In my defense, no one told me the first few weeks of medical school would be this hard. Well, actually alot of people did but I never listen so...

Act II: The Sky Grows Darker

The Streets of Whiterun

By the time Felwinter's eyes cracked open, daylight was streaming. Even through the closed curtains, it made him flinch, his hand coming up to shield himself.

It took his mind seconds to put the pieces together. Seconds to realize that he was not in Severin Manor, where sunlight would never reach. Nor was he on Solstheim, where sunlight rarely streamed. Felwinter took in the solid wood of the ceiling and the walls, the woody smell of the room and the clean smell of snowmelt in the air. The soft bedding around him, the heavy, snoring weight on his chest.

He was home. And he wasn't dreaming.

Felwinter craned his neck to look down at the mop of black hair tangling into his beard and tickling his nose. Moth's head was pressed into his chest, his breathing even, his arm wrapped around Felwinter's midsection. Felwinter's own arm was around his shoulders. He brought his hand up to card through his hair. The movement alone was enough to stir Moth. The Orc stretched his neck slightly. "What time is it?" he asked in a quiet, sleepy grunt.

Felwinter's hand was still dragging its way through his hair. The gray strands he found, hidden beneath the rest, made him smile. "Mid-morning, maybe," he whispered.

Moth hummed. "Latest I've slept in a long time."

"Wish I could say the same."

A snort. "No, you don't."

"No, I don't." He pulled his hand away and Moth began to rise, sitting and pushing his hair from his eyes.

Felwinter remained on his back. "Think the kids are still sleeping?"

"They wanted to train with the Companions. They've likely been up for a while." Moth pushed further away and swung his legs over the edge.

"They wanted to train?" Felwinter asked, "Or Lucia wanted to train?"

His husband shrugged. "Where Lucia goes, Samuel follows." He turned to look back at Felwinter. "He's been improving. Doesn't freeze as often when someone runs at him."

"Good to hear," said Felwinter, even if it was hard to believe. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, his back against the headboard. "How's Lydia?"

"Are you interrogating me because you have no plans to leave this bed?" Moth stood and stretched, rolling the last vestiges of sleep from his shoulders and neck and back. Of course Felwinter stared.

"I'm surprised you're leaving at all," he replied, a grin spreading across his face. "Your husband returns from a long journey and you've yet to welcome him back properly."

He was baring teeth by the time he finished talking, reveling in the mix of both disbelief and amusement in the man's eyes as well as how he could still pull such a reaction from him.

"You're not staying in this bed, Drakon." Moth began to fish around for a clean shirt.

"Haven't been in a bed this comfortable in a month, you know that."

"When have excuses ever worked on me, Felwinter? Tell me." Moth sat down on the edge of a bed, pulling on his boots.

"First time's gotta happen some time, right?" Felwinter turned his eyes to the window. The sky was stark blue, even through the shroud of the curtains.

Moth stood again and walked over to Felwinter's side of the bed, moving between Felwinter's eyes and the window. He held his hand out and beckoned for Felwinter to take it. "Go see your kids, your Companions. I will be here tonight."

Felwinter sighed deeply. "Promise?" He took the hand.

Moth's face was deadpan. "I live here."

A pause. And then, Felwinter snorted. Moth chuckled and when he pulled him to his feet, Felwinter used the momentum to drop against him, making Moth huff in surprise and take a few steps back to keep balance. "Make no mistake…" The hands on Felwinter's lower back went even lower. "I've missed you too."

"Not enough if you're kicking me out." Felwinter lowered to kiss him.

Moth returned the gesture for only a second before pulling away, grimacing deeply. "Your breath is foul."

Without hesitation or warning, Felwinter sucked in as much air as he could and exhaled the hottest breath he could muster onto Moth's nose. He earned a palm against his chest for his trouble, falling back onto the bed with a laugh.

"Kids at Jorrvaskr, you said?" Felwinter made his way down the stairs, pulling a thin, clean shirt over his head.

"Lydia should be with them," Moth replied, standing from the dining table, "Will you head there directly?"

Felwinter shook his head. "Gonna make the rounds, let people know I'm back."

"And deprive them of their peace of mind."

"They only ever kept it on my whim." Felwinter squeezed his shoulder. "Not my fault if they've forgotten that." Moth rumbled a laugh at that, patting Felwinter on the back and resting his hand there.

Felwinter was still having trouble accepting that any of this was real. There were so many moments on Solstheim he had wished for nothing more than to be where he was right now. But this was real. And if this was real, then all of it was.

"All of it," he thought somberly, "All of it."

Felwinter felt a gentle hand wrap around his wrist. His vision unblurred, focusing on Moth's bearded and weathered face and the concern that laced it. So unguarded he was becoming, he was already wearing his heart on his sleeve and his thoughts on his face.

"Moth...about Solstheim…" he began, mumbling out the words. Then he sighed, "We need to talk."

Moth stared into his eyes for a few seconds more. Then the hand around Felwinter's wrist came to his waist. When Felwinter tried to pull away, move them both so they could sit down at the table, Moth refused to budge. "Is it important?" He asked in that gentle rumble of his.

"It is."

"Is there anything you can do right now?"

"Felwinter blinked. Then he huffed out a humorless laugh. "No, not really. Don't even know where to start with this."

'I'm not surprised. I've noticed it takes you some time to come back to normal when you return from your journeys," Moth told him, "Some time before you can be yourself again. Think like yourself again." He exhaled deeply through his nose. "So put it at the back of your mind for now. Regain your strength. Few days, Felwinter. All I ask."

Felwinter stared down at him. A few days. Even that felt like too long. Miraak's warning, his promise, was running through Felwinter's head, trampling over every other thought. In that, he saw the sense in Moth's words. There truly was nothing he could do right now. And he had waited so long for this...

His hand was still on Moth's shoulder. He patted him again and nodded. "Few days," he agreed, "Just for you and the kids."

"You're sleeping in for our benefit?" Felwinter could see the concern fade from Moth's eyes.

"Yeah, that's right."

"Can't believe I'm agreeing with you."

Felwinter squeezed Moth's other shoulder before wrapping his arms around them in an embrace. "Neither can I, Moth. Neither can I."

Miraak's words were already fading to whispers.

"How are your wounds?" Moth held the door open for him and closed it when he passed.

Felwinter stretched his spine with a groan. "I can move. Magic will take care of the rest," he answered. His fingers began to trace over the bandages around his arms, around his legs beneath his pants, around his still-mottled nose. But only absent-mindedly. His attention was on Whiterun, its beaming sun, its cloudless sky, the gentle but living character of its streets. Only minutes standing amongst it all was doing wonders for him.

And he was being noticed. Already, the people were recognizing him, speaking to each other in hushed tones.

"Rest will do you better than magic."

"Of course. Me being a feckless layabout is for your benefit." A call of Thane echoed from somewhere across the street. Felwinter turned, waving in the general direction.

Moth followed his eyes. "Who called you?"

"No clue."

"You just wave at anybody?"

"I'm beloved for a reason. You'll be at Warmaiden's all day?" Felwinter turned and began to walk with him towards the smithy.

Shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. "Adrianne's got a backlog I've been helping with. I expect to be."

"And more importantly...will you be wearing a shirt?"

Moth scowled at him with no heat. "I'm a bit tempted to stick around," he continued, struggling and failing to keep the smirk off his face. "Not to help or be of any use, of course…"

"Of course."

"Just to watch you sweat and lift heavy things and-"

"Moth!" Adrianne's voice flew clear across the road, heard even over the hiss of the forge and the ring of her hammer. She was already red-faced and shining with sweat, the hair tied behind her ears already loosening from its holdings. "Is that man bothering you?"

Before Moth could answer in the affirmative, Felwinter strode ahead, his arms spread wide. "Good morning to you too, Avenicci," he called out, loud enough to turn heads.

"What have I told you about harassing my people, Drakon?" she asked, even as the convincingly stern facade was beginning to crack.

"Ah, forgiveness, my lady, I beg for it." Felwinter swooped low in a bow and affected his worse noble accent. "With such eye-catching creatures striding about…" Moth shoved past him to reach the grindstone, a weapon already in hand. Felwinter's eyes followed him, unabashedly sliding down the length of his backside. "Well, you know me…"

Adrianne sighed through her nose. "Unfortunately."

A beat of silence. Then both broke down into childish giggles. Adrianne stuck out her forearm and Felwinter took it. "Good to have you back."

"Fucking Oblivion, good to be back," he murmured, leaning against the worktable.

"That bad?" Her eyes ran up and down his frame, "Well, you look it."

"Not as bad as it looks," he assured, "The village that took me in had some good healers." He pushed up off the bench and patted her shoulder. "Gonna go bother your husband for a bit. You mind?

"Slam the door, in case he's fallen asleep at the counter again."

Felwinter was already obliging before she could finish and the sound of startled clattering from the back of the shop made both of them smile and Moth shake his head. When Felwinter stepped inside, she returned to the cuirass in front of her. "So he's back."

"So he's back," Moth repeated.

"How'd the kids take it?" she asked.

"He returned late last night." The grindstone stopped, Moth lifting the weapon to the sun to inspect. Then it started again. "They don't know yet."

She nodded. "That makes sense, otherwise we would have heard it," she said, earning a rare, amused hum from him.

Then he asked, "Why would Ulfberth be falling asleep behind the counter?"

Adrianne had her hammer in the air when the question reached her and it paused there. Then she chuckled. "You know, I'm glad you're the one who asked and not your husband. At least I know you can be mature about this." She let the hammer down on the bench and turned, leaning against it and crossing her arms. "Ulfberth and I...we're trying for a child."

The grindstone paused again. Then Moth huffed out a small laugh. "I see why you didn't want to tell Felwinter."

"We're both too sleep-deprived for his ribbing."

"You know I'm going to tell him. The jabs will come eventually."

Adrianne pushed off the table. "As long as 'eventually'; is not right now, I can live with that. Let us both get a good night's sleep first."

"Fair enough."

Another period of silent work was ended by Felwinter sauntering back out into the sun. "How is he?" she asked.

"In a surprisingly good mood for someone who just woke up. Embraced me and everything, it was weird." He winced as he brought up his arm and stretched a tightness out of his shoulder. Adrianne was bringing up the hammer again when he leaned in close and added, "Whatever you're doing to him in the bedroom, I suggest you keep it up."

The hammer came down again. Adrianne's head fell back and her eyes reached the sky, as if begging the gods for patience. Moth chuckled lowly behind her. Felwinter cackled, clapping her on the back before departing, obnoxiously running his fingers through Moth's hair before leaving Warmaiden's behind. The two watched him go, clapping the back of one of the young, starry-eyed guardsmen on his way up the stairs that led to the upper district.

Adrianne hummed. "I think I'm gonna miss the quiet," she said to Moth.

The big Orc just shrugged. "Quiet is overrated."

"I promise, Danica, they're not as bad as they look."

"Well, I assumed," she replied as they made their way together up the stairs to Dragonsreach. "I'd have you confined to a bed if that were the case."

"Incentive to lie, I suppose."

"He 'supposes'," the small Nord mocked him with a wry grin beneath her cowl. "You didn't tell many but word spread when you left for Solstheim."

"Hopefully, you haven't struggled with the wounded because of my departure?" When they reached the tall wooden doors, Felwinter pulled one open and stood aside to let her enter first.

"We can handle ourselves," she assured him, "Don't you worry. Besides, with the war over, the rebellion broken and scattered, I can spend more time tending to civilian ills."

Her face grew somber. "The Stormcloaks we get don't come to me. They get sent to Andurs. If the guards find a body and it's identified as coming from Whiterun, the Jarl has ordered they be given proper rites and their families alerted."

They both paused at the bottom of the stairs, hesitant to take the conversation to where more could hear. "How is Legate Quentin taking that?" Felwinter asked in a hushed tone. "If I need to have a word…"

She scoffed. "He so rarely leaves this castle, I'd be surprised if he didn't still need a guide to reach the market. He's never seen it happen."

"Nevertheless, I'll see that he doesn't cause any trouble."

"That's good to hear. You outrank him, don't you?"

"On the account of me having won their war for them, I outrank everyone."

Danica giggled and the two ascended the stairs to the Jarl's court. "Here's my stop. Need to bother Farengar about something important." She put a hand to his arm. "It's good to have you back, Felwinter."

"Good to be back. Call on me whenever you need."

They parted and Felwinter continued on his way to the Jarl's throne. Between him and it, Felwinter recognized Proventus from his balding head and sloping, narrow shoulders. Irileth was at the throne's left. She was also facing the Jarl but it wasn't a surprise that she was the first to notice him, her piercing eyes snapping to Felwinter's position. Felwinter paused where he was and spread out his arms, as if inviting her to take a good, long look. The eyes rolled but the shoulders relaxed and the tight line of her mouth loosened.

Proventus twisted around and then, likely at being prompted, he stepped aside. "Your favorite Thane returns, Jarl Balgruuf," Felwinter said, drawing closer to the throne.

Balgruuf was already on his feet and meeting him halfway, taking his forearm with a wide grin. "Had no idea you'd be back today. Are you just now returning?"

"Late last night. And before any of you say it, I'm aware of how bad I look"

"Good," said Irileth.

"What happened on that island?" asked Proventus.

A question he did not want to be asked. "Fun things, Proventus. My nose should be an indication of that." Felwinter clapped his hands together, "So what did I miss? You all seemed rather involved in your throne-side chat."

The Jarl waved a dismissive hand. "Ah, it's nothing. Just discussing matters of the hold. Not much in the way of Stormcloaks have been seen these past few weeks. Maybe it is wishful thinking, but I'm hoping many of them are burying their colors and returning to their homes."

"Nothing wrong with being hopeful," Felwinter assured, "The less of them in the Thalmor's hands, the better."

Balgruuf sighed and turned to share a look with his housecarl, who was scowling again. "The Thalmor as well."

Felwinter's mood was spiraling quickly. His face showed it. "What about the Thalmor?" he asked in a low tone of voice.

When the Jarl hesitated, it was his steward that spoke up. "They are getting more and more heavy-handed after their victory in the war," Proventus explained

"Their victory?"

"As far as they're concerned," Irileth grumbled.

"Heimskr, the fool, made the mistake of preaching openly while one of Elenwen's dogs was demanding an audience with me," Balgruuf told him, "Had to lock him in a cell for a few days just to keep the peace. If not, they would have taken him into custody and torn down the Talos statue themselves. If your Companions had not been nearby, I don't think I would have been able to talk them out of it. As for Heimskr, I released him once they were gone. He's remained in his house since."

"Is he alright?"

Another dismissive wave from the Jarl. "Ah, he's fine. He's checked on daily. Just pouting, it seems."

It surprised Felwinter not to have noticed the lack of Heimskr's voice from across town though he did feel something off. "What did they want, the Thalmor?"

"They asked for you, Felwinter," Irileth said, "They would not tell us why."

"And you told them…"

"That you were away on business and nothing more, though they made their threats and their demands."

Felwinter's eyes were lidded. Beneath them, the dark pupils were beginning to shrink; the clearest sign he was close to losing his temper. "They have spine, I'll give them that." He took in a deep breath and released it. "Did they go to my home? Seek out my family?"

"No."

"Good. Did they leave a message?"

"Only that as soon as I pass it on to you, that you start journeying to Solitude," Balgruuf answered.

There was sympathy in his eyes and at that, Felwinter had to laugh. "I'll go to Solitude when I'm good and ready and that won't be for a long time."

"You'd be better off denying them outright," Proventus muttered.

"And risk them returning?" countered Irileth, "Maybe you would be up for dealing with that, Proventus but if they don't watch their tone the next time they speak to our Jarl, I won't be held responsible for my actions."

Balgruuf cracked a grin. "The last thing I'm doing is jumping in front of Irileth and whoever has the stones to make her angry. I'd rather deal with the diplomatic mess afterwards." But then the older man shook his head. "Listen to us," he said, "You are back only hours and already, we are shoving our burdens onto you." Balgruuf reaches out and takes Felwinter's arm again. "We can speak more later. There is nothing that cannot wait until you are rested."

Felwinter huffed. "You sound like Moth."

"It is a comfort to know one of you has something going on inside your heads."

It was midday when Felwinter left Dragonsreach. He supposed it didn't matter. His husband and the jarl were both right'; he had nowhere to be and nothing he needed to do. At present, at least.

The Thalmor came to Whiterun in search of him. Felwinter wondered if there were a pile of letters from them, stacked up somewhere he might have missed when he first returned. Part of him both wondered and hoped that Moth took one look at the sender and tossed them into the fire but it was unlikely. Whatever they were brazen enough to contact him at his home for must have been important. Also, Moth would never deny Felwinter the pleasure of doing it himself.

From his position at the top of the stairs, Felwinter could see all of Whiterun. He could see the Skyforge and Jorrvaskr beneath it. He could see bodies moving about the training yard, large ones and smaller ones as well.

"No Solstheim, no Thalmor," Felwinter mumbled under his breath. He started down the stairs one at a time. "No Solstheim, no Thalmor." All problems for later. He wasn't looking forward to later.

He passed through the town center, both the Gildergreen and the statue of Talos casting heavy shadows over his head. He stopped for Talos, feeling the silence deep within his chest. Felwinter hoped those surprise visits would not become a regular thing, in this or any hold of the province. He never cared much for Talos worship and Heimskr's long-past comments on his husband still rankled him at times but neither deserved what the Thalmor would do to them.

As he got closer to the longhouse, the sounds of sparring, conversation and laughter filled his ears more and more, until he could make out the two he most wanted to hear. Instead of going directly to the courtyard, Felwinter rounded Jorrvaskr and made his way up to the Skyforge. The old forge was billowing, meaning Eorlund was hard at work. Felwinter found him, his head and neck shining profusely, standing over the ledge that overlooked the Companions' training yard.

Without a word, Felwinter sidled up to his side. Eorlund's head turned at his approach, face already tight at his solitude being disturbed. The rest of him turned in recognition. Felwinter looked back for a few seconds and just shrugged. The silence drew on for some time before the old Nord granted him a slow, acknowledging nod. The kindest greeting anyone could ask of him. Together, they watched below.

Lydia's arm was out of its sling, the arm that had been dislocated by a rampaging bandit now gripped a practice blade at her side. Her eyes, as were most others, were on the match taking place at the center of the training yard.

Samuel's dark brown hair had been shortened from the length Felwinter had last seen it at. Lucia's own hadn't changed but at present, it was tied behind her head and out of her eyes, though strands were beginning to escape. Both held short, wooden quarterstaffs and light wooden shields.

It was Vilkas they were facing; a man who stood nearly as high as the two of them would on each other's shoulders by half and likely weighed twice as much. Felwinter took in their stances, the pace and speed of their steps. Quick and light, ready to spring in any direction as needed. Good for taking on larger opponents, as they no doubt have learned from sparring against veritable giants for so much of their time training; the twins, their fathers.

Lucia was the more aggressive of the pair, darting in close over and over again in an almost predictable fashion. Vilkas' guard made sure she fell short every time, each denial having her scramble back to avoid being grabbed and costing her precious seconds regaining her balance.

Samuel struck out less obviously and less often, usually after Lucia had tried her own attack. He'd come in from the side or flank, wherever he could get to that was out of Vilkas' sightline. Moth had already told him but Felwinter still took some measure of comfort seeing it for himself, that Samuel no longer flinched when someone bigger than him moved too quickly around him. It might have been necessary growing up at Honorhall but it wasn't here. Maybe because he knew no one here, Vilkas least of all, would ever truly hurt him. But then again, he knew Felwinter would never hurt him either and the habit had been a deeply entrenched one. Felwinter found himself overcome with the sudden need to kill an old woman twice.

Vilkas' voice carried out into the open air, booming orders, issuing corrections for their mistakes while goading them into making new ones, all with a teeth-baring grin on his face. He hadn't even bothered to tie his hair back, this was more fun than training for him.

Samuel lowered the point of his staff and ran in at the Nord's side. With frightening speed, Vilkas twists and shoots out his arm, palm up and forward. The suddenness made Samuel stumble in his charge and Vilkas took advantage by slipping the hand beneath Samuel's weapon. The quarterstaff got ripped from his hand and Samuel was shoved backwards, gently but with enough force to have him sliding.

"I told you about lunging, boy," he said, tossing the weapon in the opposite direction.

Lucia was already charging in, taking advantage of the distraction. She was still entirely too predictable. Vilkas twisted again, this time on her.

"She's tried that several times already," Eorlund mumbled.

The man could have easily been talking to himself but Felwinter replied, "She's tenacious."

"She's stubborn, even more than you."

Felwinter had missed the other instances of her charging her opponent but he assumed they ended just as this one did, with Vilkas pinning her to the ground, one hand on her back, its resting weight enough to immobilize her. Laughter and jeers came from the few who were watching the sight. "Knock him off, Lucia!" "Samuel, your sister needs you!" "Finally, Vilkas faces a worthy opponent!"

The words spur Lucia, even if her struggling was all for naught. Another lesson they had to learn, the worst thing you could do against someone who outweighs you is to let them put that weight down on you. In her tenacity (or stubbornness) it seemed she had forgotten that.

None had looked to the precipice overlooking the courtyard. None had seen Felwinter standing above them, watching the proceedings. But he was about ready to end it, announce himself and speak to his people. He started backwards, preparing to turn towards the stone staircase that had taken him up there.

Something stopped him. Small and barely noticeable but it was there. A tingle in the back of his neck. A shift in the air. A weak but clear accumulation of power.

Felwinter's eyes fell immediately upon Samuel. The boy's weapon was still where it had been tossed. His empty hands were cupped together in front of him and his brow was tight with focus and effort. The feel of magic in the air grew from a tingle to a spark, just strong enough for those with some recognition of magic to begin noticing. That included Vilkas.

By then, it was too late. With a yell of exertion, Samuel thrust his cupped hands outwards. From them, a silvery stream of wind sped across the distance between him and Vilkas, too fast to be avoided. But it did not hit him head-on. Instead, the wave of ice struck Vilkas' foot. A casing of ice grew around it, thin, weak and fragile but enough to both make Vilkas stumble and keep him rooted to the spot, throwing off his balance even more.

Lucia rolled out from underneath Vilkas' loosened hand and sprang back onto her feet. With a cry, she took up her discarded shield and launched herself into his chest. Felwinter could practically hear the wind leaving Vilkas' lungs as she collided with him and sent him backwards. Vilkas fell with Lucia pinning him with her shield and the casing of ice around his foot fell to pieces.

If no one had known Felwinter was watching before, the shout he released drew all eyes to him. "Did you see that?!" the man crowed, grabbing and shaking Eorlund by the shoulder. "With the ice...and the shield!"

"I saw," Eorlund grumbled after he managed to shake Felwinter off.

Lucia's chest was heaving, her eyes wide and unblinking and almost glittering as she scrambled off of Vilkas and took a few steps closer, as if she could not believe what she was seeing. Felwinter stepped off the Skyforge's edge and fell. He landed and though his wounds ached in protest, he could barely find it in himself to notice. He stared back and held out his arms in invitation.

Lucia bolted across the training yard and threw herself into him so hard, Felwinter stumbled backwards. Samuel was slower to reach him. He had paused to help Vilkas back onto his feet, who patted him on the shoulder in thanks and sent him on his way. Samuel's arms were around his waist a second later, holding him in a vice grip, as if he were afraid Felwinter could disappear at any moment. His heart clenched, the way he had missed them so. In a quiet voice that only they'd be able to hear, he told them as much, over and over again.

After some time had passed, he let Lucia down and knelt to their level. "That maneuver? The teamwork, taking advantage of a distraction? That was damn well done," he said, squeezing both their shoulders, earning a bright grin from his daughter and a blush from his son. "That's exactly how you do things in a real fight."

"Magic's cheating!" They heard Vilkas call from across the yard, standing over a water barrel.

"No such thing as fair on a battlefield!" He shot back. To his kids, he whispered, "Magelight in his eyes next time and if he asks, tell him I told you to do it. Got it?"

Both replied, "Got it."

Felwinter smiled wider and pushed to his feet, his hand remaining on their shoulders. "When did you get back?" Lucia asked him, "We never saw you." She took his hand from her shoulder and began pulling him towards the rows of tables and chairs that faced the training yard. Felwinter moved slowly, giving and returning the Companions' greetings, even from those he did not recognize.

He answered, "Early morning." Tightness in his knee made him groan upon sitting. "Didn't want to wake you. You never would've gone back to sleep."

"Neither would the rest of us," Lydia's voice cut in as she pulled a chair up next to them.

"Lydia, my favorite pack mule." Samuel, still tucked away beneath Felwinter's arm, snorted. "How's the arm?"

"Better than your nose." Her eyes were narrowed in both amusement and a grimace. "Hard fighting?"

At that, Felwinter had to laugh. Lydia knew him well enough to need nothing more. She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "How did the new one hold up?"

Felwinter sighed. "I put that man through the wringer, Lydia," he said, "And I didn't even mean to. Gregor managed but I don't plan on taking him anywhere else for a while. Jordis either. They've earned their rest."

Lydia's eyes ran up and down his face. Then she nodded. "Fair enough."

A large hand smacked against the side of Felwinter's head, gentle but still with enough pressure to shift him to the side. "Nice nose, Harbinger," Vilkas said, "Who'd you piss off?"

"Everyone and their mother, Vilkas. Hit me again and the next spell these two throw at you will go between your legs."

Felwinter tried his best to sound serious but Vilkas laughed off the threat. To the kids, he said, "Go fetch the others. And get your old man something to drink."

Felwinter lifted his arms off them. "Your old man would very much like something to drink."

Lucia and Samuel left quickly, their chattering disappearing with them into the longhouse. Vilkas sat next to Lydia. "You've seen the whelps?" He asked.

"I've certainly walked past a few." Felwinter's eyes made a second run around the yard, taking note of the strangers, mingling in with those he already knew. "How many did you take in?"

"Six is our final count."

"We're good for space?"

"We've got plenty."

"And I'm gonna have to meet all of them, aren't I?" Felwinter groaned, loud and obnoxious, as he got back to his feet. "Might as well get it over with."

"I can feel your enthusiasm, Thane."

"That's probably just gas," he replied. He groaned again, stretching his arms high above his head. The warm sun and sharp breeze were doing his injuries well. "Aela and Farkas. They're inside?" He asked, reaching over and pulling an apple from the table.

Vilkas leaned back in his seat, "They were."

Too occupied with his food, Felwinter had missed the obvious warning. Without another, a weight struck Felwinter in his back. Too much for him to stop, he knew he would have fallen if not for two thick arms wrapping themselves around his waist. Then, those arms lifted him clean off the ground, holding him there and squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Your daughter tried to steal my ale again," a deep, scratchy voice said behind him.

"I didn't tell her to." He pushed futilely against the arms, "I don't want your swill."

"The arms began to squeeze. "I'm still holding you responsible."

"I've got Dunmer liquor. I'll share it!"

"Deal." Farkas let Felwinter go. He dropped back into his chair, the impact making his bones singing. Still, he leaned back to glower at the grinning, scarred face directly above him.

"Harbinger," Aela's voice was as smooth and unaffected as always. She strode past them and their staring contest, a bow in her hands and a quiver at her waist. She stopped to greet him but her nod doubled as a look up and down. "You look terrible."

"Nice to see you too." Samuel and Lucia bolted past, Lucia pausing only to slap down a large mug of ale on the table next to him. Felwinter noticed the wetness on the lip and hoped they didn't drink too much of it. He tipped it over to look inside and saw the ice crystals floating on the dark amber surface; likely from their shoddy attempt at cooling it. "Where are they off to in a hurry?" he asked, letting the cup back down.

"I'm practicing and they want to watch." Aela unstrapped and refastened her wrist guard. "And throw things in front of me."

He snorted. "Of course."

Aela moved out to the courtyard, stopping at the base of the stairs. All eyes on her, she pulled the first arrow. Nocked, drawn and loosed, it found its mark dead-center of the dummy's head. The next sprouted underneath the throat. The next, the center chest. The next, the heart; pinpoint accurate and not a feather of the third arrow disturbed.

Lucia's hand came up just as Aela readied the next arrow. Felwinter was still trying to figure out when she got the apple out of his hand when she lobbed it in between Aela and her target.

Aela's eyes and aim adjusted immediately. They swiveled from the arrow-riddled dummy to the tiny object rising and falling several paces before her. The loosened arrow struck the apple with a resounding crack, sending both spiraling towards the back wall.

"Show off!" Felwinter's voice called out. Aela's only reaction was a twitch in the corner of her mouth. Felwinter leaned back in his seat and relaxed, taking a second to mourn the loss of his snack before turning his attention to his children and the Huntress, hands folded over his stomach. "You're staring, Farkas," he said.

Farkas didn't stop. Not even to blink. "What happened to your face?"

"My nose was broken, Farkas. You are the last person I should have to explain this to."

His own mangled nose scrunched up on instinct. "Well, what beat you up?"

Felwinter hummed, "What didn't?"

"Dodging the question…" Vilkas mumbled. He had his eyes on the large hunting knife in his hands, running an oilcloth across the serrated blade.

"Oh, you are the smart one, Vilkas." Vilkas' glared at him from beneath his eyelids. "Daedra. Undead. Cultists with a death wish. What else?"

"You've never been this quiet about your travels before," Farkas said and the concern in his voice burned.

"I'm just not interested in talking about it right now," Felwinter mumbled. He turned his eyes back on his kids. "Another time. Maybe. Just not now."

"Then we won't," Lydia said. Her tone made it clear it wasn't him she was talking to.

Vilkas sighed, slipping the gleaming blade back into its sheath. Then he asked, "Think you can stay for dinner? You said yourself you needed to meet the whelps."

"How are they?"

Vilkas blinked. "Ah…young?"

"That bad?"

He chuckled. "We'll talk more later. Will you be sticking around for dinner?"

Felwinter shrugged. "Might as well. I'll see if Moth wants to join in." Vilkas hummed and nodded, pulling a bottle of mead from behind him and pulling it open. "Anything else I should know about?"

"You heard about the Thal-"

Aela suddenly cut in. "Vilkas' friend passed through Whiterun again," she told him with no further context.

The bottle stopped halfway to Vilkas' mouth. Lydia bit her lip and put her eyes to the ground. Right next to Felwinter, Farkas began to snicker.

"Who?"

Aela put her bow down on the table and reached for the fruit bowl, never breaking eye contact with him. Beside them, Vilkas rubbed his eyes.

Then the memory clicked. "The merc? The Imperial? That one from…"

His eyes snapped from a grinning Aela to a reddening Vilkas and back. Suddenly, he burst out laughing, rocking the chair beneath and drawing eyes from those nearby. Lydia's lip was quivering now and Farkas had his heel tapping the ground in barely contained glee. Vilkas said nothing and did nothing, except scowl and squirm.

When Felwinter had gathered himself, he turned himself, full-body, towards Vilkas, staring into his averted but glaring eyes and making him turn redder.

Only after an uncomfortable amount of time had passed and Vilkas had finally regained the nerve to look back did Felwinter speak. In the most innocent tone he could manage, he asked Vilkas, "So was it him who got bent over this round or…"

Vilkas launched to his feet, blushing and muttering under his breath as he angrily stomped his way back into the longhouse. Lydia's composure left her and Farkas laughed so hard, he tipped too far backwards in his chair and dropped.

The crash ignited another round of raucous laughter, Farkas' own included and Felwinter's loudest of all.

Whiterun's streets were dark and dimly lit. The cool nighttime winds shook the leaves of the trees overhead and made the torch flames dance and sputter.

Samuel and Lucia were jumping and skipping around his legs as he walked them home. Their hands found themselves onto him in one way or another, grabbing his hands or jostling his legs, still always careful to mind his injuries, the considerate little beasts.

Neither had left his side within Jorrvaskr, during the small, hastily put-together feast the Companions had for his return. Felwinter complained, loudly and profusely, at the lack of his favorite foods but in truth, he couldn't be more glad for what they did. Not just the food and the drink but the talks, the laughs, the camaraderie. The distraction.

Now, filled with food, with his children's echoing voices jumping from one topic to another, the moons shining full overhead and the sheer feeling of security and safety Whiterun has brought him from the very first day he walked in after Helgen, he couldn't think of Solstheim even if he wanted to.

It wouldn't last the week he had promised Moth but the best he could do was try.

Out of the town center, Lucia broke into a sprint. Only after did she bother to inform her brother that they were now racing. Felwinter watched as the two took off towards the house, shoving their way through the door and likely knocking something over in the process.

Lydia had retired some time before they had. Felwinter entered Breezehome to find its lower floor empty. The fire at its center was low and dim and indeed, a book had been knocked to the ground.

Felwinter closed his door and locked it. He bent over with small difficulty to retrieve the book. When he came back up with it, he noticed what it was. A spell book for conjuring familiars. The very first Conjuration spell he had learned. Ser Roderin's parting gift. He wondered which one of them had been reading it.

He replaced it and crossed the living area, the fire rising slightly as he passed.

He found both in their beds. Samuel looked up from the book in his hands as he entered. "You kids stay here tonight," Felwinter said, "I'm turning in early."

"Are you still tired?" The boy asked, his brow furrowing.

Felwinter only nodded.

"Pa," Lucia swung her feet over the edge of the bed so that she was sitting, "You said you'd be back in two weeks," she reminded.

Felwinter sighed. "Some things…happened," he said. He went down to one knee. He always felt they listened better when he was down at their level. "A storm had run through. It damaged the ships so that none could leave port without sinking to the bottom of the sea."

"But you came home through the portal, Pa."

Leave it to Samuel to so quickly figure him out. "I never finished what I had come there to do," Felwinter replied and hoped against hope that they would ask no more on the subject.

Neither did. Instead, Lucia asked, "Are you finished now?" And Felwinter would have been a fool not to hear the true question behind what she was saying.

He reached out to take her hand, tiny and soft in his own massive and calloused one. For a flash of a second, he saw it armored and drenched in blood and bone and fur.

He blinked and swallowed, reminding himself where he was, who he was touching. She was growing every day and still, she was so small. As small as the day he, hungry and fresh from his execution, braved a pack of wolves to save her. "I'm not going anywhere for a while." He turned to Samuel to look him in the eye as well. "Understand?"

Both nodded. Felwinter released her hand and rose back to his feet. "I'll be here tomorrow and the next," he assured them. He brought up his hands, showing the bandages that covered them. "I'll be well again soon and when that day comes, we'll spar. You two versus me." He watched the two share a look and gave the pair a wicked smile. "With luck, that little trick you pulled on Vilkas will work on me as well. With luck."

Every candle in the room suddenly went dark and Felwinter could hear the both of them start in their beds. He backed away, chuckling deeply and closing the door as slowly as he could so as to lengthen the tension he had sewn. Once it clicked shut, furious whispering erupted on the other side.

Felwinter reached the top of the stairs, saw Lydia's door closed but candlelight flickered underneath. He rounded the corner to face his room and with a tired sigh, walked towards it.

Moth was there, as he expected. The axe, Felwinter's Lie, in one hand and Kodlak's old whetstone in the other; both things of ebony that drank in whatever light that seemed to hit it. When Felwinter had first given Moth the designs for the weapon, there had been some doubt in him as to whether or not shortening the two-handed haft would cause some issues with handling and weight but his doubts had been unfounded. Moth held the heavy thing easily, with little to no tension in his grip or wrist that would hinder him should the need for its use arise. Magic coursed through it. The amount was less than it had been when he left for Solstheim. Moth had likely been using it, still taken by its ability to return to his hand with little but a thought.

Felwinter closed the door to their bedroom, his eyes on Moth all the while, whose eyes stayed down. As soon as it clicked shut, Moth spoke. "Lock it," he said.

Felwinter did. Moth took one last drag of the whetstone over the axe's blade before rising to his feet and using the axe to point off to the side. Felwinter's eyes followed him to a tub, filled. "You smell," Moth said, "And your beard's a mess."

"You're not shaving me bare, are you?" Felwinter teased as Moth walked to hang the axe on the wall. Next to it on the rack was Zazikel. Beneath was Felwinter's armor, cleaned and polished to a gentle sheen.

"I do not know what you look like without the beard and I have no interest in finding out. Now, lose the clothes."

Again, Felwinter obeyed, with a surprising lack of resistance. Moth returned from the weapon rack and was already divesting himself of his own shirt. Felwinter couldn't help himself from there. His arm snaked out and captured him by the waist, pulling Moth into a full-body embrace and a deep kiss.

Moth returned it for a time. Then, Felwinter was pushed off. Moth jerked his head to the tub and again, Felwinter obliged.

The water was warm when Felwinter put in the first foot but by the time he was lowering himself with Moth's help to sit, it was steaming. Felwinter's legs stretched the entire length, sticking out the other end with his arms bracing the sides.

Moth gave him a few moments to let the heat seep into his tired muscles. Then Felwinter was handed soap and a washrag to scrub with while he prepared a set of razors. The two talked all the while, in low, barely formed murmurs. Not about Solstheim, never about Solstheim. Instead, Moth told him more about what had transpired in his absence. About Adrianne and Ulfberth trying for a child (Felwinter couldn't wait to see them the next morning), about Vilkas' Imperial friend, about the Thalmor's visit and Heimskr's imprisonment and their children's training and so on. Very little of it was news to Felwinter after his day about the city but the words being said were never the point. The point was listening to each other speak.

Moth ran a shaving blade over Felwinter's cheeks and at the join of his neck while he spoke. So practiced at it, he knew the direction to follow the hair, how much pressure to put so that he did not cut too deep but left no strays.

At a certain point, Felwinter had stopped talking. He sat in silence and let Moth's rumbling voice fall over him like the thundering of a cleansing storm.

He leaned over and silenced Moth with a kiss. Moth doesn't push him away. Instead, he lowered the blade and took Felwinter by the base of his neck, returning the gesture.

Moth pulled away again and stood. "Come. To bed."

Felwinter took the hand and was hauled to his feet. Moth's other hand offered him a towel. Felwinter stepped from the bath on legs so relaxed, they almost trembled, and dried himself down. His eyes stayed on Moth's turned back, the movement of his elbows as he fiddled with the fastenings of his pants.

Felwinter let the towel drape over a chair and approached Moth from behind, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face within the crook.

"Felwinter…" he heard and already he could tell what was coming.

"M'fine. I promise." He pulled back to press his head and pressed his nose into the Orc's black hair. "Just missed you," he murmured. "Also tired."

"How tired?" It was a simple enough question, asked with enough innocence and suggestion to nearly make Felwinter start laughing.

He settled for grinning, taking the bait so clearly left at his feet and replied, "Oh...not that tired."