IT WORKS! By the Grace of Akatosh, this damned thing finally works! I have been waiting for 36 hours to be able to post this chapter, really, so finally, here you go. I want to remind you again that I have a website where I publish this story as well: fanfiction-sekai-cz (replace the dashes with dots). If you want to make sure you receive updates in time, please, subscribe there, as the crashes here are quite frequent and each of them takes more time to fix than the previous one, it seems. You do not have to register to do that and your e-mail will not be visible to anyone so no spam will come from my site, I assure you.

Also, Twillin - you may have received a message from me since I tried to contact you via the mobile app. I still have no idea if it worked, but in case it did, sorry for the spam.

Okay, no more delays, enjoy the chapter. :)

Chapter 25: The Baleful Awakenings

A knock on the door woke Jon from his shallow slumber. He rubbed his eyes sleepily, trying to fight the usual morning drowsiness emphasized by the fact that it was yet dark and from what it seemed, the sun had not risen yet. Just what in Oblivion did they want from him at this unholy hour?

Ineptly he put on his house robes and staggered to the door, groping after the handle.

"Wha'zzit?" he mumbled upon opening it, expecting it to be Lars, Idolaf or some other relative of his. Surprised, he noticed a courier from Dragonsreach bowing to him, his face lit dimly by a candle he was holding. Someone must have let him inside the house.

"I am sorry to disturb you at this hour, master Battle-Born," he said quietly and lowered his head in a humble apologetic gesture. "Lord Vignar is sending for you. It is urgent."

"It better be," Jon muttered grumpily. "Go ahead, I'll be there in a minute," he nodded to the courier and closed the door again. He put on a set of more formal robes and tied his blonde hair up in a ponytail hastily. It did not look like the usual stylish and cultivated hairstyle Jon was used to exhibiting and it felt funny on his left side, tugging a little at the skin behind his ear, but it would have to do for now. They cannot expect him to look gorgeous if he is to head for the keep straight from his bed in the middle of the night. Then again, it felt a little wrong, for as a would-be bard he wanted to always look stunning.

Shaking his head to brush the uselessly annoying thought aside, he took his dagger, placed it in his right shoe, as he always did, and walked into the cold of the dark sleeping city of Whiterun. It was quiet, not a single voice came from the direction of the two inns, The Drunken Huntsman and The Bannered Mare, as the two facilities served to host a considerable number of refugees at the moment and the usual night activities were prohibited. Seriously, what a sad time this was. Whiterun used to be such a heartwarming and lively place.

When Jon set his foot on the stairs leading to the Cloud District, he spotted a movement behind him and turned around instinctively. A female figure in a set of heavy ebony armor with a beautiful frosty glass blade attached to her side was hurrying towards him from the lower parts of the city. He did not have to wait until she stepped into the light cast by the candles decorating the shrine of Talos to figure who she was, for he would recognize the blade and the armor anytime. Especially the blade he had admired the moment the Dragonborn had brought it in the city, the refined blue sword capable of literally freezing the heart of its victims. Chillrend, that was its name, a legend amongst blades and one of the many rewards that the honorable Thane of Whiterun had decided to bestow upon her housecarl for her continuous service.

"Lydia," he greeted her warmheartedly and slowed his pace to let her catch up. "What a surprise. I thought you had gone off with the Dragonborn's family."

"Ah, Jon," the dark haired woman nodded. She seemed a little ragged but otherwise just as strong and impressive as ever. "I certainly did but they are safe at the moment and I feel needed here. My service is to Aislinn, but it is to the city of Whiterun as well. And for the sake of the Nine, she has a name. Stop treating her like some kind of unearthly being." She gave him a scolding look and he had to laugh. At least someone had not changed.

Together they climbed up the tiresome number of stairs which painfully reminded Jon of his lack of sleep, and entered Dragonsreach where the hearth at the center of the main hall welcomed them with dancing fire, as warm and pleasant as ever. Vignar was occupying Balgruuf's throne, his eyes looking just as weary as Jon's. He gave a surprised look to Lydia but there was no spite in it, rather he seemed grateful for the unexpected ally to turn up. She returned his gaze emotionlessly, not giving out any sign of feeling or opinion on this unexpected turn of events. Jon imagined she must have mixed feelings about it, knowing that Vignar had opposed Balgruuf in many ways before, and for Lydia, Balgruuf was probably the only jarl she would be able to acknowledge.

"Lydia, welcome back to Whiterun," the Steward nodded in her direction and a hint of smile showed on his lips, the most positive reaction he could offer her.

"Honored to be back," she said quietly.

"I am sorry I cannot give you a proper greeting this time, but I need to discuss a few things with Jon here," he waved at her apologetically. "Would you maybe give us a moment?"

"I will be at Breezehome if you need me then," she bowed and excused herself briskly. Jon watched her walk away, waiting for the door to snap in behind her. Then he looked up to Vignar.

"I do think we can trust her," he told him tersely.

"Of course we can trust the Dragonborn's much loyal housecarl, but some things are better to be discussed privately," Vignar nodded.

"Stop treating her like some kind of unearthly being," Lydia's words rang in Jon's head and he could not help but think she was right. The Dragonborn was surely a title of great honor, but maybe it was a little cruel for Aislinn to be addressed only as "the Dragonborn" all the time. Moreover, she still was one of the Companions, Vignar's own men, and had she not declined, she would have become their Harbinger as well. It was as though everyone was afraid to pronounce her name. Just how did she feel about it?

"So, what is this urgent matter you need to discuss?" he asked and leaned to one of the chairs surrounding the two long tables lining the fireplace.

"A Khajiit arrived tonight with a new location," Vignar informed.

"What? But that's three days ahead of the schedule," Jon pointed out.

"Exactly. And the location is closer to the city as well. According to the reports of the said Khajiit, the Thalmor are planning to take over the hold. They are closing in on us and if things go their way, they will cut off the water supply from the White River and the farms that lay around it."

Jon knit his brows as the meaning of the Steward's message sank in slowly.

"First a wall request and now this?" he asked with a doubtful expression.

"That's why I called you. I hope I can trust you on this because I need someone reliable to go there and check the situation immediately."

"The Jarl has requested me to…"

"Yes, I know," Vignar interrupted him impatiently and scratched the handle of the throne with his nails. "But you know the people around here better than I do, I would say. Are there no people you can trust on this one?"

"The best one left this room just a moment ago," Jon suggested.

"Lydia? She has just arrived…"

"But if I were to pick one solidly loyal representative of the city, it would be her. You won't find a person who is more faithful to Whiterun and the Dra… lady Aislinn than Lydia. She would have absolutely no reason to betray us. On the contrary, she'd have every reason to hunt down any possible traitor and beat the crap out of them."

Vignar smirked a little at Jon's choice of the words and the fact that the bard-to-be purposely avoided mentioning Balgruuf's name among the things that Lydia was loyal to, but nodded nevertheless.

"You do have a point," he said approvingly. "I will send her ahead of the caravan and postpone the Council meeting until she arrives with the news."

"My father will have a lot to say about that," Jon grimaced bitterly.

"Of course he will. Olfrid Battle-Born always has a lot to say about everything," the Gray-Mane sighed in an unspoken apology. "But this is no time to make hasty decisions. Even Balgruuf would agree with me on that."

"You honor him greatly," Jon bowed in respect for the man he would have never guessed to acknowledge like this in the past. Vignar gave him a long scrutinizing look and Jon knew at that moment that the Steward was thinking the same thing as he did. Just how much had changed that even the fiercest rivals were compelled to ally and pursue the same goal while searching for a traitor among their own.

The camp was filthy. Even for someone who had spent most of their life on the road with just one set of clothing, barely able to wash the dirt that accumulated on the skin away, even for a thief used to dealing with the worst kind of scum and traversing dark places which normal people feared even mentioning, the camp reeked with filth and Farkhali smirked with utter disgust as she saw it. A half dissected animal lay on a low stone pedestal with a series of odd wet hairy clumps which she did not dare identify. Half of the fences and palisades were made of bones and she suspected some of them to be human. The tents were covered with raw, untanned pelts reeking of dead animals and she was sure that the uneven ledge looming over the messy fireplace was made for some kind of hideous ritual. She covered her mouth as she walked through the campsite, a muscly man dressed in pelts decorated with bones and teeth carrying a jagged sword accompanied her on each side. The filth subsided a little as they approached the King's tent but she still did not feel comfortable enough to relax her stiffened shoulders. The men and women around watched her with a good deal of amusement in their faces which was not exactly helping her humor either. And to top it all off, a pair of hagravens sat a little aloof, feasting on the raw remains of an unidentified creature. Farkhali swallowed hard using the collar of her green armor to conceal it, and suppressed the need to throw up.

Upon entering the large tent sheltered by a pair of low cliffs, she stared into the eyes of a tall grey-haired aged man whose dove-grey eyes sparkled with intelligence. He seemed far more cultivated than his tribesmen with the moose skull crown decorated with emerald ornaments on his head and the neat fur armor with sabre cat teeth covering his robust body. Still, meeting with him would definitely be one of the less pleasant experiences in her life, as his eyes were piercing her with fury. She knew exactly why and had come prepared for that, but the mighty King's presence itself felt rather overwhelming. He was not one to be trifled with and she was not sure that her charming spell would work on the King of the Forsworn. She bowed to him, visibly unsure of the ways of this peculiar tribe.

"So," Madanach spoke without a word of proper greeting, "you're the one they call Farkhali."

"I see you are well informed, Your Highness," she nodded.

"And you are the one who sent that rather interesting proposal as well, I assume," he continued and there was a trace of contempt in his calm voice.

"That is correct," she affirmed, correcting herself in her thoughts for she knew it was only partially correct. The one who had come up with the plan was Gulum-Ei and she had sworn to skin him for that. That night of fierce fights and quarrels had been one of the worst in her whole life and she owed it to the slimy Argonian bastard and two thick headed Imperial dogs who had not known better than to pester her constantly about freedom and glamorized tales of brave Skyrim heroes. She would not call marching on the enemy thoughtlessly head on a heroic act. That was an ill-conceived act of foolishness. But people were blockheads who could not live with someone working behind the scenes. The heroes were always visible, marching at the foremost of armies, shouting battle cries and slaying people like madmen. People did not want a clever initiator, they wanted an icon, and general Tullius along with Jarl Elisif were more than ready to become those icons while Aislinn, the master among the sneaky thieves and the main mover in this war, would only end up as a tool. Luckily enough, people also tended to be drawn to the strange powers which she possessed and that secured her a safe spot on the top. And unlike Brynjolf who most obviously wanted to claim her for himself, Farkhali would not mind if Aislinn became the High Queen. A lot of things would change for the better in Skyrim. Although she doubted that the free-spirited young girl would ever accept such responsibility. A guild was like a family and she could easily kick any potential traitor out of there, but a country was a whole different story. The man who was standing right before her was the living proof of that, leading a rebellious group of outlaws who would ravage the land the moment one war was won.

"I must admit that I admire your courage, but that is as far as I acknowledge your attempts," he told her curtly. "You cannot possibly expect me to let an Imperial lackey lead my men. He does not understand our ways."

"He understands strategy, and from what I've seen, you could certainly use someone like that," she objected.

"And what have you seen, exactly, if you don't mind me asking?" he drawled contemptuously, his eyes narrow as he fixed his gaze on her mercilessly.

"Tell me, Highness, how many of your men can actually read?"

She knew she was overstepping her boundaries greatly, but her position required her to take risks and so she did. Surprisingly, the majestic man in front of her laughed and showed no sign of being offended whatsoever.

"I see," he said with a nod. "You are a perceptive one. You see, most of my men are quite simple-minded and I like to keep it that way. The beauty of simple-mindedness is that the person possessing such quality performs their tasks with exquisite purposefulness. Whatever I make them do, they accept it with absolute devotion and strive to see it through."

"And that is why you sent three thousands of your men to fight double the number of elves?" she asked doubtfully.

"Oh no," he replied and a wide smile bared his surprisingly well-kept teeth. "You and the elves may think I did, but in truth I sent about a tenth of that."

The black-furred Khajiit's icy blue eyes widened in shock and for a moment she was left speechless, unable to swallow what she had just heard. Then she broke the silence and her voice cracked as she did.

"You… you sent three hundred?"

The King nodded in affirmation.

"You sent them to their death!" she stuttered and pointed an accusing finger at him.

"I could have sent more," he whispered dangerously and took a step forward, making Farkhali look into his colorless eyes and freeze in place. "Either way, they would have been defeated. But do not be mistaken. General Tullius is not the only smart man walking the land of Skyrim. My men may be simple-minded, but they are not complete fools and they know the land much better than the elves do. By now, they might have realized my intentions, and if they did, they would also figure that escaping a hopeless situation is much easier in smaller numbers. I assure you that some of them will return. And by the time the elves realize that this is just a distraction, it will be too late."

This man was cruel and unbelievable. Farkhali stared at him in disbelief, having realized that he would not let anyone or anything stop him.

"Where did you send the rest of your men?" she inquired but a derisive smirk came in reply.

"You can take a guess," Madanach mocked.

"You told Aislinn, I mean the Dragonborn, that you would help her! I come in her name, as your ally, and you know it!"

"The Forsworn are acting upon her initiative," he pointed sternly. "We answer to her and her only. We will help her achieve what she wants, and for that, she will help us with what we want. And that's the end of it."

"She never agreed to anything like that," Farkhali snarled, knowing far too well that this was just an assumption of hers and had she shown any sign of hesitation, the sly King would use it against her for sure. And this was exactly why the thieves did not want to meddle in politics.

"Agreed or not, it does not matter," he said dismissively, but there was an almost imperceptible trace of doubt in his voice. "As long as the Forsworn make a difference in this war, she won't be able to overlook us."

Farkhali felt a sudden flush of excitement take over her. She had almost lost hope, but he had taken the bait and this was her chance. She smiled charmingly, her spell reaching for the exposed weakness. The atmosphere changed drastically and it seemed as though the air had gotten warmer and more welcoming. Madanach relaxed his muscles and his shoulders loosened noticeably, his awareness dropping ever so slightly. But it would be enough.

"I would not be so sure. Why take a chance, Your Highness?" she asked in a sweet tone and her light blue eyes pierced his, stunning him where he stood. "I know Aislinn well enough to say that she wouldn't put her trust in someone who just goes and does as he pleases, claiming the prize at the end. You trust her allies and work with them, you gain her trust in return. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

He gave her a disconcerted look and she could sense that he was trying to resist. But he had already fallen into the trap and she would get to him sooner or later.

"She would not dare…" he tried but Farkhali silenced him with a snort.

"Oh, she would definitely dare," she said meaningfully and paid him a bewitching look. "She would make sure that the reward was well-deserved. And the Forsworn barely mean anything to her… yet. But you can change it."

There was greed in his eyes. She had to laugh at herself secretly for not noticing it before. This man, however grand and impressive he wanted to seem, was actually quite weak in a sense. There was something he wanted so desperately that he was willing to sacrifice his so-called honor for that and even make his own men the pawns that they had been trying to eschew turning into in the first place. So wicked he was in his ways… just what did he want anyway? She would make sure to inform Aislinn of this lest it is up to her to decide what would become of him.

The best part was that she did not even have to lie to him. It was true that Aislinn would never carelessly reward anyone without having a good reason to. Even when it came to complimenting the members of the Guild, she always thought twice before uttering a word of praise. It might have been just her timidity, but this part of her was cool and cute at the same time. She was not afraid to throw the weaklings and traitors to the skeevers, but that just made it all the better when she actually decided to show any sign of respect or even affection for someone. For some reason, Farkhali suddenly decided that she would give her boss a big warm hug when this was all over, and she was looking forward to see the surprised face of the young guildmaster when she did.

Madanach's hoarse voice interrupted her train of thought.

"All right," he sighed in resignation. "I will do as you say, but I will not be treated as a subordinate of any of you and I will punish you severely at the first sign of possible betrayal. Are we clear on that?"

"We are not asking you to give us your men," Farkhali replied in a comforting voice and strengthened the spell slightly. "General Tullius will merely serve as a tactician and an experienced commander, but you will still have the upper hand. You just need to trust his skills." The last sentence was emphasized and he shivered as the words reached him. He replied with a silent nod.

"So," she said in a conversational tone, "where did you send that army of yours?"

"So… you are absolutely sure you want to do this?" a silent voice asked. There was a face hidden under the hood and she could not see it clearly, but she knew its wearer well. He was dear to her, definitely supreme to any other being in Nirn, but he would only see her as a friend. Still, she had seen him suffer and she did not want to experience it ever again.

"Yes," she said a little shakily and watched the shadows of the torches dance around his feet. He was wearing heavy boots made in ebony and fine leather, gilded buckles with four-leaf clover decorations spanning from the top part of the shins to the tips of the toes. Ah, yes, the boots and this set of old-fashioned armor. They were his favorite as they represented the group he was so fond of. "Please, proceed."

"If I do this, there will be no way back," he warned her and his voice sounded distant and full of fear. "You will be bound here for eternity."

"I know," she whispered.

"Okay. Just lie down here." He pointed his finger to a platform. Tubes and pipes spread around it, coming from a device which was strangely familiar to her. A sudden wave of terror flooded her and she felt beads of sweat stand out on her forehead, but she had already made the choice and so she would not back away now. She forced herself to lie down on the platform and watched him as he pulled his gauntlets off and carefully slid up her sleeves and the lower part of her robes. Silently, she wished that he would continue and play with her, that he would somehow forget the reason they had come here for and grant her the heavenly pleasure that she had never been allowed to experience, but he did not. He pulled out four pipes, each of them ending in a sharp, pointed tip.

"Next time you wake up, the world might be a different place," he informed her. She nodded and he let out a sigh.

"I have never done anything like this…" he stammered and his hands hesitated. "I… I don't think this will be pleasant."

"It is… not supposed to be pleasant," she replied and closed her eyes. "Just… do it already."

"Farewell," he breathed. "I am losing yet another friend to eternity."

Then, a stabbing, sharp pain pierced through her and she let out a tormented scream. Right wrist. Then left. Left calf. And right. Then something flooded inside her and spread in her body, and something was taken from her in return. Blazing magma penetrated her veins and she cried. Thousands of white-hot blades cut through her flesh and venomous strings of doom tugged at her mind and soul. She could not breathe anymore, suffocating on a foul clump which had settled in her throat. For a moment, a flash of blinding light pierced into her eyes forced open with the sudden shock, but then the vision blurred and faded, leaving nothing but darkness.

Aislinn sat up abruptly, crumpling the blanket underneath her, and her eyes cracked open to look at the grey scenery of a hollow sheltered by a low ridge of rocks from three sides. Realizing she was still screaming, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, shaking heavily, tears pouring down her cheeks in wild streams. On her right was Lucia, staring at her in shock, motionlessly, obviously confounded and terrified of the display. Then she heard hurried footsteps and Brynjolf was there, panting as he approached her, an alarmed expression in his face.

"What happened?" he demanded in an urgent tone. She stared at him, trying to suppress her tears.

"A dream…" she whispered through her sobs. "Just a really bad and painful dream."

He studied her cautiously, carefully examining her body language, and she knew he was judging her state and considering posing further questions.

"I'm fine," she said wearily. "Just a little shocked."

"What did you dream about?" he asked and a touch of caring gentleness crept into his voice.

"I… don't want to…"

"No, lass," he cut her off firmly. "Not this time. I've come to learn that whenever you have visions or dreams, they always mean something. No more secrets for you, I want to know everything."

"You are greedy," she muttered grumpily and felt a part of the tension melt away. A slight sigh of relief escaped her lips but that did not placate her companion.

"That I am," he affirmed coolly, "and I can also be very stubborn when it comes to it."

She pinned her eyes into the ground beside her and took a deep breath.

"But this dream just felt so unreal," she said hopelessly.

"And judging from your reaction, it better be," he grumbled. "I'm listening."

Hesitantly, she started explaining, her low voice barely drowning out the humming murmur of the river flowing just a few hundred feet away from them. Hazily she remembered the man from her dream and fragments of their conversation. Her description was brief and superficial, but Brynjolf was not one to be taken for a fool in a conversation, and he pressed her for details quite mercilessly. She tried to equivocate, leaving the bits and pieces unspoken, but he always managed to notice, urging her to confess to the point when she was forced to reveal her feelings about the mysterious man. She hated how he paused at that, obviously mulling over it in his head. At that moment, she just wished to smack his head and yell at him from the top of her lungs. He was being unfair to her.

Finally, he had squeezed the last bit of information out of her and she pulled away from him, half hurt and half angry. He gave her a concerned look but she barely registered it, avoiding meeting his gaze.

"That… thing with tubes," Brynjolf said quietly, his hand playing with the hilt of his new enchanted dagger, "it was the same as the one in that laboratory where they had taken you before, right?"

"Probably," she muttered.

"Next time you wake up, the world might be a different place," he quoted and she jerked a little. "I don't know, lass, this dream of yours sounds so real that it sends shivers down my spine."

"What do you think of it?" she dared to ask, peeking at him occasionally without raising her head.

"I don't know what to think. A fragment of your past, maybe? It did feel familiar to you, didn't it?"

"What if I find out that I'm a disgusting person who doesn't even deserve to live?" she whispered. "Or what if I learn that I am nobody at all? I… what have I been doing all this time?"

There was a laugh and she looked at him, startled and angered by the absurd reaction, but he pulled her closer and put an arm around her shoulders gently, his face just inches away from hers which made her gasp nervously.

"What does it matter, lass?" he asked in a comforting voice.

"What do you mean?" she returned hesitantly.

"I mean that it only matters who you are at the moment," he replied with a smile. "Who do you think I was?"

She gave him a curious look, studying his face and his turquoise eyes, but only mystery was waiting there, not revealing anything of his past. She shook her head.

"See?" he chuckled. "You haven't even thought about it before, because you simply don't care. Ah, don't take it the wrong way," he added quickly when she jerked to the side and tried to pull away again, "that's a good thing. You don't nag and no prejudice clouds your judgement. Or maybe you just don't care and take me for whatever I am. Either way, I'm grateful to you. You know, I saw how you asked every single member of the Guild about themselves, listened to their stories, but refrained from jumping to conclusions afterwards. I don't know about other people, but I am going to do the same for you. To me, you are Aislinn, the best damn thief in the place, as Delvin said, the proud Dragonborn who is not afraid to risk her life for the sake of others, even if she is infinitely naïve, the reckless fighter who somehow always finds her way out and the loving mother with a kind heart. Oh, and a bad cook and terrible singer." He winked at her.

"You just couldn't finish it off with the loving mother, could you?" she drawled in feigned exasperation but her curling lips gave her away. There was a movement on her side and the two of them quickly shifted apart as Lucia joined them. Aislinn flushed inadvertently, caught by surprise as she had forgotten that the little girl had been watching them the whole time.

"Mama," she called to her and her voice sounded unexpectedly merry. "Is uncle Brynjolf my new daddy?"

Aislinn coughed abruptly and quickly covered her mouth with her hand.

"Shush, Luce!" she scolded her daughter sternly. Brynjolf roared with laughter, barely catching his breath.

"I thought you loved children and their straightforwardness," he teased with an utmost amused expression.

"Well, you're the one who's going to be stuck with her from now on," she smirked at him. "You're her daddy now."

"And what would I be to you then?" he invited, obviously enjoying the conversation more than Aislinn would have preferred. She looked at him, startled by the sudden boldness which made him drive her into a corner. She was now sure that he was desperately waiting for an answer from her, and he would not let a single chance slip away.

"My daughter's new toy," she answered evasively. He furrowed his brows as the answer he had received was clearly not to his liking, but refrained from commenting on it. An unpleasant silence broke out.

Aislinn rose after a while and took off her armor, leaving only Ri'saad's tunic to cover her body. She picked up a clean shirt and a pair of tights that she had recovered from Dragon's Bridge and informed her two companions that she would go take a bath. Brynjolf nodded and watched her walk away, some of the recent bitterness retreating from his mind as he noticed the slight excitement in her face. She must have been looking forward to wash herself desperately, and the Nine knew she deserved it.

He turned away from her and watched Lucia who had just pulled a piece of bread out of Aislinn's backpack. He thought of stopping her since they had to be careful not to use up their supplies too hastily, but decided against it. The little girl seemed like she needed some energy, and with the exception of that one moment a while before, she mostly kept silent and timid which made him a little nervous and worried. The little lass appeared even more mysterious than her adoptive mother which was something he had not thought possible before.

"I thought uncle Vilkas would become my daddy," she spoke suddenly and Brynjolf jerked a little in surprise.

"Who's uncle Vilkas?" he asked, curious and, strangely enough, a little irked.

"A warrior from Jorrvaskr," she said and a great deal of admiration issued from her voice. "He sometimes went with mama on a mission. She brought him home a couple of times. He smells a little funny but I bet he would be able to slay a giant no problem."

Smells a little funny, Brynjolf thought amusedly. Maybe she has a thing for that. I'm a filthy thief, in the end.

"Oh, and sometimes uncle Vorstag came for a visit," she continued and Brynjolf started to curse her sudden eloquence. Maybe it would have been better if she had stayed silent. "He really likes mama, but I think she doesn't like him in return."

"What is uncle Vorstag like?" he asked her, failing to suppress his curiosity.

"He's really nice. We went fishing a couple of times. He makes the best apple pies and is knowledgeable about flowers and animals. I think mama considers him too sweet for a warrior."

"Oh? So what is uncle Vilkas like?"

"Uncle Vilkas? He's different from uncle Vorstag. When he first came to our house, it seemed like he almost hated mama. I was pretty scared of him then, but mama kept bringing him home and one day he just started being nice."

Ah, so the lass likes the challenge, he smiled to himself. Maybe I took it all wrong. But then again, he was not keen on pretending to be someone else. Either the lass would accept him or he would have to retreat eventually. But somehow, he felt possessive towards her, as though she was a precious piece of loot that he absolutely refused to give up. He was a thief, after all, and thieves have an unusually strong sense of pride. To let someone else steal what they had claimed for themselves? No way.

He shifted a little as he heard the lass approach. She was dressed in clean clothes and water was dripping from her wet hair, making it stick to her temples and cheeks. The limp locks seemed darker than usual and emphasized the bright golden eyes that stared from her smooth face. It made her all the more appealing and Brynjolf turned away to hide the sudden flush he felt warming his cheeks.

She walked past him and put on her armor immediately, hiding most of her body from his sight. Then she spoke to both him and her daughter.

"Before we take off, I'd like to try something," she announced. Both of them looked up to her inquisitively and she turned to Lucia.

"Luce, would you like to learn a Shout?"

"You would teach me a Shout?" the girl's eyes widened and she looked at her eagerly. "Like… the Shout that you do when you fight?"

"Yes," Aislinn affirmed and smiled at her daughter.

"All right!" Lucia jumped out and her eyes sparkled with excitement. Aislinn patted her head tenderly and stepped towards her.

"I will tell you just one word first. Try to repeat it after me," she told her and bent down to the girl slightly. Then she opened her mouth and a mere whisper came out.

"Laas."

Lucia stared at her curiously and hesitated a little before pronouncing the word.

"Laas."

There was something off about it. It sounded empty, hollow, and Aislinn could feel no power in it whatsoever. Like this, it almost did not sound like the dragon language at all.

"Can you try it again?" she asked.

"Laas," the girl repeated obediently but nothing changed.

"This is strange," Aislinn said after a moment of awkward silence, perplexed by the unexpected development. "Do you think that maybe Durnehviir was wrong?" she mused as she turned to Brynjolf. He answered with a confused shrug.

"Asking me about dragons is like asking Vex about the meaning of peace," he said helplessly.

Aislinn frowned and turned back to her daughter.

"Try to feel the word," she encouraged her. "I will repeat it once more. It should hum inside you."

"But it does," the girl objected. "It means 'life', right?"

Aislinn's eyes widened. She put her hands on Lucia's shoulders and took a deep breath. Her daughter was indeed a Dragonborn and she understood the language. But still…

"So, can you feel anything?" she inquired. "Anything at all. I mean… can you feel it in your body as well as in your mind? Or can you maybe even see anything around you that wasn't there before?"

The girl shook her head.

"Let's try it again," Aislinn decided and spoke the word again. And again, it returned to her devoid of power and emotion. She tried to add the two following words, hoping that her daughter would perhaps understand it better if the whole Shout was presented to her, but the result repeated itself over and over again.

"I don't understand," she sighed in resignation after over an hour of unsuccessful attempts. "This does not make any sense. She can make out the meaning without me telling her, which is something I usually cannot do myself… but when she tries to actually use the words, nothing happens."

Brynjolf patted her shoulder, trying to comfort her, but she paid no attention to his gesture. She walked a short distance toward the river and then back again, and arrived to the conclusion that there was no point in mulling over things that she had no chance of understanding. She clearly did not have enough information to work with. They had to be on their way soon so they would minimize the chances of getting caught due to staying at one place for too long, and there were three dragons awaiting them. She grew anxious with every step they took in their direction, knowing fully well that they might pose a threat she had never encountered before. But then again… surely they would not be worse than the World-Eater, would they?

She prompted her two companions to pack their things and took care of covering the traces of their presence. Shadowmere waited for them behind the bushes nearby and she loaded him with their backpacks tied together by a strong rope. He protested mildly, opposed to the thought of becoming a mere pack mule, and Aislinn had to spend a while persuading him. Talking Shadowmere into something always proved to be a challenge since the mighty crimson-eyed stallion could not be bribed with any kind of treat. She had to make up stories about how they would hunt down bandits and raid their camps and forts when the time was right, and she suspected that the clever horse never actually believed a word of what she said to him. Nevertheless, he gave in at last and the group set for their destination, vaguely described as the place even the darkness fears.

Aislinn was walking quietly along the rest of her friends, wondering what she was going to learn once they retrieved the Elder Scroll. For some reason, every day brought a new discovery and she was growing more and more restless at the thought of any new piece of information. There were barely any good news after all. And today she had learnt that her Dragonborn daughter could not Shout.

Sorry for the delay again. I have gotten sick with tonsillitis and it has become really hard for me to concentrate on writing the story down. Then again, I don't want to stop completely because I have a ton of ideas which are literally asking to be recorded, and so I need to write for the peace of mind. And not only I have ideas for this story, several others that I won't be able to use in this one have crossed my mind and I really want to use them somewhere, so if something huge doesn't change my mind, I can promise you that this story is definitely not the last one you'll see here from me. I might also want to expand my already expanded Elder Scrolls universe (hmmm, should I call it AU? Then again, I don't really alter the things that are already in the games, in fact, I quite enjoy working around them – and by the way, this fact is important to note, since especially in the upcoming chapters a certain part of the game will become essential and I will not really explain much of it in the story) and add a few side stories featuring some of the characters from this one (namely Farkhali and the Hunter since, as you might have noticed, I kind of tend to think of them as my favorites :D).

That said, I have come across someone asking if they could maybe borrow some characters and write a story related to mine. I also noticed a few people asking the authors who went on hiatus here if they could finish the story for them. I was surprised to actually find out that the authors are not really keen on the idea. Well, it's true that it might happen that someone just spoils the story and writes something I would even be ashamed of reading, but then again, I am here writing fanfiction, using someone else's work as a foundation for my own, so how can I even think of forbidding other people from doing the same? So, if you feel like writing something based on my story (or maybe drawing pictures, composing songs or anything that comes to your mind), feel free to do so, I don't mind. Still, if you do, please do mention my name at the beginning. I would also be happy to receive a word from you that you are doing so.

Okay, one thing about Lydia and Chillrend. If, by any chance, you read Myrielle's Dragonrend (or if, by any chance, Myrielle herself reads this, which I highly doubt since this story is really nothing compared to her masterpiece), please do not assume that I am copying her. I pretty much use the things I did in the game as the basic setting of the story, and so it seems the two of us had the same idea of giving Chillrend to Lydia. It's just a detail but I know of it and I don't want to change it since this blade is super cool (literally!) and I think it suits Lydia well.

To Twillin: Man, you can be pretty evil, do you know that? That said, Aislinn is too. Well, there certainly are things she would kill for… :D

To the Guest who commented on chapter 24 (I don't know which one you are, but there is a name field above the field for the guest review, so if you fill it in next time, I can address you properly): I hope this chapter has answered your question about the armies. I did not really explain how it came to this development though and I will look for the right moment to mention that in the story since it might be quite confusing for you. Still, most of the important facts were already mentioned in the story so you can try to figure it on your own. :)

To everyone else: Thank you so much for your support! This story is not so popular here but I noticed an increase in favs/follows with the last published chapter. Not sure if it's going to continue like this but along with the reviewers you still make me very happy!

Stay tuned. :)

Mirwen