castle Volkihar and helping to clear the room. Serana led him to a barred door, shoving it open.

"In here!"

Desmond barreled through the door, Auriel's Bow at the ready. Harkon was already waiting, hovering just above the ground in a ruined, broken throne room.

"Serana, my darling," he cooed, "I see you still favor keeping a pet."

"Rude," Desmond snapped.

"You know why we're here," Serana said.

Harkon bowed his horned head in a gesture both polite and patronizing. "Of course I do. You disappoint me, Serana. You've taken everything I provided for you and thrown it all away for this..." Harkon scowled at Desmond. "Pathetic being."

"Rude."

"Provided for me?" Serana demanded, stepping between Desmond and Harkon. "Are you insane? You've destroyed our family, you've killed other vampires, all over some prophecy that we barely understand! No more, I'm done with you," she announced, drawing her dagger. "You will not touch him!"

"So, I see this dragon has fangs." Harkon's eyes narrowed into a glower, his fangs bared. "Your voice drips with the venom of your mother's influence. How alike you've become."

"No. Because unlike her, I'm not afraid of you," Serana said. "Not anymore."

Harkon waved a hand, disregarding his daughter and turning his ire to Desmond. "And you! It appears I have you to thank for turning my daughter against me."

Desmond bowed, similarly civil and mocking. "My pleasure."

"I knew it was only a matter of time before she'd return with hatred in her heart."

"Hatred born of your neglect," Desmond corrected.

"A small price to pay for the betterment of our kind."

Desmond scowled at him. "Your kind is a blight on this world.

"Yes, yes, always the noble vampire hunter." Harkon's lips twisted into a wicked grin. "And what happens when you've slain me? Is Valerica next? Is Serana?"

"I'm only here to kill you."

Harkon laughed. "I see. Interesting that you can set aside your morals when it suits you."

Desmond drew another golden arrow, praying he could hit something. "This is about a lot more than killing vampires now."

"Ah. Of course." Harkon eyed the bow. "The prophecy. You've come here to stop me from taking Auriel's Bow and shrouding the world in darkness."

"This doesn't end until you are ash on the ground," Desmond said, aiming for what he hoped would be Harkon's head. "Enough of this."

"Yes quite, I'm growing weary of speaking to you and my traitorous daughter," Harkon snapped, shooting a glare at Serana. "I'll give you a single chance to turn over the bow to me. There will not be a second."

"You're gonna have to come and get it from me," Desmond dared.

Harkon's wings flew out from behind him. Desmond heard a burst of flames as Serana prepared herself as well. "Very well then, you leave me no choice!" Harkon roared. "I'll rend the flesh from your bones!"

Harkon suddenly vanished, a cloud of bats fluttering away. Desmond tracked them around the room, waiting for a chance. "I'd like to see you try!" he shouted. "I have survived dragons and daedra and bottles of mead worse than you!"

Harkon came back together at the top of a parapet. Desmond released an arrow as soon as he saw Harkon's mottled blue skin forming together from bat wings and screeches. The arrow glanced off the stone wall and crashed into a corner, a hail of sunbeams raining down to the ground.

"When I'm through with you, I'll rip the Dawnguard apart!" Harkon howled, flying down from the ledge with a sword in hand. Desmond fended him off with Auriel's Bow, struggling to nock another arrow. "First you die, then Serana suffers!"

"You know you can't win!" Desmond kicked Harkon away, haphazardly aiming and firing another golden arrow. It flew several feet above Harkon's head and collided with an inanimate stone gargoyle, tearing down half of the balcony in a mess of sunshine.

Serana ran for cover again, launching a fireball over Desmond's head at her father. "Would you at least hit him if you're gonna do that in here?" she snapped at him, hiding beneath a fallen column from the hail of sunbeams.

Desmond grumbled incoherently, watching the cloud of bats that had taken off again. Auriel's Bow was proving to be more trouble than it was worth. He twisted the ring on his finer, praying the last arrow would find its mark. The cloud of bats scattered, vanishing.

"You can't hide forever!" Serana hollered, whipping around and searching the room.

"This ends here!" Desmond scanned the upper balconies, watching for any signs of movement. The room was quiet and silent for a moment, Desmond and Serana coming together in the center of the room.

"Your blood will be mine."

Desmond saw him first. Harkon had reformed on the ground not ten paces away. He drew and fired, connecting at last with Harkon's leg. The room rocked as the arrow exploded into a burst of light, Harkon's yells of pain nearly drowned by the noise of the sunburst. Serana took shelter behind a column until the light faded. Harkon was downed on his knee.

"Go get him," Desmond said to Serana. Harkon scowled at him.

"No... Serana," Harkon wheezed. "Your own father..."

Serana did not bother to honor him with a response. She blasted Harkon with a burst of flames, lighting the rug and drapes behind him on fire as well. Harkon howled in pain, and finally burst into a pile of reddish ash, charred bat wings fluttering down to the floor.

Desmond approached the pile of ash, debating whether or not to set fire to it as well. Serana was staring down at the ash, her face impassive in the newly silent castle.

"So... What do you think?" he asked.

"Now that's done," Serana said, her voice equally stoic.

"What will you do now?"

"I'm not sure." She turned to sit on the stone steps, stamping out a smoldering corner of the rug before she did. "I'll probably stay with the Dawnguard for as long as they'll let me. They're respectable fighters, and I think they see the benefits of having me on their side now."

"Good." Desmond sat down with her, watching dust swirl in the dim light of the room. "They'd be stupid not to welcome you now."

"Of course, if you've got any more adventures planned..." She cast a sideways glance at him, the ghost of a grin on her face.

Desmond laughed. "I'd love to have you along."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

The door opened. Isran, battle-worn and cautious as ever, peeked into the room. He looked between the ash, Desmond, and Serana, and pushed the door fully open to enter. "So. The beast is destroyed," he said.

"Looks like it," Desmond said. "Dead as we can make him."

"It's over. He's dead and the prophecy dies with him," Isran said firmly.

"Yup," Serana said flatly.

To their great surprise, Isran knelt down to be eye level with them. He looked Serana dead in the eyes, something suspiciously close to concern on his face. "I... I suppose this is difficult for you," Isran said awkwardly.

"I think my father really died a long time ago. This was just... the end of something else," Serana said, nodding. "I did what needed to be done, nothing more."

"I think perhaps you did more than that." Isran stood up, clearly done being sentimental for the day. "You have my thanks."

Isran turned to leave. Desmond tossed Auriel's Bow onto the blackened rug, standing up as well.

"What are you doing?" Serana asked. "We can't leave that here."

"I don't want it," he said. "Can't shoot it straight even with help."

"We can't leave it here," she repeated, hesitant all the same even to touch it.

"What do we do with it, then?" Desmond bent down and picked it up, brushing reddish dust off of it.

"Keep it in Fort Dawnguard? I don't know." Serana pushed herself to her feet, tossing a last look back at the pile of dust and bat wings. "I don't really know what happens now."

Desmond shouldered Auriel's Bow, struck with an idea. "You remember how to get to your mother's study?"

"What? Are you certain?" Valerica looked genuinely stunned between the sight of Auriel's Bow and the news that the pair of them had brought to the Soul Cairn.

"I was there," Serana confirmed. "He's dead."

Valerica bowed her head, what looked to be a long-overdue smile spreading across her face. "Then I see nothing preventing my return to Tamriel. I'll head back to Castle Volkihar—and from the bottom of my heart, I thank you."

Desmond and Serana turned to leave, anxious as ever to leave the Soul Cairn.

"This is still creepy," Desmond breathed, pushing open the doors to the cathedral Valerica had called home for centuries. "I couldn't stand it here."

"Don't get yourself soul trapped, then," Serana warned.

Desmond froze in his tracks. The bony dragon was still perched on the stones outside, patiently watching and waiting for them. He swore. "I forgot about him."

"Me too."

"What d'you think he wants?"

"Go ask," Serana said, shrugging. "It doesn't look like he wants a fight."

Desmond approached him, cautious all the same. Durnehviir's eyes followed him, slowly blinking.

"Er... hello," Desmond said.

Durnehviir bowed his head. "We meet again."

"Why... why are you talking to me?" he asked.

"I believe in civility among seasoned warriors, and I find your ear worthy of my words," Durnehviir told him. "My claws have rendered the flesh of innumerable foes, but I have never once been felled on the field of battle."

"Wow, really?" Desmond asked.

Durnehviir inclined his head again. "I therefore honor-name you Qahnaarin, or Vanquisher in your tongue."

"Er." Desmond swallowed hard, not sure how to follow this up. Perhaps he should have paid more attention to how Martin and Paarthurnax talked. "Thanks. I found you worthy, too."

"Your words do me great honor." Was Durnehviir smiling? It was hard to tell with dragons, but having one sitting still was vastly different than seeing it roaring out streams of fire from several hundred feet in the air. "My desire to speak with you was born from the result of our battle, Qahnaarin. I merely wish to respectfully ask a favor of you."

"Favor?" Desmond shrugged. "What kind of favor could I do for you?"

"For countless years, I've roamed the Soul Cairn in unintended service to the Ideal Masters. Before this I roamed the skies above Tamriel. I desire to return there."

Desmond's heart sank. He cast a glance over at Serana, who shook her head just a fraction of an inch. "That's... I mean, what's stopping you?" he asked, not about to tell Durnehviir that he probably wouldn't fit in Valerica's study, even if they did manage to get him through the portal. "You're a dragon."

"I fear that my time here has taken its toll upon me," Durnehviir explained. "I share a bond with this dreaded place. If I ventured far from the Soul Cairn, my strength would begin to wane until I was no more."

"Oh." This was no less mystifying than the entire concept of the Soul Cairn was to Desmond. "So... how do I help?"

"I will place my name with you," Durnehviir told him. "And grant you the right to call my name from Tamriel. Do me this simple honor and I will fight at your side as your Grah-Zeymahzin, your ally, and teach you my thu'um."

Desmond felt the toe of Serana's boot on his heel. "What's he talking about?" she whispered. Desmond shook his head, thinking better of asking Durnehviir to spell that for him to write down.

"Just call your name in Tamriel?" he clarified. "That's it?"

"Trivial in your mind, perhaps. For me, it would mean a great deal," Durnehviir said. "I don't require an answer, Qahnaarin. Simply speak my name to the heavens when you feel like the time is right."

Remembering his failed attempt at Shouting the last time he had seen Durnehviir, Desmond shook his head. "No. I mean, I can't," he added quickly. "I don't have that—I mean, I know someone who—but I can't do that. You shouldn't, I'm not a qahnaarin or whatever—"

"In my language, the Qahnaarin is the Vanquisher, the one who has bested a fellow dovah in battle."

Stumped into silence, Desmond fell back against the stone walls of the cathedral. "Fellow dovah? No, no, you've got me wrong," he corrected. "I'm not a dragon or Dragonborn or any of that, that's not me."

Durnehviir blinked. "Forgive me. My instinct was to grant you this title. I am uncertain why. Perhaps one day, this will become clear to both of us. Perhaps there is more to you than you think, Qahnaarin."

"I'm confused," Serana said, speaking up at last. Desmond shook his head. "No, but Martin's—"

"I know."

"And you're not—"

"Not his son."

"But then—"

"I don't know," Desmond concluded. "And I mean, what'd be the point of me being...?" He broke off.

"Dragonborn?" Serana guessed.

"If I was," Desmond said quickly. "Which I'm not. I can't be."

"How do you know?"

"Because then what's the point of Martin?"

"I don't know. You never told me," she pointed out.

Dumbfounded, Desmond looked between her and Durnehviir. "Tell you what," he said at last, "why don't we head back to Fort Dawnguard and... I dunno, I'll tell you what I know."

She shrugged, inclining her head to the great dragon and leading the way down the path. "Just get me out of here and I'll be happy."

"Can you imagine it?" Dexion asked, bouncing happily on his chair. The blindfold was still tied around his eyes, but he seemed to be adjusting rather well. "A world without a sun? We all would have been doomed, vampires and men alike."

"Yeah, no kidding. Glad we dealt with that," Desmond said.

Fort Dawnguard was now a much more pleasant place to spend time. The vampire attacks had significantly lessened, freeing up most of the soldiers to properly unpack and outfit the fort. The crates in the front entryway were dwindling down as the crew went through everything and designated places, arranged, rearranged, and made the fort feel less like a dungeon and more like a home.

"If I may ask," Dexion said politely, "what do you plan to do with the Elder Scrolls now?"

Desmond shrugged, then remembered the the old man couldn't see. "I hadn't really thought about it," he said. "I've got no use for them, now."

"No? Well, I have an idea," Dexion said, a broad smile on his face. "I'd very much like to have those scrolls. Someday, I might be able to return them to their rightful place in the Imperial City. How would you feel about turning them over to me?"

Desmond crossed the room to the corner where the entire Dawnguard had dropped off their bags before heading to bed or to dinner. He found his bag and reached into it, pulling out one after the other until the old priest had Serana's and Valerica's scrolls. The Dragon scroll probably needed to go back to the College. "Sure, they're yours. Enjoy."

"Thank you!" Dexion's fingers ran over the smooth paper, and his face lit up even further. "You're too kind. This has certainly been quite the adventure, hasn't it?"

"What are you gonna do with that one?" Serana asked, looking over his shoulder.

"Maybe I can sell it back to that Orc," Desmond said.

"Don't hold out hope." She sat down at the table with him as Dexion got up to take the scrolls back to his room.

"I'll get something out of it, surely." Desmond downed the rest of the bowl of stew he'd been enjoying with Dexion. Warm food and a cheery fire made every evening better, he thought. "So. What now?" he asked. "I'm getting bored."

"I dunno."

They went quiet, both staring into the fire. With the threat of the Volkihar gone, there was a void that needed filling.

"Have you thought...?" Desmond broke off.

"What?" Serana asked.

"Have you thought about finding a cure for your vampirism?" he suggested delicately, still staring into the fire. He could almost hear her frowning.

"No... why?"

"Well, I mean." He turned to face her, constructing an argument. "Look what it did to your family. And you could be your own person again."

"It would be nice to not always be so thirsty," Serana admitted.

"If you want to look for a cure, I will absolutely support you."

Serana stood up from the table, stretching. "I think I will. I'll speak to Falion, I've heard he knows about these things."

"Great—"

"I'm going to go away for a while." Serana had crossed the dining hall to the corner full of bags, digging up her own. "I'll meet you back here when I'm done."

"Wha—but I want to go with you!" Desmond protested, jumping up with his own bag in hand.

"I know you do." Serana slung her bag over her shoulder, smiling kindly at him. "But this is something I need to do alone."

Desmond sighed, and hung his head. "Can I at least go with you to Riften?"

"What's in Riften?"

"Carriage to Whiterun," he said, shouldering his own bag. "Gonna go see a man about a dragon."

Desmond knocked on the door of the little house. No one was inside, he could already tell. A peek through the window confirmed his suspicions: nothing was inside the house but a book, lying on the table. A layer of dust had since accumulated on most of the furniture.

"Nothing again?"

He shook his head, turning back around. Desmond had taken up a new traveling partner, a mercenary out of Windhelm he'd met while asking around at the docks for any news of the Northern Maiden.

"Nah." Desmond came back down the hill towards Whiterun, Stenvar following along with him. "Maybe we should try again in a few weeks. He's still out, I guess."

"Still?" Stenvar frowned, suspicious. "How long was he gone before you met up with me?"

Desmond screwed up his face, thinking. "Month or two, maybe. It's hard to tell, it's been a while."

They fell silent. Stenvar produced a bounty letter from the Jarl of Whiterun about a bandit camp that needed taking care of, presumably to be sure they were heading in the same direction. He had been voyaging with Desmond for much longer than a month or two by now. Every few weeks or so, Desmond would insist on coming back to the empty house on the hill, peek in the window at the empty house, and suggest they try again later. He got the distinct feeling that Stenvar was not as hopeful as he was.

"Where to?" Desmond asked, trying to see over Stenvar's shoulder to look at the map.

"To the south. It's not too far, we can hole up in the Bannered Mare for a drink after. Or we could meet up with that smith you like so much," Stenvar prodded jokingly.

Desmond grinned. "I don't like her," he said, as he always did. "Besides, she's happily married."

"Yeah, well. Marriage isn't for everyone."

"I'm not gonna be a homewrecker in my Jarl's hold!" Desmond protested. "You know I don't like her."

"Then why have we been avoiding Riften?"

"...We're not avoiding Riften." They walked in silence for a while, Desmond pensive and Stenvar uneasy. Desmond fiddled with the straps on his bag, biting his tongue. "Do you think he's ok?" he said finally, unable to keep silent for long.

"Do I think...?" Stenvar was very good at keeping his face impassive. Desmond hated this. "I think he's the Dragonborn, he can handle himself."

"...Yeah. You're right."

Stenvar looked back at Desmond, and flashed him a smile. "You know how it is. He's probably caught up in something," Stenvar assured him. "I mean, when was the last time we went home?"

Desmond laughed. "Yeah. Candlehearth probably misses you."

"Dawnguard's probably wondering if you died."

"Nah. We still owe Serana a visit."

"Is she back?"

Desmond shrugged. "So I've heard. Sorine sent a letter a week or two ago, I wrote her back and said we'd come by."

"So... should we head there next?"

"We can. If you want," Desmond said decisively.

Stenvar hopped down a ledge, finding the path back to Whiterun. "Sure. It'd be nice to finally meet the rest of your family."

Desmond cast a heavy glance back up the hill at the empty house, and dropped down the ledge as well.

"How're the kids?"

Desmond leaned against the workbench, fussing with the fit of a helmet for Adrianne. Strands of silver had woven their way into his hair, lines from frowns and laughter both beginning to etch their ways onto his face. Summer had come again, bringing with it a wave of fresh young adventurers determined to set out on their own. They tended to be smaller than a soldier or a mercenary, and fitting them with armor proved to be challenging some years.

"They're all right," he said. "Vilmar's had another run-in with that mudcrab, keeps trying to bring it home and convince me to let him keep it."

"You won't let him?"

"No mudcrabs in the house!" Desmond said firmly. "No, no mudcrabs, no skeevers, no foxes, rabbits, none of that. We've got enough to deal with."

"That's right, I heard Bjanca got into a fight with the Jarl's kid."

Desmond laughed. "Not my favorite thing she's done."

"Really." Adrianne crossed her arms, leaning back against the beam supporting the awning. "I find that hard to believe. I thought you picked her because she liked to fight."

"We chose her because she's always been smart, capable, and I thought she'd be a good addition to the family," Desmond said honestly. "...I mean, I kind of wish she'd get out on her own and stop bothering her brother. Maybe I'll take her out to a bandit camp or something, get her adventuring."

Adrianne laughed, watching Desmond work over his shoulder. "You and your ragtag bunch of misfits."

"Happiest family you ever saw." Desmond held the helmet up to the light, squinting at it. "How's that?"

Adrianne took the helmet from him, checking the leatherwork. "Great as ever. Thanks for the help, my eyes aren't what they used to be."

"Anytime."

"Mr. Ice-Fist?"

Desmond rolled his eyes as the courier approached him. He straightened up from the workbench. "That hasn't been my name for a long time."

The courier cringed. "Right. Gods, I'm sorry, one of these days I'll get it right."

"It's fine." Desmond held out his hand for the letter. To his surprise, it was several letters and papers bundled together. He pulled out the one on top, breaking through the wax seal that held it closed. "Thanks."

"So what is it? Late birthday gift?" Adrianne asked as the courier ran off. All the blood drained from Desmond's face as he read, his expression growing steadily more uneasy. "Hey, what—"

"It's my dad."