A knock came at Amelie's door. The woman started, turning sharply toward the source. She did not move. Even through the din of life that came from the inn's common room, was sure she'd heard it.

Again, the knocking came. More insistent, this time. One of the drunks, perhaps, hoping for my company. Or a thief hoping to prey on a mother and her child.

Her little boy fussed in his crib where he'd been fast asleep. If the knocking persisted, he might awaken fully and start bawling again. Amelie would allow no such thing. She gave a resigned sigh, picked up the nearest heavy object - a blackened pot that she'd brought along with her for the road - and crossed to the door.

It opened to reveal a tall, broad-shouldered figure wrapped in a cloak. Beneath the shadow of his hood she saw a man's dark-haired, bearded chin. The hilt of a sword peeked from his opposite hip. Amelie felt a stab of danger and raised the pot in her hand. "Speak. Who are you? And make it quick, I have a sleeping child to tend to."

The man held up his hands in a placating manner, as if to ward off the impending strike. "Please. I mean you no harm. I only wish to speak to you."

Amelie scowled at the man with a frown; his voice sounded familiar. He kept one hand raised against her while the other pulled back his hood. Steel blue eyes seemed to shine from under the cowl. Amelie's expression slackened in shock, and she lowered the pot. "Dorian?"

He gave a short nod, glanced around at the oblivious inn patrons lounging by the fireplace behind him, then turned back to her. "May I enter?"

After a moment's consideration, Amelie nodded. She stepped aside for Dorian to enter. When the door closed behind him, the man lowered his hood fully and turned toward her. She was ready with a glare to meet his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

There was a faint twitch, the suggestion of a frown that flashed across his otherwise impassive features. "I came to see you. I wanted to be certain that you and the child were well."

Amelie huffed and set her pot down. "We're fine."

"That is good." Dorian nodded once. A long silence stretched before them. The man looked away, cleared his throat. He ducked his head. "I apologize for… back there."

"An apology won't keep me off the streets," muttered Amelie, hugging herself. "An apology won't keep me or our child warm or with full bellies."

"I know. But that is why I am arranging for you to receive aid from my House to support you." He gave a humorless smile. "I know it isn't the same. But—"

"This isn't about living a life of luxury." Amelie's voice was cold. Her hazel eyes were the unrelenting rocks a tempest-tossed ship would break upon. "I thought you cared about me."

She reached into the pocket of her bodice and drew out a silver band decorated with a richly-cut sapphire. "You gave me this, your ring, on the night we spent together. You said you loved me."

"And I do." He sounded pained. "Please, Amelie, you must understand. I intend to assemble an alliance of Houses to defend against the Thalmor, and if I am not—"

"Enough, Dorian." Amelie sighed, buried her face into a hand. "Just… please. Spare me the justifications. My memory does not fail me so easily - I heard your advisers speaking to you about politics. But it pains me to know that your reputation is more important to you than me. Or our child."

The man seemed to sag where he stood. Burdened by the weight of shame, he seemed like the ghost of the noble Sir Dorian she'd come to know and love in Cyrodiil. She thought: It's been a year since I've last seen him. How much he has changed!

Behind him, the child began to fuss again. Amelie brushed past Dorian and sat on the edge of the bed, soothing the child and rocking him gently. He wasn't settling down easily, and she heard the first whimpers bubbling out of him that would turn into a wail.

She was about to feed him from her breast when she felt the weight of Dorian's presence settle on the bed. The man reached around her, touched the child's cheek with a soothing word. In moments, the baby grew calm and still, gurgling happily. Amelie turned to arch an eyebrow at Dorian. "Well, your child certainly has no difficulty recognizing his father."

Seeing her look, the triumph vanished from his expression. Now sober, he bowed his head once. "Amelie… I apologize, truly. I am attempting to do the best I can for you and the boy. But in High Rock even a king must always be looking over his shoulder; enemies and allies alike may seek to take advantage of any sign of weakness, especially in these times."

He then smiled humorlessly. "I am not even certain of my own safety; there is a very real threat of an assassin sneaking in through my window, according to my battlemaster."

The woman frowned. "Who would call you their enemy? You have only just risen to your throne, haven't you?"

"You would be surprised. Bad blood doesn't go away easily."

Another silence enveloped them. Dorian reached over and stroked his child's cheek again. "Have you given him a name?"

Amelie shook her head. "I had thought that you might want to name him."

Dorian studied the child's features. After a moment's contemplation, he murmured, "Were it not scandalous, I might name him after my late father, Bernard. But for him… Roland."

"Roland," repeated Amelie, stroking the dark, wispy hair on her son's head. "Who is that?"

"A great hero of the olden days. If my grandfather was to be believed, he was related to an ancestor of mine, as well."

Amelie nodded. "Roland… I think it suits him. He was very brave on our journey north from Cyrodiil, through Craglorn and the Fallen Wastes."

She turned to see Dorian's warm smile. He was admiring the boy, gently stroking a finger against his hand. It was painful for Amelie to see how much the man clearly loved this boy. So much love, and yet he still refuses to take him into his House. How could such a thing be?

The woman did not voice this. She knew she would not convince him. "You have pledged to send us aid?"

"I have." Dorian nodded. He turned back to her, serious. "You will be given a small cottage on the east side of the city to live in. My steward will have the deed sent to you with my official seal. Gold will be delivered every month to help sustain you and Roland, as well."

Amelie sighed. "I can be grateful for that much, at least… Thank you, Dorian."

"No. It is the least I could do, and I wish I could do more without jeopardizing my mission." Abruptly, he stood. "The hour grows late. I must return to my keep, or else Razig will chew my ear off."

Dry humor curled Amelie's lips. "Your Orcish nanny, is that right?" A thought suddenly occurred to her. "Does anybody know you came here?"

"Nobody." He shook his head. "I would rather it remain that way."

"And how do you plan to return to your keep without drawing attention to yourself?"

"Sneaking in through my bedroom window." He gave her a roguish grin.

Amelie found it in her to chuckle. "Perhaps you aren't much different from the man I loved in Cyrodiil, after all."

He nodded. Then, his chin jerked up at the boy. "Take care of Roland, and yourself, please."

"I will." Amelie nodded. Dorian returned it, then raised his hood. Then, he was out the door and back into the rain.

When he was gone, the woman turned back to her child. She drew a finger across his cheek, and he turned to suckle on it. A soft smile creeped across her lips. "Roland…"

Days went by. Through Vivian's agents, Dorian learned that Amelie and Roland had safely moved into their new home. It wasn't more than a modest cottage, but it was paid for by King Dorian and was a safe place for her and the child to settle into a new rhythm of life. Amelie took up work at one of Evermore's taverns as a barmaid. Men and women both quickly grew fond of the pretty new lass bringing them drinks. She even had extra gold thrown at her by patrons when they learned she was alone in raising her child. While she didn't care for their pity, the extra money was always appreciated.

Dorian made his best attempts to visit the cottage, mostly out of a sense of guilt, but he did truly love them - Amelie and Roland both. He could share no tender moments with Amelie, but the coldness with which she'd greeted him that first night began to slowly fade and be replaced with warmth. Seeing Roland smile whenever his father came to visit helped.

Months went by. Dorian found it difficult to visit Amelie and their child. Duties to his House and his realm as Lord of Mournoth demanded his attention. He had to develop the land, get in contact with the vassals of neighboring Wayrest, recruit and retrain troops to replenish the men-at-arms lost fighting for the Empire in Cyrodiil… There was no end to the work. When the work reached a lull, sometimes the opportunity to visit his woman and child wasn't there.

But he was persistent. Once in a while, under cover of darkness, he would steal off into the night in his dark cloak and visit Amelie's cottage in Evermore. Razig and Vivian eventually did catch on, finding him missing from his bedroom late one night. They insisted he cease the skullduggery, and his steward offered to have an agent of hers perform checkups. He waited only long enough for them to let their guard down before returning to doing the same late-night checkups. In this manner, he kept track of Amelie's welfare and Roland's growth.

A poor excuse of a father I may be, he'd thought to himself once, but a father nonetheless, illegitimate or no.

Years went by. In the midst of making alliances and solidifying connections with other noble Houses in the nearby realms, Dorian continued to have only a precious few opportunities to visit the cottage. He'd missed the boy's first words but had been delighted to hear him speak for the first time, coming in through the door to the excited cry: "Papa!" And though it pained him to have missed Roland's first steps, tears had come to Dorian's eyes when the boy had first come toddling over to embrace his leg. Even Amelie had cried then, tears of joy and sorrow both.

One day, five years after turning Amelie and Roland away from his doorstep, he made the firm decision to change his mind. Razig and Vivian warned him against it - he was still unwed, he could marry into another family and grow the strength of House Durand and the burgeoning Iliac League. There was going to be a party at King Barynia's palace in Wayrest where he could find a suitable candidate for marriage!

Dorian would not be swayed. He would marry Amelie, even if it meant risking his personal reputation. If the Iliac League could not survive a single scandalous marriage, then how could it hope to survive clashing with the Thalmor? His only mistake was not having been brave enough to do it earlier, and he prayed that she would accept him.

Dusk was falling when Dorian and two Durand house troops came riding into the neighborhood. The folk of Evermore didn't recognize their king with his cowl, and the house troopers were similarly cloaked, concealing their sky-blue jupons. While there was no need for discretion, Dorian had hoped to avoid making a scene. Sure enough, people took one look at the armored trio and gave them a wide berth as they worked their way to the east side of the city.

Something was wrong. Dorian recognized it as soon as they turned the corner. At the end of the short street stood the cottage. The front door hung open. No light spilled through the window. Upon a second look, he noticed that one window was shattered. Cold fear gripped him, and he hurried them down the street to investigate. Before his guards could dismount, Dorian had already slid off his horse and entered.

The house had been ransacked. It had never been a place of many luxuries or possessions, but the contents of a nearby shelf had been strewn across the floor to leave a mess behind. He saw books, pots, a pewter candlestick, and a kitchen knife laying before him. When his guards entered the house, Dorian's attention snapped to them. "You two - go next door, ask about what happened here! See if they know Amelie!"

Both men gave a hasty salute and departed. As they left, Dorian heard a quiet voice ask, "Papa?"

He turned to see one of the wardrobes creaking open. Roland stepped out of the closet and raced over to embrace him. Dorian knelt to return the hug, feeling a flush of gratitude. "Roland! Thank goodness you're alright, boy. Where is your mother? What happened?"

The man pulled away. Roland had his mother's hazel eyes, now brimming with fearful tears. "Mama told me to hide… She put me in the closet when they came…"

He wiped a tear from his cheek. "I heard mama yelling, heard people yelling. But she told me not to move. She told me to be quiet."

"Sir."

Dorian started, whipped around at the guard's voice. The man's expression beneath his helm was dour. "Neighbors said they heard a commotion not long ago here. Sounded to them like there was a break-in. They heard a woman's scream from further east, in the alleyway. Donovan went to investigate."

They heard the crunch of boots against gravel. Guardsman Donovan skidded to a stop outside the door. He caught Dorian's eye and bowed his head somberly. "Sir… I've found her."

This can't be happening. Dorian motioned for the other guard to stay with Roland as he rose to join Donovan. He followed in a dreamlike state as his guard led him around the house and through a narrow street. They stopped at an alleyway not far from the cottage. Light from the guard's handheld lantern and the street lights illuminated only twenty feet into the alley, but there was no mistaking the presence of a woman-shaped pile lying half-hidden in shadow.

Dorian's breath caught in his throat. He raced toward her, fell to his knees before her. Amelie's chest rose and fell with ragged, strained breaths. Bloody cuts from daggers covered her forearms, and one scraped across her forehead, but it was the two large puncture wounds in her stomach that spelled her demise. The ring he'd given her was absent from her finger, he noticed with sickening dread. She was mugged for the ring.

He gasped as she turned her head toward him. The woman's dark, wet eyes peered up at him. She gave a cough, and pain flashed across her features. "Dorian?"

"Be silent," he hissed, ripping strips of thick cloth from the hem of her dress. "You're bleeding. I can help you. Just stay coherent."

"It's over, Dorian. I'm finished."

"Don't speak like that!" he snapped. Then, turning to his guard: "Haven't you got anything to dress a wound with? No? Then get help!"

His man hesitated for only a moment, then gave a crisp salute before racing off. Dorian felt a cold hand on his wrist. He turned to see Amelie looking up at him. The blood stood out stark against her pale features. She gripped him tightly - a grip of death - and met his gaze. Desperate energy blazed in her eyes. "Please… our son… you must take care of him."

"We will take care of him," insisted the man, taking her hand in both of his and clasping it tightly. "Together. I came here to marry you, Amelie. We'll have a good life together, and Roland will receive the best of care. I assure you."

"You promise?"

"With my life."

The ghost of a smile flickered over Amelie's lips. She laid her head back and closed her eyes. "Thank you, Dorian."

Bootsteps alerted him to his incoming guard. The local apothecary, a gray-haired Dunmer woman, came with him. She bore a basket at her hip, its contents jingling with each step. Those are healing potions! Amelie is saved!

"Is she still conscious?" asked the apothecary as she came to a stop. The mer began rifling through the contents of her basket, searching for a remedy.

Dorian nodded. "Yes, she's still here. She's…"

He realized abruptly that there was no life in the hand he held. Dorian stopped, turned to her. There was a peaceful smile on Amelie's face. Her chest was no longer rising and falling. Cold fear shuddered through the Breton as he let the apothecary step around him and kneel before her. The Dunmer pressed two fingers to the woman's neck, hastily uncorked a potion and poured some of the contents into her open mouth. Seconds passed in silence.

It cannot be. Dorian watched in awful realization as the apothecary turned a doleful look on him and shook her head. He stared at Amelie for several long seconds, uncomprehending the terrible truth of the moment. She can't be dead. She can't be.

A hand on his shoulder brought him out of his reverie. Guardsman Donovan shook his head. "We'll make sure her body is taken care of, my Lord. You should return to the keep."

The guardsman took him by his shoulders and led him out of the alleyway. Dorian remained numb, barely even walking under his own power. As they passed Amelie's cottage again, however, he dug his heels in. "My son. My son!"

He found the other guard standing by the front door of the cottage. Roland was with him, watching expectantly as Dorian approached. The boy eyed the red blood staining his father's hands, saw the pale, haunted look in his eyes. "Papa? Where is mama?"

Pain flashed across Dorian's features. I must be strong. Oh, gods, I don't know if I have such strength.

He ignored the boy's question and knelt. "Roland, you're a big boy. You're coming to live with me now in a big castle."

"Will mama be there?"

Dorian shut his eyes, covered them with a hand so the boy wouldn't see him cry. No. You'll never see her again. And it's my damned fault.

The Breton mastered himself, took in a steadying breath. He wiped a tear from his eyes and shook his head. "It'll be just you and me, my son. You'll live in a grand house, a castle like from the stories. Would you like that?"

Awe began to shine through the tears in the boy's flushed face. At length, he nodded slowly. He held his arms out to be carried. Dorian hefted Roland up onto his chest, then turned and began to stride back outside. He crossed toward his horse, making sure neither he nor his boy would see the alleyway and catch a glimpse of Amelie. The skies darkened as the clouds began to release their burdens upon the city below. While the guards raised their hoods to keep the rain out, Dorian spared his own to keep his child dry. It was difficult to tell which of the droplets on his face were raindrops and which were his hot, bitter tears.

The man thought: I've failed you, Amelie. If I had taken responsibility for you sooner, this would never have happened. I can never forgive myself for what befell you. But I will uphold the promise I made to you - I will take responsibility for Roland. I swear on it with my life.

Dorian met with his advisers that night in his bedroom. He still felt numb and hollow as he regaled the events that had transpired at Amelie's cottage. Razig and Vivian both were consumed by a dour silence as they listened. Neither of them had much approved of Dorian marrying a common woman when he had the future of his House to think about. But neither did they want such a terrible fate to be realized, either.

Vivian was first to break the silence once Dorian had finished his story. The Imperial woman shook her head with a sad sigh. "This is terrible, Dorian. I'm so very sorry."

"It's my fault." The Breton muttered, staring down at his hands. "I should have gotten her off the streets, her and Roland both."

"Where is the cub now?" asked Razig.

"In the room I'd prepared for him and his mother."

Another silence enveloped the room. It was heavy with grim, sorrowful emotions. At length, Razig grunted. "You intend to keep him, then."

Dorian rounded on the Orc with a snarl. "What would you have me do, send him to the orphanage? My own son?"

Razig was unfazed by his flaring temper. "Of course not. I am only thinking of what the future will hold for him, now that he is part of House Durand."

Dorian relaxed, returning to his somber attitude with a slump to his shoulders. "I do not know. But I know that he will be cared for as best I can do for him."

Vivian laid a hand on Dorian's shoulder. "Raising a child takes a lot of time and energy, Dorian. Perhaps more than what you will be able to give by yourself."

"Especially with your duties as the king," the Orsimer pointed out.

"I know." Dorian bobbed his head once, shallowly. "But I must try anyway. He doesn't have anybody else."

The Breton raised his gaze, searching their faces. "If he is to be raised under House Durand, he will need teachers. Someone to train him in the arts of war. Someone to train him in etiquette and manners. And someone to make sure the lad learns to read and write."

Razig grumbled. "I can teach him weapons. Orc children begin learning to fight when they're young."

Vivian smiled softly. "I'm sure I could teach our young new charge a thing or two about speechcraft and subtlety."

Dorian nodded. "Good. Thank you, both of you. And what of his literacy?"

"We have Cormac," answered the Imperial woman. "For a Reachman, he's got a good head for letters and numbers. Might even teach the boy some lessons in Restoration magic, if he's feeling generous."

A small voice echoed in the chamber. "Papa?"

All heads turned to see little Roland standing at the doorway. The boy shied away when he felt their gazes upon him. But his courage seemed to hold when he saw his father smile. Dorian asked, "My boy, what is the matter? You should be asleep."

"Can't sleep." The child rubbed an eye sleepily and slowly made his way over to his father's side. After a moment's hesitation, Dorian carefully picked him up as if he were a delicate treasure and set him on his lap. The boy's gaze turned to the other advisers in the room. Razig's expression was set in stone, but Vivian's was already softened with fondness.

Dorian turned his son to better face the others. "My son, these are Razig and Vivian."

Roland shyly raised a hand. "Hi…"

"They are my best friends, and they will also be two of your teachers." Dorian pointed at them with his chin. Suddenly, the smile on his face widened mischievously. "And you may consider them your uncle and aunt."

The Orc flared his nostrils but stopped short of scoffing. "Uncle?"

Vivian, on the other hand, melted immediately. Her features split with a wide smile, and she bowed her head. "Hello, little one. I look forward to getting to know you better. I'll teach you all sorts of fun things and you'll grow up good and smart. You'll see."

Roland smiled. "I like that…"

Dorian shot his battlemaster a pleading look. Razig relented with a deep sigh. "Fine… Alright, little cub. Uncle Razig also looks forward to seeing you in the drill square. You will be taught the art of combat with poleaxe, mace, sword, and shield, as a House Durand knight deserves."

The boy's eyes flew wide open like saucers. "Knight? Mama told me stories!"

Now, Razig snorted a short laugh. "Been weaned on those tales of chivalry already, eh? I will show you the arts of combat, the Orcish way, and you will surpass the knights of those stories. Do you like the sound of that?"

"Yes!"

Dorian felt himself relax as he watched some of the hardness in the Orcish battlemaster's expression fade away and saw the fondness with which Vivian interacted with the boy. He'd been worried that he would grow up poorly without a mother, worried that he would be unable to offer a proper childhood to the boy. Perhaps there is an ample future for Roland here after all. I cannot bring you back, Amelie. But I can see that our boy grows into a man better than his hopelessly flawed father.