Chapter Summary: Miranja discovers a dark secret at Dragonsreach, and has a meal and a lesson with Athis after deciding to become a Companion.

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The next day, Miranja and Erik sold and traded a few things, then Miranja let Erik go do whatever he wanted for a while, while she went up to Dragonsreach to practice her enchanting on some jewelry and to speak to Nelkir. Farengar was being much nicer to her now; he praised her enchanting and shared some tips. She told him she'd finally gotten enrolled at the College and that she'd had one official lesson and a field trip before they'd sent her on a mission to find some missing books for the Arcanaeum, but she didn't tell him about the situation with the orb.

She found Nelkir sitting alone on the balcony overlooking the great hall. He'd gotten a needle from somewhere and was poking it through the pads of his fingers, as kids are wont to do when they're bored. She did her best to be friendly and non-threatening, but she was quite taken aback at the hostility he showed toward his father when she told him Balgruuf had asked her to speak to him.

"Your father loves you and he's concerned about you," Miranja admonished gently.

"Yeah? Then why doesn't he bother talking to me himself?" Nelkir growled, eyes flashing.

"He says you've been violent lately; I'm sure he believes that talking to you himself would get him nowhere. Surely you can see it from his perspective; you're a very bright young man. Admit it: if he came to you himself, would you tell him what's the matter?"

"No," Nelkir admitted, mumbling sullenly. "But if he at least bothered to ask me, it would seem more like he cared."

"If you're willing to talk to me, I'll see what I can do to help you without giving your father more information than you want him to know. Mind you, I'm not promising anything. If there's anything life or death going on, he needs to know."

Nelkir's look told her that he didn't really trust her but he was bursting to tell someone. Obviously reticent, he nevertheless told her about the secret door and the Whispering Lady, and how Miranja could get a key to the door. Miranja felt terrible about the idea of having to steal a key, and even worse about how casually Nelkir implied that she could kill Farengar for his key if she had to, and no one would even care or miss him. She knew this was daedric foul play; she just didn't know what Daedroth was influencing this lonely boy. She had to get to the bottom of this, not only for Nelkir's or Balgruuf's sake, but for the sake of the whole keep.

"Nelkir, this sounds like a daedra could be at work here. It's possible that the things the Whispering Lady has told you aren't even true. Daedra are masters of deception. Keep that in mind before judging your father. But I promise you, I will find out what's going on."

Nelkir tried to keep the sullen look on his face, but Miranja didn't miss the brief look of surprise and realization that flashed in his eyes.

She did decide to take Farengar's key. Stealing from Balgruuf himself was absolutely not an option. Under the ruse of looking for a piece of jewelry she thought she'd left around the mage's enchanting table, she managed to slip a hand into his pocket as he unsuspectingly went about his usual business.

What she found in the locked room horrified her: a sword of Mephala designed to grow stronger when the wielder betrays and kills people who trust them. The sound of Mephala's voice made her skin crawl. She wanted to take this evil blade away and hide it somewhere – but where? It had remained safely in this room for an unknown length of time – or had it? If its presence allowed Mephala to seduce young Nelkir, was it really safe for it to be here? Was Nelkir miserable and lonely, bullied by his brother and sister with a different mother? If so, was this weakness what made him susceptible to Mephala's voice? Were the things Mephala told him even true? She had many questions about this sword and its effect upon vulnerable minds. Where could she put it where no one would accidentally stumble upon it and she could check on it frequently? What sort of mind was vulnerable? Yes, she could clearly hear Mephala speak to her, but she felt no irrational anger or any compulsion to murder the people she cared about for this dark Daedroth, so it seemed she, at least, was resistant. Clearly, though, if this sword fell into Nelkir's hands, he would kill his own father, probably his siblings, even Farengar. If Irileth didn't kill him before he finished.

She felt she had no choice but to remove this sword from Dragonsreach before a great tragedy befell the place. The blade was long, but Miranja had worn a dress to visit the keep today, and she could hide the sword along her side and leg under her dress, if she could just find something to secure it and keep it from sliding down. Returning to the storage room outside the secret room, she relieved a large burlap bag filled with flour sacks of its rope tie. It was long enough to tie around her thigh, though too fat to fit it through the metal loop on the scabbard where the weapon could be attached to a support strap on a sword belt.

She went back into the secret room and hoisted her skirts to put the hilt end of the sword up the side of her bodice, to her armpit. The ebony was cold, unusually so. Holding her skirts under her chin, she wrapped the rope first around her inner thigh, crossing it against the outer side, then completed and tied off the figure eight around the scabbard. She had to stretch her arms to reach and try not to bend too much, so the sword wouldn't move and the rope could be snug and secure. Dropping her skirts, she took a little walk around the room to test her work. The sword shifted a bit with her steps, but she pressed her arm to her side and that stilled it. She left the room, locking the door behind her, and returned to the great hall to make her way out.

Nelkir was loitering against the long dining table, munching on a boiled cream treat, obviously waiting for her. She struggled to hide her discomfort and nervousness, but the boy's expression was one of knowing.

"You know the Whispering Lady, too, don't you? I can tell."

Miranja glanced around and, seeing no one very close, leaned toward him and whispered, "The Whispering Lady is evil, and I hope that what I've done today will keep her from troubling you ever again. The atmosphere in Dragonsreach should lighten up for you soon. I'll be back to check on you next time I'm in town."

"As if you really care about me," Nelkir scowled. "No one does."

Miranja looked past Mephala's influence and saw the boy's pain. "It's very possible that your brother and sister…"

"Half-brother and sister," Nelkir interjected adamantly.

Miranja ignored his interruption and continued. "…have also been under the influence of the Whispering Lady. That could be why they've been cruel to you."

Now Nelkir was suspicious. "What makes you think they've…"

"Call it a hunch. But I've talked to your father in private, before you and I talked, and he told me about the circumstances leading to your birth. He loved your mother, and he loves you, too. You're all he has left of her. And I may not know you well enough to say that I love you, but I care about your father, a dear friend, and by extension I care about his family and his entire household."

Nelkir scoffed, but something in his eyes told Miranja that she had planted a seed.

"Have a good afternoon, Nelkir. I'll see you again soon."

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Taking stairs in public with a greatsword strapped to her leg was a challenge. She opted to put on a playful façade and jumped down the stairs with a wide smile and an occasional whoop, landing on both feet and bending her knees minimally to keep the sword from poking out her dress. She jogged on the even ground, smiling at people she didn't know, and waving with her free arm at people she did know, but moving along briskly to deter anyone from stopping her to talk.

Back at Breezehome, she found that Lydia was out, so she was able to search the whole house for a good hiding place. Thanks to the sword being slender, she was able to wedge it behind the buffet shelf in the dining room, although she had to stand it upright, as it stuck out when she laid it crosswise on the floor. She tucked a towel tightly around it to keep it from falling over. She felt somewhat better to have it hidden where no one might suspect, but she was still concerned that Mephala could influence Lydia while she was away. Well, she would have to give Lydia an oblique warning when she saw her later, like, "If you hear any voices when you're alone in the house, leave immediately and send for me." But how would she answer the questions Lydia was sure to ask? Just tell her that she'd had a problem with some illusionists? She figured it was best to be as vague as possible, let Lydia think that too much information would be dangerous to her health and safety.

Satisfied that things were as in order as she could get them, she strolled leisurely back up to the keep to advise Balgruuf that she had spoken to Nelkir and to expect some change. This was her last errand today, and she was simply enjoying the free time she had and drinking up the mostly contented, bustling atmosphere of Whiterun. Even Heimskr's loud proselytizing didn't bother her. The rest of the day was hers to do with as she pleased.

It was an unseasonably fair day, and women were hanging out their washing or chatting with friends while shopping for ingredients for their suppers. The men she saw were working on repairs to their houses, or mending or polishing armor and weapons. In the circle around the Gildergreen, old men played checkers and talked politics and farming while the old women sat on benches sewing or knitting and chatting about family and preparations for the next holiday. A group of children sat listening attentively to Sonja Harvest-Bringer giving an outdoor history lesson outside the Temple of Kynareth. The stream burbled and the air was filled with a mélange of scents: fresh water, mountain flowers, the Grey-Manes' cow yard, and a hint of hot metal from the Skyforge. Heimskr's impassioned preaching scattered its distinct seasoning throughout the whole comforting stew. Over to the east, the clashing of swords and shields was faintly audible as the Companions practiced their combat skills in the courtyard behind Jorrvaskr.

Hoping that the sexy Dunmer would be in the practice yard and wearing the same skin-baring hide armor she'd seen him in before, Miranja detoured toward Jorrvaskr. Sure enough, he was among the warriors swinging swords at the practice dummies, and Miranja leaned against one of the canopy supports and admired his shining, sweaty, lithe body and flaming hair as he went through his maneuvers. As he performed a spin attack, he caught her watching, and she smiled at him, her eyes smoldering with lust. He scowled in response, but when he turned back to his routine, Miranja noticed that he was exaggerating his movements and making them showier for her benefit. She took a seat in the nearest chair and continued to watch until he'd worn himself out.

The Dunmer started toward the canopy, fruitlessly wiping his sweaty brow on the back of his sweaty arm, and Miranja sat up straighter, eyes glowing hopefully. He came right to the table where she sat, pointedly ignoring her and going straight for the pitcher of water and an empty tankard.

"You looked really good out there," Miranja commented as he poured. "I bet you're a real whirlwind in an actual battle."

The Dunmer declined to respond until he'd gulped down the entire tankard and wiped his mouth. "I'm small and quick, and so are my weapons."

"I'm Miranja. I'm very pleased to finally meet you properly, Small and Quick." She smirked and winked at him, and he made a sour face but the corners of his mouth twitched as he looked sidewise at her.

"Name's Athis," he said warily, reaching out and taking her extended hand briefly. He didn't seem to remember that they'd met briefly the first time she'd visited Jorrvaskr, and again in Winterhold when she'd run into him and a couple of his shield-sisters fighting snow wolves. Miranja let it slide; that had, after all, been way back in Last Seed, and he had been distracted both times. "You 'ere just to watch, or are you actually 'ere to join?" He turned away to grab a bottle of mead from another table, then turned back to her as he uncorked it and began swigging the sweet liquor straight from the bottle.

"I've been considering it. Why did you join the Companions?"

"Fortune and glory, friend. Fortune and glory."

"I suppose those are as good reasons as any," Miranja nodded, eyeing his mead and realizing that her stomach was growling. It was past lunchtime and she still hadn't been back to the keep.

"Everyone 'as their reasons, but they all boil down to the same thing. We get paid, and we earn a good reputation. I suppose some of us do it because they're genuine do-gooders, but doing good is incidental to me. I suppose it's nice to have the appreciation of an attractive lady once in a while." Miranja's eyes flicked back up to his, but his customary sour expression still sat comfortably upon his face and his eyes were directed downward and slightly to the side. She couldn't tell if he was avoiding her gaze or thinking about some specific attractive lady.

"To be honest, I appreciate just watching you work up a sweat," Miranja told him in a husky voice, and was gratified to see him look at her with more interest. At the same time, she felt that someone else was looking at her, too, and realized she no longer heard weapons clashing. She and Athis both turned toward the now-silent yard and the other Companions unfroze and began busying themselves with inspecting their weapons, straightening up the dummies, any little task to occupy themselves and keep them – belatedly – from appearing to eavesdrop.

"Miranja! What are you doing here?" The voice was Erik's, and he was emerging from Jorrvaskr's eastern doors with Torvar.

"Probably the same thing you're doing here," Miranja smiled back once her initial surprise had subsided. "Thinking once again about joining the Companions. Did you join?"

"Not yet," Erik replied. "Torvar's the second newest Companion and he's been showing me around and telling me what the Companion life is like. But I think I want to discuss it with Pa before I make a decision."

Miranja nodded, smiling inside. For all Erik's longing to be an independent man, he still wanted his father's approval. "I think your father would approve, but you're a good son for wanting to include him in your decision. As for me," she continued, trying to take note of Athis without looking directly at him, "I think I'm going to talk to this man Kodlak and see if he'll accept me and what sort of missions they might have, and how soon he would want me to take an assignment."

"I'd be happy to show you the way," Torvar offered, sounding a tad lecherous.

"You've already got an applicant on your 'ands," Athis told him. "I'm done training for the day. I'll take 'er to the old man."

Miranja's heart leaped as Athis spoke, and butterflies rose in her belly when she felt his fingers brush her elbow briefly.

Torvar squinted and smirked slightly at Athis, but whatever he was thinking, he wisely kept it to himself. "Have it your way," he said simply. Then he sucked in a breath through his nostrils and announced he might visit the meadery, that he could smell honey on the wind. "Care to join me?" he asked Erik.

Erik glanced at Miranja.

"Go right ahead," she told him. "I don't own you, darlin'. But we are leaving in the morning, so try not to get too drunk or stay out too late."

"Yes, Miss Miranja," Erik grinned, and he and Torvar sauntered down the walkway, Erik listening as Torvar began regaling him with a tale of previous drunken escapades.

"Shall we?" Athis asked, extending his arm toward the double doors. His expression was neutral except for a slight upward quirk at the corner of his mouth.

Miranja smiled and drank in the angles of his face as she started moving. She wondered briefly about the bump on the bridge of his nose. Had it been broken? Although he didn't look at her, his palm pressed for a brief moment at the small of her back, giving her a thrill and sending her heart fluttering again.

Miranja found Kodlak to be surprisingly welcoming, and she sensed an odd mixture of warmth and sorrow in his manner, but she didn't pry. She followed Vilkas out to the yard for her combat trial and felt Athis watching as she proved her mettle. She was mildly disappointed that Athis sat down and poured himself another tankard of water while she took Vilkas' sword to the Skyforge. She spoke briefly with Eorlund, who gave her a small lesson on the difference between getting ordered around and performing favors with honor. When she returned to Jorrvaskr with Aela's shield as a favor to Eorlund, Athis rose and helped her locate the sharp-eyed woman. Aela asked her about giving Vilkas a beating, and Miranja's response seemed to please her. Athis offered to show Miranja to the bunkrooms, but she declined, explaining as they walked back down the hallway toward the door to the main floor.

"I thought you knew. I own Breezehome and that's where I lay my head when I'm not doing missions for people. Besides, there's no privacy here, and there are no double beds." She winked at Athis and grinned slyly, and his usually-narrowed eyes widened, then narrowed even more. Before he could speak, Miranja changed the subject.

"Speaking of Breezehome, I should probably get back home and get some lunch. I've been starving since you finished your practice."

"You're a Companion now," Athis told her. "You're welcome to any food that's on the table. Why don't you stay a bit longer and 'ave lunch with your new shield-siblings? I could even give you a lesson in one-handed weapon combat afterwards."

"I'm sure all my shield-siblings are wonderful, but there's only one I'm interested in breaking bread with at the moment."

Once again, Athis narrowed his eyes even further at her, and she returned his look with a disarming smile.

As they took adjacent seats at the table, Miranja commented, "You know, I've been all over Skyrim, and I've noticed that there are only a few cities where Dunmer live. Winterhold, where the college was once well populated with Dunmer, but now there are only a few left. Windhelm – " Here Athis briefly interrupted her with a derisive snort. " – where the Dunmer live and work but are treated as second-class citizens. Riften, where the Dunmer live and work alongside everyone else, including Argonians, and everyone but Khajiit (and presumably Orcs) are accepted with open arms. And here, where you and Irileth are esteemed members of society."

"So what's your point?" Athis asked, washing down his bread and cheese with a swig from his bottle of ale.

"I don't know, maybe I'm just being silly. Please don't take this as condescending; it's really not. I just feel rather proud of you for making a name for yourself in this mostly prejudiced province. I mean, I respect you." She turned to look him directly in the eyes. "Also, you're the only Dunmer I know, besides Irileth, who's an actual warrior. It takes a different kind of strength and courage to be a warrior. I didn't come here to be a warrior; I came here to be a mage. But I've felt obligated to become one since learning I was Dragonborn and that Alduin has returned. I've always been just a girl, and now everyone sees me as the savior of Skyrim. Of all Tamriel, even."

She was, to an extent, fishing for sympathy and comfort, but Athis was oblivious to her hinting and was not inclined to coddle her even if he had noticed. "Well," he said, "you're in the right place if you're looking for 'elp in becoming a better warrior. We all 'ave our specialties here. Farkas can teach you about two-handed weapons, Vilkas is good wif heavy armor, Njada earned the name Stone-Arm because she's great wiv a shield – but don't tell 'er I said that."

Miranja smiled wryly, remembering the first time she'd entered Jorrvaskr and witnessed his maybe-not-so-friendly spar with Njada. She'd been humiliated right along with him, but she hadn't even known his name yet and she hadn't wanted to say or do anything to embarrass him. Now that she had him talking, though, she had to satisfy her curiosity.

"What is the deal with you and Njada? I don't know if you remember, but I happened to come in here for the first time just as you and Njada were 'discussing your differences.'"

"I knew you looked familiar. Yes, now that I think about it… you asked my name, didn't you?"

"Yes, and you told me. Then it seems you promptly forgot about me," she ribbed. "But I remembered you."

"Well, I was a bit preoccupied, if you'll recall," Athis replied defensively.

"It's okay, Athis. I'm just teasing you. So…?"

"So, she's got this 'strong Nord woman' attitude. If you've ever 'eard Olfina Grey-Mane goin' on about that, it's because they're friends. Njada can beat any man at Jorrvaskr in a fight – except Farkas, the big brawny s'wit. And I say that in the most loving o' ways. Nord or not, he's treated me like a brother since the day I joined. Anyway, it's a superiority thing for 'er. She likes to test everyone – and 'erself – about once a month. You just 'appened to walk in on me getting my turn."

"Ahh, so you're saying that if I hang around here enough, I can expect her to do the same to me."

"Exactly."

They ate their fill, Miranja glancing stealthily at Athis every few moments, watching what he chose to eat, how his used his hands, listening to the sounds he made as he ate and replenished his body.

Something about sharing food and eating together seemed intimate to her; not just with Athis, but with anyone. Sometimes, food was scarce and hard-won, and the act of sharing it was generosity at its finest, helping others to survive, stoking their life force. This wasn't one of those times of scarcity, but Miranja still enjoyed sharing meals with people whether she was on the giving or the receiving end of the deal. She'd shared her idea of the intimacy of sharing food with her parents once. They'd been surprised and intrigued by her point of view, and wondered, as they had many times before about some of her other ideas, how she'd reached that conclusion. She knew she was odd, but she didn't care. Her ideas were pleasing to her.

Athis and Miranja eyed each other from around the rims of their tankards as they downed the last of their drinks. They wiped their mouths, and as they stood, Athis asked, "Ready to work off that 'eavy lunch you just put away?"

"That's a dangerous question to ask of me," Miranja answered with a devilish grin.

Athis didn't think he'd ever had a woman flirt so heavily with him. While he did find this young woman quite attractive, he wasn't sure how to take her innuendo. He replied with his usual gruffness, the attitude he found most comfortable for its buffering effect.

"I was talking about a lesson in one-handed weapon combat," he said testily.

"I know," Miranja smiled, giving him a light punch on the bicep. "But I was only half joking. I seriously think you're very handsome. And that hide armor doesn't hide much – pun intended. Forgive me if I make you uncomfortable. I'd like to get to know you better, and I don't mean just physically. Your appearance is just the first thing people see, and I want to see what's under the surface, if you'll let me."

Athis hesitated, feeling a sort of fight-or-flight response. He'd been treated well enough by most since coming to Skyrim, but no one, not even any of the Companions, had expressed any interest in knowing him below the surface. To be honest, he rather liked it that way. The more people knew about you, the more they judged you. Fortunately, he didn't have to respond, because Miranja spoke again.

"Well, not today, of course, sadly. I have another errand to run when I leave here, and I have to prepare for the mission Farkas gave me. So, our lesson will have to be brief, I'm afraid." She gave him a crooked, regretful smile, and he inwardly breathed a sigh of relief.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy her company. It was just that he needed some time to decide how he felt about her apparent desire for him and whether he wanted to open himself up for possible heartache. Was she serious about him or just wanting to play around? They hardly knew anything about each other – yet. He'd been through quite enough shit already in his life, and he had long since come to terms with the idea that he was responsible for his own protection, looking out for number one.

He kept the lesson brief, checking her grip and her stance and correcting her wherever needed, showing her the best way to swing so as to inflict the most damage without losing her balance. She wasn't the quickest study, but she was conscientious and determined, and she'd already learned a few things on her own, and that impressed him.

"Thank you," she said most sincerely when the lesson was over. "I appreciate you taking time for me." Before he could respond, she was wrapping him in a firm but gentle hug and planting a soft, sweet kiss upon his weathered cheek.

"You're welcome," he replied as they separated, still befuddled but feeling a warmth spreading in his chest. His features formed into an unfamiliar smile.

She smiled and tipped him a one-fingered salute, then hurried away, leaving him with his thoughts.

Miranja finished her errand to the Keep, informing Balgruuf that Nelkir – and even the other kids – would be right as rain very soon. They exchanged a familiar smile before she left, which didn't go unnoticed by Irileth, who raised her eyebrow but kept mum.

Then it was back to Breezehome to begin the chores of laundry and repacking for another spell on the road and in the wilds.