"You have returned then," Ria said as they intercepted Lydia on the street. She and Njada had been heading towards the main gate, Lydia had been walking away from it and towards the market square, "has Runa returned as well?"

"Yes. She is at home, no doubt continuing her complaint that there is not one scrap of anything edible in sight."

Lydia was only a few years younger than Aric. Formally a member of the Jarl's personal guard, she had become housecarl to the man who had killed the dragon that had been threatening Whiterun and absorbed its soul in the presence of enough witnesses that no one doubted the veracity of the tale, however fantastical it might be. Housecarl and Thane had quickly become inseparable and had remained so until Aric had begun to adopt children without also adopting the practice of staying at home to help raise them. No one knew for certain what words passed between the two, but he eventually mended the error of his ways (his adventures up to that point had earned him enough gold that he could have spent the remainder of his life in idleness) and began to be a true father to his expanding family. He had also, at some point, become a husband, just as Lydia had become wife and mother. It was all still unofficial; neither of them believed that a piece of paper, or a journey to Riften and the Temple of Mara, was necessary to bind them together or demonstrate their commitment to each other. In any case, she would hear no words of rebuke from either of the women who stood in the road with her talking; they were in complete agreement with her on that point. But as for raising children, Ria and Njada (and occasionally Aela when they would include her in their discussions on the topic) believed that Aric had seriously abused his office when he brought Lucia home to Breezehome and presented her to Lydia with the words, This is Lydia, she will take very good care of you. He had repeated the phenomena many times after that. Lydia had no experience caring for children, but she had a great deal of experience in dealing with young recruits; and it turned out that a regimented existence served her adopted family just as well. But it was love that all the orphaned children needed most, and they received it in abundance from Lydia, and Aric as well once he had returned home, not to leave it again for almost a year.

"So you are off to the market, then," Ria said.

"Yes," Lydia replied as she looked at the two women, each of whom had filled saddle bags over one shoulder, as well as bed rolls and the distributed parts of their small tent, "you have a journey ahead of you i see."

"We are off to visit a sick friend," Njada said innocently before turning to look at Ria and smiling.

"What ails him," Lydia asked.

"He was grievously wounded by a werewolf, and would have died if not for Aric. He survived, and has mostly recovered, thanks to Aric's intervention. It is a debt we can never repay."

"Come, Njada, we do not speak of debts, not between us, and not with Aric. We are family, in almost every sense of the word. Even if we were not, the Divines call us to care for each other, and to love each other, without thought of recompense. But I will not preach to either of you on the subject of love. It is a topic on which you are well acquainted."

The joy fled Lydia's face before she continued.

"Runa and I passed Skjor as we were returning and he was departing. It was not love that illuminated his face when he looked at us. He has never been a harbinger of joy, and anyone living in Whiterun seeking conversation has long since learned to look to another source for it. But he was brusque, even by his own standards. And quite grim. He clearly had something on his mind, and it was not a happy subject."

Neither woman had realized that Skjor had moved so quickly. They both thought that they had been quickest off the mark, and that they would arrive at the Silver Hand's village before he had even departed.

"He was alone?" Ria asked after she and Njada had exchanged a worried look, "Aela was not with him?"

"No one was with him. What is it? Why do both of you look concerned? He is no novice in need of a chaperone."

Neither woman wanted to delay their departure to return to Jorrvaskr and alert Aela, or to stand in the road for the length of time it would require to explain to Lydia what it was that worried their minds.

"Would you do us a service, Lydia, and visit Jorrvaskr and tell Aela what you just said to us about Skjor?"


Gwenyfe Siobrach, daughter of Aoife and Aidan, out of necessity more than anything else, had only seen fourteen winters when she first killed a man.

It had not been a fair fight by any means; not by the standards that she would use today: they had not faced each other, a bit more than two sword lengths apart, each of them giving the other a moment to make peace with whatever Gods they worshiped before engaging, only to disengage again when one of them was dead or dying. There had been no swords involved, and no distance either. The man had been hiding only to appear suddenly to strick Gwenyfe on her temple hard enough to stun her so that he could rip her tunic and skirt before pinning her to the ground as his hips forced her legs apart. It had been his own dagger that she had drawn from his belt before plunging it into his back - once, twice, her hand covered in blood when the screaming man finally rolled off of her, the intended third strike unfinished. She lay there for a moment, her breath coming in raw gasps as rage and fear fought for control of her limbs. The unnamed man was attempting to crawl away when rage emerged victorious. Gwenyfe let a sound escape her mouth that was too animal in nature to be easily described in words. She threw herself onto the crawling man, who was on his hands and knees when she landed upon him, wrapping her legs around his waist as her arm reached around his neck and used his own knife to slice his throat open from port to starboard. She was able to free herself from him before he collapsed completely. It took less than a minute for his struggles, and the gurgling noises he was making, to cease. Gwenyfe lay still for several minutes more until the dizziness passed, and her breathing became something approaching normal, before she was able to take stock of her situation. She was covered in blood. Her tunic was ripped down to her waist, her dress was ripped up so far that the hair between her legs was visible, and that hair, and those legs were also covered in blood. In fact there was very little of the front of her body that was not bloodied. Just off to her left lay an equally bloody body, in an expanding dark red pool. The sun was setting, and all of the miners had long since departed, but this one must have laid in wait for Gwenyfe to finish her work in the small workers' kitchen at the mine. She had little memory of returning to her home. Her mother told her later that she had been discovered by a city guard on the road not too far from the stables. The dead man, it turned out, was a wandering laborer. The mine had employed him because he was big, and strong, but knew nothing of him past his name. It had been pure luck that Gwenyfe had survived. He would certainly not have let her live afterwards.

"They brought me to the Temple of Dibella," she said in conclusion, "Mother Hamal tended my wounds - the blood on my hand made the knife handle slippery, and my hand had several cuts from sliding down and gripping the blade instead of the handle. But it was the wounds to my psyche that most needed treating, and they helped me greatly with those as well."

"There is no one better in Tamriel for treating such wounds than Mother Hamal," Aric said as they sat in his private room, "I know that well enough."

"You have seen her treat others in that fashion?" she asked as she took another mouthful of excellent white wine and savored it for a moment before swallowing it.

"She treated me in that fashion," he answered before taking a small piece of hard cheese from his plate and popping it into his mouth, "I have known her for half of my lifetime. She is a very dear friend. And she was there to help me when I desperately needed helping. I owe her my life."

Gwenyfe had never spoken to anyone about the attack except Mother Hamal, her parents, and the Markarth authorities. She still did not know what it was about Aric that had caused her to do so. They had started simply by talking about the city that they both knew well. She had mentioned that her sister knew his housecarl. They had shared humorous stories that involved the endless stairs that visitors to Markath found so tedious. But somehow, she was not sure how, his face with its exquisite smile, and his voice that was music to her ears as they spoke in the language that she still considered her native tongue, drew the story from her like a Healer drawing poison from a wound. It was when she was half way through telling her story that Gwenyfe had realized that the pain she had always associated with her ordeal was absent. This was only the second time they had sat together in the same room but she felt like she had known him for her entire life.

"I owe them just as much, if not more," she replied as her left hand began to creep slowly across the small table before stopping just short of his right hand, "Priestess Orla gave me my first formal lessons in fighting at that time. Hands, elbows, knees, feet. Dagger and short sword too. It was two years before she suggested another teacher so that I might learn longsword and bow."

"I was absent from Markarth when you were attacked, and for several months afterwards. During that time I was in Whiterun, focused on being a better father to my children. Otherwise, I might have visited the temple, and we could have met," he said as his hand traveled the remaining distance until their fingertips touched. His hand continued on its short journey until it completely covered hers. Without conscious thought Gwenyfe turned her covered hand over so that their palms touched, and it seemed to her in that moment that everything in the room became brighter, the colors more vivid, the fruity fragrance of the wine more heady. She was aware that her entire body was coming alive to the touch of this exquisite specimen of a man that she had dreamed about more times than she would ever admit.

"What is happening to me?" she asked as she looked into his lovely gray eyes.

"May I ask you a question before I answer your own?" he asked as his thumb began to caress her palm, causing her heart rate to increase.

"You may ask whatever you like of me," she replied before realizing what it was she was saying. Aric smiled in response before continuing.

"What did you seek when you visited my home? Was it a particular thing you sought, or was it something more vague that brought you here?"

I came here seeking your love, she thought to herself. But as much as she had opened her mind to him about her earlier ordeal, she could not bring herself to say those words.

"I do not know what I sought, except that it was here that I would find it."

"There was a man in Riften that had purchased a love potion from the local alchemist," Aric began as his fingers wrapped around her hand and applied gentle pressure, his thumb continuing to move gently back and forth along the life line of her hand, "he took that potion to a Hagraven who corrupted it so that whoever drank it would be under his power forever. He gave it to several women in Riften to drink, to turn them into his sexual thralls. It took a particular type of antidote to cure them. Part of that cure included uncorrupted love."

"Uncorrupted love," she said as her heart attempted to beat its way out of her chest. They had both left their armor in the entryway of his house. His housecarl had not returned from the pilgrimage that had also taken Salama away. His son was at their nearby farm, his Stewart at their mine that stood even closer by. What little noise coming from the cook in the kitchen did not make its way through the closed door of the room on the opposite side of the house where they sat. Gwenyfe was certain that Aric could hear her heartbeat and see it through the fabric of her tunic as it pounded against her chest.

"A blessing from Mara, and pure, uncorrupted love; though a blessing from Dibella would also have served had her temple been closer; they are both Gods of love. But I have not yet answered your question."

"My question?" She asked, almost forgetting that she had asked him a question.

"You asked me what was happening to you. You were subjected to a terrible, traumatic, assault. Not a corrupted love potion, but not so far from it either. It affected you deeply. You were fortunate in that your parents knew to take you immediately to Mother Hamal. They are experts in treating such trauma. Their assistance and guidance, in addition to Dibella's blessing, worked as an antidote to the poison that man's attack poured into you. Only one ingredient is still missing."

She was suddenly aware that she had stopped breathing as he spoke, and that this was at least partly the reason she had become so dizzy.

"Only one ingredient..." she repeated, her words barely audible over the sound of her blood pounding in her ears.

"It is the reason that the Champion of Dibella exists...to bring love to those in need of it, no matter what form that love takes. It is common for others to interpret the word love to mean physical love, but in truth that word encompasses much more. The emotion of Love is boundless, and has no limits, neither physical, nor emotional or spiritual. That is the role of Dibella's champion, and Mara's Agent, to bring, and spread, love; especially the love of one's self. Sometimes I seek a person out, other times they approach me, as you did. Something is absent in their life; a missing element that they may have identified already, but quite often not. Mara gives her Agents the task of bringing two specific people together, and guides that Agent on how to do so. With Dibella it is her Champion that is the direct messenger of Her healing Love. And then, when Dibella's task is completed, it is her Champion's duty to depart."

Gwenyfe was silent for a moment.

"You bring love to a person in need, and then you depart from them?"

Aric's eyes became damp as he fought to control his emotions. His own moment of silence was as brief as hers was.

"It is very hard to look into the eyes of someone who has grown to love you, who you love in return, and know that you must eventually break both of your hearts. It is no easy thing being Dibella's Champion."

Her left hand was still entwined with his right one, so Gwenyfe used her free hand to reach up and wipe the tears from his beautiful face. They stayed like that for a moment, as he continued to smile through his tears, before he stood up, and used their clasped hands to guide her to stand as well.

"What did you seek when you came here?" he asked again as his mouth approached hers, his voice no more than a whisper.

"I came here seeking your love," she answered without hesitation.

She had barely finished speaking those words when his lips found hers.