Several months later . . .

Cyréne had grown to expect updates from Jorrvaskr regularly and so when none came for a few weeks she began to worry. Soon enough a backup of letters was delivered. The courier had been held up – she didn't stop to listen by what. There were three letters from Skjor, one from Kodlak, one from Brand and another from the stables in Whiterun. Cyréne smiled and opened the letter from Brand excitedly.

Cyréne,

I miss you. When are you coming back to Whiterun?

Things go well here. I've been paired with Farkas as a shield-brother, and the training is grueling, but worth it. I've completed several jobs, and while the coin for the jobs themselves is rather a joke, as you well-know, I'm putting your advice on looting to good use and manage to make a good deal of coin from things I sell. Thank you for the tip about the Riverwood Trader. Lucien received the letter you sent, and the prices are much better.

I believe that Vilkas struggles with his condition more and more. Ria accompanies him on all assignments, and trains with him as well – possibly because no one else can stand his constant ill temper. The open invitation to her bed is a standing joke amongst the circle. Judging from her continued frustration, he hasn't taken her up on it yet. I am content here, and happy to have found a new home. The only thing better would be for you to be here with me.

Affectionately,

Brand

Cyréne stared at the letter and tried to ignore the lump in her throat. Her heart constricted in jealousy. She missed her brother, her friend, her mentor – more than she missed any relationship that might have been forming. She knew his various flings were just that – a man meeting his needs – but Ria, to have him bed another companion would hurt too deeply to think about.

She felt a twinge of anger forming towards the woman. They'd not been especially friendly with each other, for the very reason she was feeling particularly unfriendly toward her now. Other than a fake-sweet greeting when Vilkas was in earshot, the woman hardly acknowledged her. And now, apparently, she was moving in for the spoils. I'll strangle that little slut! Whoa! Where did that come from?!

Cyréne felt a building discomfort. Vilkas's pride would allow him to cross any line. A visit might provoke him to take Ria to his bed just to spite her. If that happened – well, she might hurt the woman – a lot. Maybe I'm having some pride issues of my own.

Her head swam and her emotions bothered her. She put the letter aside and opened the letter from Kodlak.

Cyréne,

Greetings Daughter.

It has been too long since this old man saw the face of his favorite. I found some information regarding my search which I wish to discuss with you in person. I've instructed Skjor to call you back to Jorrvaskr. You brought us honor in your aid to our newest, Brand. He is a true Companion at heart and belongs here with us, as you do.

I hear throughout the land that the college is growing in reputation again, and that relations with the town of Winterhold have improved greatly. Your leadership has been praised by many. Take time to make the necessary arrangements at the college, but plan to return to us before season's end, even if for a short time.

Safe journey,

Kodlak

Well it appears I shall return, no matter what my feelings, she thought glumly.

The letters from Skjor were all business, with summaries of jobs competed and a call for her to return within the month. In the last letter, he mentioned a matter he wanted to discuss with her in person.

Cyréne rolled her eyes and for once thought she might miss the day to day calm of the college. Aside from the occasional squabble among the masters and students who came close to blowing themselves up or turning each other into random animals, her days were peaceful and she'd enjoyed the solitude. She missed her family, certainly, but she was not looking forward to returning in the midst of drama and turmoil, especially with her emotions betraying her.

The letter from the stables was to inform her that tack and materials would be shipping soon to begin construction of modest stables in Winterhold.

After a while, she penned brief replies to each of the men letting them know she planned to return to Jorrvaskr within a few weeks and then set about making a list of preparations to be completed before she left Winterhold. The staff of the college, she had no doubt, would be unhappy with her departure, but they would have to adjust. She decided to speak to Tolfer and leave him officially in charge while she was gone, with instructions to send her reports weekly.

The next morning, Cyréne sat quietly at her desk reading and replying to one letter after another. I really should hire an assistant, she thought, as she penned her fourth gracious decline to yet another politically significant invitation. She sealed the replies and stacked them neatly in a basket for tomorrow's courier, filed the correspondences she wished to keep and set the rest to a happy little blaze with a flare of arcane fire. She straightened her desk and took a bored turn about her quarters to kill some time before dinner.

"Enter" she called in response to the light rap on her door.

"Forgive the intrusion Arch-Mage," said an awe-struck young student, "but there is someone here asking to see you."

"Who is it?"

"It's a warrior. He claims to be the Dragonborn."

Cyréne smiled, "Does he? And did he ask for me by name or title?"

The student swallowed. "Well, both actually. He asked to see the Arch-Mage, but also mentioned that he was looking for you and that people in town told him to ask about you here."

"And what information has he been given?"

"None, except that I would request an audience with the Arch-Mage for him, although I did tell him you were, of course, very busy."

"Very good. Tell him that the Arch-Mage will grant him a limited audience. Bring him in and ask him to sit here," she said motioning to a chair, "and then excuse yourself. What is your name by the way?"

"Lorevahs."

"Thank you, Lorevahs."

The student nodded and scurried away.

Cyréne smiled to herself and cast an invisibility spell as she waited for the Dragonborn to be shown in.

Lorevahs followed instructions and soon Kalv was sitting, rather impatiently, waiting for the Arch-Mage to appear. Cyréne observed him carefully. He looked worse for wear, since the last time she'd seen him. His eyes were tired and shadowed with dark circles, and he had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder, which appeared to be wet with fresh blood.

Cyréne glided over to him silently, reciting a voice-alteration spell in her head. "Greetings Dragonborn," she said suddenly.

He jumped, startled, and she struggled to suppress a giggle.

"Greetings" he echoed, slightly annoyed. He looked in her direction. "I come requesting the aid of the college, in an urgent matter."

Cyréne was sitting across from him now. "What kind of matter?" she asked.

Kalv jumped again. Irritation flickered in his eyes as he turned his head toward her new position. "It's concerning the return of the dragons."

Cyréne leaned down from behind him, "Interesting," she hissed in his ear.

Kalv stood up quickly and whispered a shout. Cyréne felt a warm gust of energy wash over her and she stopped in her tracks and fiddled with a plant or two in her garden, sure that she'd been caught. Sure enough, the Dragonborn was now looking directly at her.

He approached her carefully. "Your assistance in this matter would be greatly appreciated," he continued.

Realizing he could only see her energy, Cyréne grinned mischievously, and lowered the Dunmer voice was was imitating to a sultry purr. "Well, Dragonborn, I'm sure we can come to an agreement. I do have a rather unique favor, that you seem . . . well suited, for."

Kalv sighed tiredly. "Of course, what do you ask of me?"

"As I'm sure you know, the position of Arch-Mage is extremely demanding, leaving little time for . . . activities, which one would normally enjoy on a regular basis."

Cyréne struggled to hold it together as wary suspicion began creeping into Kalv's eyes.

"Yeeeeeees," he said slowly.

"As it is, it's been close to 200 years since I've been with a strong handsome young warrior such as yourself. Pleasure me for the night . . . and the aid of the college is yours."

Cyréne balled her fist in her mouth to hold back her laughter and tears pricked her eyes as Kalv's mouth dropped open in shock and then snapped closed in fury.

"I'm afraid those terms are not agreeable," he said in a clipped voice.

"What?! And why is that?" she said with as much fake anger as she could muster.

"There's someone else, actually."

"That hardly matters!" she scoffed. "This is just business."

"It matters to me," Kalv said firmly. "She's one of your students, I believe. Her name is Cyréne."

It was Cyréne's turned to be shocked. She cleared her throat quickly. "Cyréne, you say? That little blonde Imperial with the fantastic . . . healing skills?"

"Yes," Kalv said, brightening, "Is she here?"

"Oh! My dear boy, how sad for you – the poor girl left but a few days ago."

Kalv's face fell. "Did she say where she was going?"

"Yes" Cyréne said, barely holding it together. "The child was head-over-heels in love with, from what I gather, one of the lower races. Disgraceful, really, such a pity."

"Lower races?" Kalv echoed, with more than a hint of anger. "Please be so kind as to explain to me what you mean by lower race."

"Oh you know, Kahjiit, Argonion, or some other such nonsense – I didn't really get all of the details. She'd been receiving these ridiculous letters from him, mostly poetry about apples."

Kalv shook his head in confusion, "Apples?" he echoed.

"Oh, what was the creature's name? She must have mentioned it 100 times. Hmmmm. Oh yes, his name was Frost."

The look on Kalv's face was priceless. For the briefest moment the thought that his horse was actually conducting an apple-poetry laden love-affair behind his back passed through the Dragonborn's mind as a real possibility – and that was when Cyréne lost it. Her spell tumbled from her grasp and she appeared before him lost in a fit of helpless giggles, tears streaming down her face.

Kalv broke into a dazzling smile and laughed out loud as he closed the distance between them and swept her into his arms. "You naughty little minx! Gods, but I've missed you!"

Cyréne held him tightly, "I'm so happy to see you. Come over here and let me see to your injuries."