"I saw you last night out on the edge of town. I wanna read your mind and know just what Ive got in this new thing I've found. So tell me what I see when I look in your eyes - Is that you baby or just a brilliant disguise?" –Bruce Springsteen

Vilkas sat on the roof of Jorrvaskr staring off into the darkness beyond the city walls. He was restless and the wolf was pacing in annoyance.

He'd started training Ria and the frustration was almost too much for him in his already irritated state. She was willing enough, but she'd rather have him show her things over and over again than try anything on her own. His mind wandered to his first day training Cyréne and a small smile played across his lips as he stared down into the training yard.

He hadn't let it show, but he was pleased with how well she did and impressed when she picked things up quickly and kept trying until she got it right. His brow furrowed. He'd spent today encouraging a disheartened Ria, but he couldn't remember ever offering Cyréne any praise.

The image of Cyréne's laughing face faded away from him suddenly. Instead he saw her holding her cheek with shock and fear in her eyes . . . and shame. His head dropped into his hands. He'd called her a whore. He hit her. If any other man had dared raise a hand to her or insult her like that, he would have damn near killed them. As soon as it happened he'd known he was too far gone. It felt like the wolf was going to tear a hole in his chest.

He heard the creak of boards as someone joined him on the roof. Farkas sat down beside him and handed him a bottle of mead. They drank in silence for a while.

"Talk to me," Farkas said finally.

Vilkas shook his head. "What's wrong with me?"

Farkas shrugged. "You think too much after you do things, and not enough before."

"I hit her."

Farkas looked over at him in surprise. "Why? I've seen you with her; you've never come close to losing your temper."

"She told me she was going to keep sleeping with him."

"That doesn't sound like something Cyréne would say to anyone, ever. Why did she say that to you?"

Vilkas sighed and told his brother the whole story. He looked over to see Farkas glaring at him in what he knew was anger and disappointment.

"She told you that she loved you?"

"Yes."

"And you accused her of being with me . . ."

"Well, I didn't really think that—"

"I should push you off the roof," Farkas grunted.

"Probably," Vilkas agreed.

Farkas looked off into the darkness for a moment. Vilkas could feel him thinking.

After a moment Farkas looked down at his mead bottle and spoke. "Did you enjoy hurting her? Did it feel . . . good?"

Vilkas sucked in a breath. "No it didn't feel good – why would you ask me that?"

"Why didn't you just stop, then?"

Vilkas looked over at him. "What?"

Farkas returned his gaze. "If you didn't like the way it felt, why didn't you just stop?"

"Just . . . stop?"

"Yes, Vilkas," Farkas said in frustration. "Just stop. Stop talking, stop thinking, stop lying, stop fucking women you don't want . . ."

Vilkas looked startled, as though the idea had never occurred to him. "I . . ."

"What are you so afraid of?"

Vilkas started to snap a reply at him, but Farkas stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm telling you, as your brother, that you need to fix this."

"And, if I can't?"

"Then you aren't trying hard enough."

Farkas put an arm over his brother's shoulders.

"I don't even know where to start . . ."

"That's an easy one," Farkas said, getting up. "You start by deciding what she's worth to you."

"What she's worth to me?"

"Yeah, is she worth more than your pride?"

Vilkas watched in stunned silence as his brother climbed down from the roof. Sometimes he thought his brother knew him better than he knew himself. Only Farkas could simplify something so much and have it make perfect sense. Vilkas wondered what it was like to not have to work to be honest with yourself.

"Don't stay out here all night," Farkas called.

Vilkas heard the doors on the porch open and shut. He looked up at the stars. The warrior caught his eye and he remembered pointing it out to Cyréne on their way back to Jorrvaskr the night they stayed at the Mare.

His thoughts wandered farther into that night. She'd been her playful sweet self through all of it. But, was that even her? She acted completely oblivious to the meaning of Yvette's words until she knew he was ready to talk about it. But how did she know I was ready, when I didn't even know?

Until she'd had that nightmare in front of him, it never occurred to him that she had a care in the world beyond whatever the two of them were doing at the moment. How could I have possibly missed that? He'd never asked her about her life, her history, her family. He realized now that she'd orchestrated it that way. The focus was always on him – his needs, his wants, his mood. She made his life easy and uncomplicated. Thinking back he started to see a pattern. She'd played him, and he ate it up. He just couldn't figure out why . . .

When she woke from her nightmare he'd honestly not known how to react. He didn't think about it – he just wanted to make it stop – so he held her. And then, on top of it all, she'd realized his arousal immediately and reacted to it, trying to give him what she thought he needed or wanted, even while she was hurting so much. It made him angry. How could I possibly love her? I don't even know who she is. Did she think so little of him, as to believe he would have . . . he groaned. Who are you, Cyréne? What are you?

His mind turned to their fight, and he realized why she seemed so out of character. He wasn't being rational, he'd never completely lost it in front of her and she couldn't figure out what he wanted from her. She'd tried everything to calm him down, and when nothing worked, she just reflected his emotions back at him. That final straw, when he'd pushed her over the edge was an emotion he recognized. It was fear – raw primal fear. It was the same fear that made cornered prey so vicious and an injured animal so dangerous.

He thought about Farkas's advice. How could he decide what she was worth to him, when she wasn't real? His Cyréne would have been worth everything to him, but she was just an illusion - a shallow illusion. That Cyréne would only ever be what he expected of her, and he wanted more. His heart wrenched when he thought about her with the Dragonborn. Who are you for him, Cyréne? What do you give him? What does he expect?

He sighed and tried to be fair. He pushed his emotions to the side and forgot about their fight for a moment. There was something about her that pulled him in, but she'd lied to him. He couldn't think of anything she had to gain by it, other than a feeling of safety – temporarily. But now, it was impossible to separate the illusion from reality. Did she really make stupid jokes all the time or was that invented for him? Did she train with him because she wanted to learn the weapons or because she was trying to get close to him? Did she want him that night at the Mare or was she just doing what she thought she was supposed to?

He took a deep breath and made his decision. Yes, he loved the Cyréne he knew. Yes, she was worth swallowing his pride. Yes, if he believed she was who she pretended to be he would do anything to get her back. But he didn't believe it, and he never would. So no matter what he felt, there was nothing for him to do. Except stop.

Cyréne's dreams were a whirl of confusion. She was walking down a road, alone, but she didn't know where she was supposed to be going – just that she had to walk. She tried to conjure Janus, but every time she cast she got something different. There was a wolf that lasted a few moments before exploding in a burst of flames, and then she'd get a dragon that shouted and drained her life forces before flying away. The next thing she cast was black and red nothingness that slammed over her face like a mask, after that she got a reflection of herself – she knew it was her, but she didn't recognize the reflection. The process repeated over and over again until she tried to conjure something and nothing came. Every mile or two, the weather would change like the seasons, from spring to summer to fall to winter. Friends would appear by her side for a moment, but when she turned to them they were gone. Some of them took things from her and some of them left things with her, but no matter which they did her burden got heavier, until she struggled to walk. Often she could see them in the distance, but she could never leave the road. Soon the rain started, and she couldn't find any shelter. Then everything just exploded in a burst of color and she found herself running through the woods. Earth, sky, wind and run were her only thoughts. Suddenly the trees faded away and she was standing on a cliff overlooking the sea. Someone called her name and she turned, but when she did there were suddenly three arrows sticking out of her chest. The pain was overwhelming. Healing magic appeared in her hands, but she couldn't find the will to use it. She spread her arms and stepped backwards, before falling, falling, falling into the darkness of the sea. And as she fell, tears of relief flowed from her eyes and floated above her, gleaming like diamonds in the moonlit sky. The crashing of the waves grew closer and closer and she closed her eyes and smiled. Just before she could touch the waves she found herself back on the road, but this time she knew she was headed for the sea. She dropped everything and ran. A wolf appeared beside her and ran with her, faster and faster until they were just a blur. It watched as she plummeted over the cliff and she heard it howl long and low. It didn't sound like sadness – just farewell. The sound mixed with the sweet melody of the waves as she tumbled into the sea and was no more.