Skjor and Aela were just walking up when Cyréne and Brand stepped foot into the town of Winterhold the next morning, with Apollo and Janus trailing behind them. After brief greetings, and a grumpy growl from Janus, Cyréne handed Skjor a sealed letter.
"My letter of recommendation," she said in explanation.
She turned to Brand with a smile and handed him two pieces of paper, one of which had his name written on it in her flowing script. The other was made out to someone named Adrianne.
"Do you mind delivering this letter for me when you get to Whiterun?"
"You know I don't."
"Thank you. It goes to Adrianne at War Maiden's. Hers is the first shop on the right as soon as you enter the gates."
They looked at each other for a moment and Cyréne's feet left the ground as he hugged her and she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Take care, Brand. I'll be home to see you before too long, and if you need anything before then, you know where to find me."
He nodded, not trusting his voice and she kissed him lightly on the cheek before he put her down. She stepped forward and embraced Aela briefly.
"Sister," Aela said, "return home to us soon."
"Travel well, Aela. Keep these two in line, will you? You know these men let their hearts rule."
Aela nodded with a slight smile at their private joke. "Don't worry, I know how to keep my head."
"Come on new blood," Skjor said to Brand.
Cyréne watched them leave with an encroaching sense of emptiness, completely unaware of the wheels she'd just set in motion. While she stood there, a courier came running up with a letter for her. She thanked him and broke the seal as she walked back to the College. When she unfolded the paper, she grinned. On the inside was a black handprint with two words written under it: 'We're Home'. Cyréne placed her hand over the print of Shaye's and then shook her head at her own silliness. By the nine I'm getting needy.
She met with Tolfdir briefly to address any matters that needed immediate attention. After handling them the day was almost gone.
"Tolfdir," she said as they finally finished, "I know I've not been back long, but I've barely been able to catch my breath."
"You are looking a bit run-down Arch-Mage; perhaps you should take a few days to rest."
She smiled at him. "I think you're right. I would appreciate it if you could handle anything pressing for me for a few days. I don't want to be interrupted unless it's something you feel you can't handle."
"Very well, I would be glad to do this for you. And we are glad to have you back. Things just seem to run more smoothly when you're here."
"I'm glad to be back, I'm just a little tired. Please tell the other masters that I'll begin meeting with each of them at the beginning of the week. I'm not happy with the progress of the students since I left. I know the College is a place for students to study magic freely, but we have a reputation to rebuild and I believe a bit more . . . structure, would be beneficial."
"I agree. I'll have them ready lesson plans for you to look over. Rest well."
She thanked him and gratefully made her way to her quarters, closing and locking the door behind her. There was so much she needed to do, but all she wanted was sleep. She undressed quickly and pulled one of her still-unpacked bags from beside her bed. She grabbed the first white fabric she found and pulled it over her head.
A sob caught in her throat when she realized what she'd put on. It was Vilkas's tunic and it still smelled just like him. Dark emptiness that she hadn't felt since Caldor's death threatened to overwhelm her. Oh gods, I don't know if I can take it. She wrapped the tunic around her more tightly and climbed into bed pulling the covers up. She was acting like a fool, but she didn't care. She pulled the neck of the tunic up until it was covering half of her face and pretended he was holding her while she cried herself to sleep.
Her dreams were about him. She dreamt about their brief moment of passion and the way it felt to be in his arms, about running her fingers through his silky hair and him losing himself in her kiss – all of his pain forgotten. She dreamt about their days training together and rainy afternoons that he spent glaring at her over the cover of whatever book he was trying to read. She smiled in her sleep thinking about twirling her hair out to the side and hiding a grin behind her own book as his eyes never failed to jerk up in annoyance and follow the motion of her fingers like a cat watching a string. She dreamt of the first day she ever made him smile. It took her breath away, and that was the day she lost her heart – the day that she decided that she'd do anything, just to see it again. She remembered the first day he almost lost control in front of her. No one could calm him down, but almost as soon as she'd slipped her hands into his, the beast had quieted. It shocked him. She'd touched him a lot after that, and he let her, and then he started to visibly relax each time he saw her. She shouldn't have stopped that night at the Bannered Mare, no matter what she needed. She'd been selfish. He wanted her and she should have given him that, maybe he'd still be hers if she had. The image of him with Yvette turned her dream to a nightmare and she woke sobbing, before falling back into a deep sleep.
Two days passed in a dark depression before Cyréne could find the will to get out of bed. She silently cursed Brand for his advice, and wished she'd just stayed as busy as possible within the College. She refused to think about her past, no matter what she'd promised Brand. She knew herself , and her heart couldn't take much more before she gave up. She wondered if she could ever live at Jorrvaskr again. Her mind ran away from her as she imagined all of the scenarios she might encounter.
Finally, she'd had enough of it. As soon as she could she was going to take a trip and remember who she was. She'd touch every weapon of honor and accommodation that hung in her house in Windhelm, and she'd run her hands over the armor that had helped hold an empire together. She would trace the signature of the emperor himself on the letter he'd sent her personally. She would trace the line of her past until she came back to the present, and along the way she'd find out what she'd given up and where.
I already feel like absolute hell. I might as well do what Brand asked me to.
Her heart fought it, but she forced herself to relax and let her mind go.
She wondered to herself how the carefree life of adventure she'd planned had taken this turn toward so much responsibility. At times she longed for the freedom of anonymity and the days when she had first come to Skyrim – alone, but excited, with a thirst for freedom. She didn't often think about the life she left behind in Cyrodiil. Her parents' marriage had been a mess for as long as she could remember, with fights and affairs and petty maneuvers to hurt each other. She'd been used as a pawn for most of it, and for the longest time, the notion that there were people who were happy together seemed a form of madness to her.
Tension was always high and things could erupt at any time in her childhood home. She'd learned to read people carefully, even as a child of five or six. She learned to determine what response would make them the least angry, the least likely to lash out and how to best handle it when they did. She told them what they wanted to hear and she did what they wanted her to do, and when they were around she became what they wanted her to be.
They harbored no love for her, now. They had wealth and social status, but the marriage she'd turned down would have brought them political power, and to have it slip from their grasp was unforgiveable. They had married for such reasons, and they were miserable. At 21 she'd refused to sacrifice any slim chance of happiness for them, and she never regretted her motives – only the consequences of her decision.
Thinking back on that girl, who'd made her escape with a stolen horse and 200 septims she smiled sadly. Perhaps her refusal to sacrifice then, had led her to sacrifice for others as a form of penance. She was quickly drawn into the war, first because she needed the money and then because of her experience in Cidna Mine.
After that experience, she fought for a cause. She fought to keep the empire together and she fought to keep a man from the throne who would make life miserable for many. After two years of service, filled with sorrow for all the lives she'd taken, she'd made her way to the college determined to put a life of violence behind her. She laughed without humor, so much for that.
And now it seemed. Her empathizing was backfiring on her. She'd often prayed to Mara when she was younger, asking what she could do to keep everyone from being so angry. No answer ever came, and she didn't expect one now – so she didn't ask.
Suddenly, she couldn't find fault with Yvette. She was out for herself and she took what she wanted from anyone stupid enough to give it to her. No matter her motives, the woman wasn't getting pushed around. Cyréne did everything she could to help Vilkas and he treated her like shit. Yvette treated him like dirt and he gave her whatever she wanted.
I'm tired of being good, and sweet and understanding.
She pushed thoughts of Vilkas away and concentrated, trying to do what Brand asked her to.
Despite her heart's determination not to let it, her mind began to wander back and back and back searching for the last Cyréne she knew. She lingered over different versions of herself momentarily before realizing they weren't quite right and that she had to push farther. Finally she found herself . . .