Cura exited Dragonsreach and felt the cool breeze brush past her.

The girl was simply exhausted: everything she had experienced took a major toll on her, both emotionally and physically.

"Are you all right, my Thane?" Lydia expressed some formal concern for her ward.

"Damn. Is it that obvious?" Cura asked. She never was a stoic, but appearing weak or tired could be incredibly detrimental to one's wellbeing in Skyrim. She had experienced that much this far.

"The Bannered Mare has rooms for rent." Lydia informed. "Might be a good idea."

Cura agreed. "Let's get going, then."

The pair walked down to the marketplace, where Cura saw the familiar shop woman shouting at a blonde man with a lute. The Bard smiled back at her and walked inside of what Cura was certain was the Bannered Mare.

She sighed, and despite her mind begging her to sleep, part of her told her to get involved.

The Breton approached. "Are you all right, Ma'am?" she asked.

"Could be better." the woman stated. "I'm just trying to make a living, but men won't leave me alone."

"You get a lot of attention?" Cura was confused. Normally a woman would relish the attention, wouldn't she? Not that Cura knew from her sterile environment growing up.

"You have no idea." the woman replied dryly. "Half the men in town have flirted with me. Some are even single."

Cura looked around her.

"But Mikael is the worst!" the Imperial woman hissed. "He said I was a beast for him to conquer."

Lydia tried to maintain her stoic visage, but a small snicker escaped her. Cura also tried to hold herself.

It was kind of funny.

Bards were often creative in their means of conveying things, but this one picked his words poorly.

"Maybe I could convince him to stop chasing you." Cura proposed.

"If you think you can get that Lute-player to stop chasing me, then by all means, try!" the woman was at her patience's end. "I don't need romance in my life right now. It's just me and Mila, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Cura nodded. "I'll inform him. Er, what's your name?"

"Carlotta Valentia." the woman stated. "Let him have it!"

Cura headed to the Bannered Mare, with Lydia in tow. When they entered, she was greeted by a lovely fire pit surrounded by guests and a quaint little bar by the right side and some back rooms off in the distance.

She saw the Bard playing his strings as people clapped.

When he finished his performance, Cura approached.

"Want a request?" he asked. "50 septims for an outsider." he smiled smugly. "I don't have much of a reputation in Skyrim yet, but I'm working on that, one sweet lady at a time. Haha!"

"I'm going to put it frankly, Bard." Cura furrowed her brow to appear more intimidating. "You've been flirting a bit too much lately."

"Carlotta put you up to this, didn't she?" Mikael became defensive. "Sorry, but that fiery widow is mine; she just doesn't know it yet!"

"She's grieving the loss of her husband." Cura crossed her arms. "She wants to be left alone."

"She'll come around eventually." Mikael insisted as he plucked his strings.

"Leave her alone." Cura sneered. "Or else."

"Or else what?" the belligerent Bard stepped forward. Lydia held a hand on her sword.

"Or else I'll knock you into the ground." Cura threatened, a hand gripping her original mace's handle. As her eyes met his, a few people turned from their drinks and stared at them, and Mikael slowly backed off. "Stop this nonsense."

Mikael looked around for an intervention, but none came. He then swallowed. "Whoa. Hey there. I didn't mean to make you upset. On my honor, Carlotta won't have to worry about me again."

Cura nodded. "Okay. On your honour." Her visage lightened up, and she removed her hand from her mace. "Everyone heard you."

She looked around and a few people nodded. A man in Banded-Iron armour with an Iron Helmet looked to the white-haired girl beside him. "The security in Whiterun is terrible. Shameful, it is."

Lydia looked at Cura with raised eyebrows. "My Thane, I think you really do need some rest."

"Yes, Lydia. Go and tell Carlotta that the Bard is taken care of. I'm going to rent a room." Cura instructed. Lydia nodded and walked out, and Cura walked to the Innkeeper at the bar counter. "I'd like to rent a room."

"Quite the situation you stirred with old Mikael, there." the woman smirked. "10 gold and the room's yours."

Cura sighed.

391 gold, now.

It was certainly easier to lose money than it was to earn it.

She handed the coins to the Innkeeper, and followed her to a room upstairs.

"Here's your room. Let me know if there's anything else you need." The Innkeeper was about to leave as Cura headed to her bed.

The Breton quickly turned to her. "Wait! I wanted to know... aside from joining the Companions, are there any other jobs around here?"

"The Companions? In Jorrvaskr? They're recruiting new members, from what I hear." the Innkeeper relayed information as she leaned a hand against the doorway.

"Well... it's not exactly what I meant..." Cura scratched her neck. She was flipping and flopping between joining the Companions or not. On the one hand, she could definitely stand to improve her skills, but on the other, she could not stay in Whiterun forever. Keeper Carcette was expecting her. Maybe she could write her a letter. Explain what a colossal error she's made since she left. Maybe beg for forgiveness; that always seemed to work whenever she had screwed something up in the past. Maybe explain how she became the Thane of Whiterun-as if anyone in the Vigil would believe that for a second.

"Here for work? Get an axe and bring me all the wood you can chop." the Innkeeper said plainly. "I'll pay you properly."

Cura considered it. "How much per log?"

"5 gold."

Cura grit her teeth as she did the mental calculation.

391 gold... how many wood would I need to chop to reach my goal of 1050?

She needed 659 more gold to earn.

She would have to chop approximately 1,955 wood. That would not do. She would be at it for days. It would take her around nearly 8 hours to reach Dawnstar by carriage.

She was too tired for all the mental math. Even a Breton needed to give their brain rest from time to time. She laid down on the bed. "Thank you, Innkeeper. I'll think about it."

"Hulda." the Innkeeper said. "Just Hulda."

Cura nodded in acknowledgement. "Thank you, Hulda."

The Innkeeper smiled. :If you need anything, you can call for me, or Saadia. The lovely Redguard who works here." She exited.

Cura tried to shift into a comfortable position when something uncomfortable jabbed her in the side. "Ow! What in-" In her haste, she had forgotten to remove her Apothecary's satchel. She clicked her tongue, and took it off her hip, jostling the strap for a moment. The satchel wasn't closed properly, and a book came falling out of it, onto the floor. Curious.

She picked it up off the floor, and it was "The Book of the Dragonborn."

Where did she get this? What are the odds?

Then it hit her.

Helgen. Of course! In the Torturer's chambers. In the heat of the escape with Hadvar, she picked it up off a table and forgot all about it.

She decided to sit up, and using the dim lighting, she began to read it. She cracked the book open, and some small speckles of dust floated in the air in response. Though, she dared not sneeze. Dragonborn. The word left a bad taste in her mouth. Oh well, may as well learn about this curse if I'm going to bear it for the rest of my days, Cura thought.

"The Book of the Dragonborn

by Prior Emelene Madrine

Order of Talos

Weynon Priory

A treatise on the Dragonborn

Year 360 of the Third Era, Twenty-First of the Reign of His Majesty Pelagius IV

Many people have heard the term "Dragonborn" - we are of course ruled by the "Dragonborn Emperors" - but the true meaning of the term is not commonly understood. For those of us in the Order of Talos, this is a subject near and dear to our hearts, and in this book I will attempt to illuminate the history and significance of those known as Dragonborn down through the ages.

Most scholars agree that the term was first used in connection with the Covenant of Akatosh, when the blessed St. Alessia was given the Amulet of Kings and the Dragonfires in the Temple of the One were first lit. "Akatosh, looking with pity upon the plight of men, drew precious blood from his own heart, and blessed St. Alessia with this blood of Dragons, and made a Covenant that so long as Alessia's generations were true to the dragon blood, Akatosh would endeavor to seal tight the Gates of Oblivion, and to deny the armies of daedra and undead to their enemies, the Daedra-loving Ayleids." Those blessed by Akatosh with "the dragon blood" became known more simply as Dragonborn.

The connection with the rulers of the Empire was thus there from the beginning - only those of the dragon blood were able to wear the Amulet of Kings and light the Dragonfires. All the legitimate rulers of the Empire have been Dragonborn - the Emperors and Empresses of the first Cyrodilic Empire founded by Alessia; Reman Cyrodiil and his heirs; and of course Tiber Septim and his heirs, down to our current Emperor, His Majesty Pelagius Septim IV.

Because of this connection with the Emperors, however, the other significance of the Dragonborn has been obscured and largely forgotten by all but scholars and those of us dedicated to the service of the blessed Talos, Who Was Tiber Septim. Very few realize that being Dragonborn is not a simple matter of heredity - being the blessing of Akatosh Himself, it is beyond our understanding exactly how and why it is bestowed. Those who become Emperor and light the Dragonfires are surely Dragonborn - the proof is in the wearing of the Amulet and the lighting of the Fires. But were they Dragonborn and thus able to do these things - or was the doing the sign of the blessing of Akatosh descending upon them? All that we can say is that it is both, and neither - a divine mystery.

The line of Septims have all been Dragonborn, of course, which is one reason the simplistic notion of it being hereditary has become so commonplace. But we know for certain that the early Cyrodilic rulers were not all related. There is also no evidence that Reman Cyrodiil was descended from Alessia, although there are many legends that would make it so, most of them dating from the time of Reman and likely attempts to legitimize his rule. We know that the Blades, usually thought of as the Emperor's bodyguards, originated in Akaviri crusaders who invaded Tamriel for obscure reasons in the late First Era. They appear to have been searching for a Dragonborn - the events at Pale Pass bear this out - and the Akaviri were the first to proclaim Reman Cyrodiil as Dragonborn. In fact it was the Akaviri who did the most to promote his standing as Emperor (although Reman himself never took that title in his lifetime). And of course there is no known hereditary connection between Tiber Septim and any of the previous Dragonborn rulers of Tamriel.

Whether there can be more than one Dragonborn at any time is another mystery. The Emperors have done their best to dismiss this notion, but of course the Imperial succession itself means that at the very least there are two or more potential Dragonborn at any time: the current ruler and his or her heirs. The history of the Blades also hints at this - although little is known of their activities during the Interregnum between Reman's Empire and the rise of Tiber Septim, many believe that the Blades continued to search out and guard those they believed were (or might be) Dragonborn during this time.

Lastly, we come to the question of the true meaning of being Dragonborn. The connection with dragons is so obvious that it has almost been forgotten - in these days when dragons are a distant memory, we forget that in the early days being Dragonborn meant having "the dragon blood". Some scholars believe that was meant quite literally, although the exact significance is not known. The Nords tell tales of Dragonborn heroes who were great dragonslayers, able to steal the power of the dragons they killed. Indeed, it is well known that the Akaviri sought out and killed many dragons during their invasion, and there is some evidence that this continued after they became Reman Cyrodiil's Dragonguard (again, the connection to dragons) - the direct predecessor to the Blades of today.

I leave you with what is known as "The Prophecy of the Dragonborn". It often said to originate in an Elder Scroll, although it is sometimes also attributed to the ancient Akaviri. Many have attempted to decipher it, and many have also believed that its omens had been fulfilled and that the advent of the "Last Dragonborn" was at hand. I make no claims as an interpreter of prophecy, but it does suggest that the true significance of Akatosh's gift to mortalkind has yet to be fully understood.

When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world

When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped

When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles

When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls

When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding

The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."

Cura closed the book. "When the Dragonborn ruler loses his throne..." She recalled stories Keeper Carcette and Brother Adalvald told her of the founding of their Order, as a response to the Oblivion Crisis over a hundred years ago. Emperor Martin Septim broke the Amulet of Kings and sacrificed his life to gate in Akatosh to combat Mehrunes Dagon; the very same Daedra whose shrine they block people from approaching in the Pale.

Cura felt uneasy.

If this text was correct, it would make her not just the Dragonborn, but the Last Dragonborn.

Tamriel's last hope against the World-Eater.

Alduin.

Then that was him, in Helgen.

The black dragon.

Perhaps he was there to kill the Last Dragonborn before they could grow in power. He just wasn't expecting the Dragonborn to be Cura.

To be fair, she herself did not expect it, either. Perhaps one of her biological parents had made a deal with Akatosh? But, why?

Did they have foresight?

Perhaps it was random chance that she would have this horrifying power.

But why did Carcette never tell her? Maybe she didn't know either. All she told Cura of her past was of her adoption at infancy on that cold winter's night. The Young Breton took that news well-maybe she would have taken this news well if she had learned it then.

She would have had more time to prepare, for certain.

She lost her brand new mace to that Dragon, and witnessed the carnage it wrought on the city guard. Would she really be able to even stand up to Alduin?

She sat there in the bed, and looked at the ceiling. Skyrim was finished. If Alduin came for her now, they would all be sunk. She was weak. She had always been weak. The runt of the Vigil.

Always held back by others.

Then, enter Lydia. Her new Housecarl. Cura hadn't seen her in battle yet, but she was certain that she could not protect her from a Dragon. She was a Nord, so she would be tough, but certainly not that tough.

Still, it was ironic. A Nord in service to a Mongrel. Who would have thought.

Lydia looked around for a bit, and then found Cura in her room. "Carlotta thanks you, my Thane." she handed Cura a bag of 100 coins.

"491." Cura said as she counted them regarding her total. She then attempted to shift to a comfortable position.

"Thank you, Lydia."

"For what, my Thane?" the Nord asked, bewildered.

"For going to Carlotta."

Lydia was silent for a moment. Was this Breton for real? She was her Housecarl. Her private servant. Of course she would do as asked. Ultimately, she shrugged and sat on a chair near the bed.

"Er..." Cura was about to ask, but Lydia simply sat straight, facing the door.

"Rest well, Ma'am." Lydia said sternly. "I will keep watch, to ensure that nobody will steal from you."

"Oh, er, all right." Cura was not used to this sort of treatment. Having someone serve her felt odd, as she was servient herself for the better part of her life. Though it felt nice, she did not want to overwork Lydia. She lay down in the bed and slowly drifted off to sleep.

Lydia looked at the Breton, then looked at the entrance door, which was closed. She thought to herself, What a Milk-Drinker. They say that she slayed a Dragon? Hmph. She leaned on her sword, arching forward in her chair.


Another horrific nightmare.

Surely this was the work of the awful Daedric Prince Vaermina.

Cura was walking through a burning city, again. Surrounded by weeping and wounded people. A ghastly laughter could be heard in the distance, midst the wails and screams. People were burning alive before her very eyes- Men, Women, Children, Elves, Khajiit, Argonians, even Rabbits and Dogs. Just burning relentlessly, as though they were in the depths of Oblivion itself.

The black dragon circled the skies about, and roared as he made his dominions above the pled corpses of countless warriors. Rivers of blood ran down from the corpses that were penetrated by his talons, a fountain of torment oozing to the burnt grass below. The air smelt of brimstone and charcoal, as well as the thick iron odour of blood.

The wyvern perched above, looing down at Cura, as if challenging her,

The Vigilant began to feel a hopeless rage burning within her chest. She quickly dashed up the mountain of death, stepping on many dead bodies as she made her way to the top, where she leaped, mace in hand, over her head, and brought it down on the dragon, only to have him shout her down.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The thunderclap blew bodies off the macabre throne, and Cura flew among them, hitting the ground violently, disarmed of her mace.

She struggled to get up, and the black dragon lifted off the death mound, tearing heads off corpses as his momentum propelled him skyward. He then began to soar around, blowing buildings apart with his fire.

"Stop!" Cura screamed. "STOP!"

Her pleas fell upon deaf ears. The rising tension gritted her heart, and Cura roared. "FUS!" "..." The next two words failed to leave her throat, and a weak gust of air barely fazed the Dragon in his malignant rampage.

The feeling of powerlessness infuriated and horrified Cura. Instead of engaging further, she ran from the burning wasteland of a city, and ran through the red-lit hills. She tripped over a skeleton and violently rolled down the hill, catching many sharp rocks on the way down. When her fall came to a halt, she rolled over and nearly faceplanted into a running river.

What she saw when she looked inside the water terrified her.

There was a White Dragon staring back at her, from the ravine. Its emerald eyes striking, and cautious.

Cura immediately pulled back as the white dragon bursted out of the water and took to the skies above. The white dragon soared over the mountains, and flew towards the wartorn city. It used a breath of ice to extinguish the fires paradoxically, and immediately was greeted with a burst of flame from the black dragon. After a throttle, the white dragon struck back, flying at the black one and digging its claws into its neck, dragging it to the ground. The black dragon fought back, though, and with a shout, summoned meteors from the sky.

The meteors rained down upon the city, hurting countless people, and prompting the white dragon to release him.

The white dragon immediately landed over the town and extended its brilliant wings, guarding some of the crying villagers from the falling meteor storm. The black dragon immediately flew in for another attack.


Cura snapped awake.

The suddenness of her awakening startled herself. She collected herself, and began to look around.

What was that dream?

"Are you all right, my Thane?" Lydia asked, verily concerned.

"I... I think so..." Cura looked herself up and down for good measure. "How... long have I slept?"

"You were out for quite some time, my Thane." Lydia stated. "I would wager... around 9 hours?"

"9 hours?" Cura was shocked. "You sat there watching me for 9 whole hours?!"

"Yes, my Thane." Lydia said matter-of-factly.

"No, Lydia! No, no, no!" Cura protested. "You should get some rest! Don't make a habit of that!"

"My Thane, with all due respect, I'm a Nord." Lydia scoffed. "Sleep is for babes."

Cura shook her head. "I insist. Take a couple of hours to rest. I'll watch you!"

Lydia looked at her as though she had a Skeever protruding from her ear. "My Thane, that would be..."

"Fair." Cura finished. "I don't want to work you to death." As Lydia looked at her, unimpressed, Cura decided to reiterate. "You'll be better on the battlefield if you're not exhausted." She pandered to her Nord spirit. The Breton had grown up around many Nords. She knew what they valued the most: pride, loyalty, honesty, skill, prowess, strength, and a mighty Ale at the end of the day. Whether they were a Vigilant of Stendarr, a Farmer, a Miner, or even a Jarl, it mattered not. These were the things they prized the most, on large. What made the Nords such a force to be reckoned with.

Cura admired their strength; their mettle; their boldness.

And she would have to tap into her inner half-Nord soon enough.

Lydia smiled, as Cura hit all the key words. "As you wish, my Thane." As Cura got up off her bed and readjusted her robe, Lydia decided to lie down for a while.

Hulda came upstairs. "Oh! You're awake, are you?"

Cura nodded. "If you have an axe, I'd be happy to cut some firewood. I could use the exercise."

Hulda chuckled. "Eager, are we? Tell you what; you bring me 20 chopped logs, and I'll give you 130 gold-100 for the job, and 30 because I like your attitude."

Cura nodded, her eyes filled with an eagerness. It was a start. Her first job outside of being a Vigilant, excluding the Golden Claw fiasco a couple of days ago.

491 gold. She checked again. 130 would bump it up to 521. Almost halfway there.

Cura was handed an axe by Hulda, who pointed her towards a chopping stump just behind the market stalls outside, in front of the Inn. Cura walked outside, and laid down some logs and began to chop them. Positioning one after another and hacking them in half and placing the resulting pieces into the small wagon.

An hour and a few minutes of monotony passed, and Cura rounded up the firewood, and brought it to Hulda.

The Nord woman counted the chunks of firewood, and then nodded satisfactorily. "All right, then." she said, as she handed Cura a coin purse. "Here you are; 130 gold, as I said. A Nord woman always keeps her word."

Cura pocketed the coin

521 gold.

She turned to Hulda. "Have a good day, now." She headed out the front door and walked back out of the inn.

"Foolish old woman! You know nothing! Nothing of our struggles, our suffering!" Cura raised her eyebrows, and saw that to her right, the Imperial Battle-Born man and an older man in Green Fine Clothes were accosting an older woman who was running a Jewelry Stand.

The old woman snapped back at him. "Nothing? And what of my son, hmm? What of Thorald? Is he nothing? So don't talk to me about suffering!"

"Your son chose his side, and he chose poorly. And now he's gone. Such is the way of war. The sooner you accept his loss, the better." The Imperial crossed his arms, impertinently.

The woman became more cross. "I will never accept his death! My son still lives. I feel it in my heart. So tell me, Battle-Borns, where is he? Where are you holding my Thorald?"

The older man turned to his son, presumably. "Do you believe this old hag?"

He turned back to the old lady. "'Holding him?' Why, I've got him in my cellar; he's my prisoner." His voice lilted with sarcasm. "Face it, cow! Your stupid son is dead! He died a Stormcloak traitor. And you...you best keep your mouth shut before you suffer the same."

That was it. Cura had to intervene. "Hey!" she called out. "Stop harassing the old lady! Get out of here!"

The older man scoffed. "If you knew who I was, you wouldn't dare bark your orders at me!" He stepped forward.

Cura was not impressed, nor was she intimidated. "I killed a Dragon. Do you really think I'm afraid of you?" Her tone was matter-of-factly and unenthusiastic.

The man's eyes opened. "Ah, so you're the new Thane, are you?" he scoffed again. "Don't look like much to me."

His son crossed his arms. "I guess you picked your side." he walked away.

So the old woman was a Gray-Mane.

Interesting.

"If you know what's good for you, Thane," he used the title mockingly. "you'll keep to your own damned business. Would be a shame for Balgruuf's new dog to be put down." He walked away.

Cura shook her head, and turned to the old lady. "Are you all right, Missus Gray-Mane?"

"Just Fralia, dear." the old woman said in a friendly manner. "Thank you so much for standing against them, you did my family's honour proud."

"They looked like they were about to attack you," Cura explained. "I could not allow that in good conscience."

Fralia sneered and glared at the direction they walked off in. "Those Battle-Borns.

They put on airs like they're somethin' special. Sure, they've got money, but they ain't got a shred of honor between 'em. Gray-Mane. Now that's a name fills you with pride. We've got roots in Whiterun. We've got history."

"I'm new in Whiterun," Cura explained. "can you tell me what this feud between clans is about?"

"All I can think about is my son, my Thorald... they say that he was killed, but I know better. I know my son is alive!" Fralia was in a near frenzy the more she thought of her son. "Those Battle-Borns... they're in with the Imperials. They know it too, and yet they lie to my very face!"

"I see..." Cura pondered. "I knew they had Imperial connections..." The rift between the clans is a political one. Naturally.

"How do you know they're lying, though?" Cura asked.

"It's not wise to discuss it here. Please, if you truly wish to help, meet me at my home. I'll tell you the whole story." Fralia suggested, seeing the transparent kindness in Cura's eyes. An open book to be read, as per usual.

Fralia left her stall and headed towards the stairs. Her home was conveniently located across the walkway from Jorrvaskr.

Cura wondered if Lydia would wait for her outside of the Inn when she woke up.

The older woman opened the back door of her house and let Cura in first. A white-haired man came rushing out of the back room, his battleaxe drawn. "Who are you? What are you doing here? Are you working for the Battle-Borns? Speak now before I put you in the ground!" he demanded.

Cura held up her mace and shield instinctively. "I'm a Vigilant of Stendarr. Relax, you fool!"

He stared at her and examined her cautiously. When he saw her Amulet, he relented, lowering his weapon, but barely. He wasn't through with her yet. "So you don't know anything about my brother? Then what are you doing here?"

"Please, lower your weapons, both of you!" Fralia pleaded. "Avulstein, she's come to help!"

Cura nodded, and made the first withdrawal, demonstrating her peaceful intentions.

"I didn't mean to alarm you. Why are you so tense?" Cura asked courteously.

"Because they've got Thorald locked away somewhere, and if they find me here I'll disappear too! I am not going to let that happen!" Avulstein explained. "My brother, Thorald... He was fighting for the Stormcloaks, and went missing. Everyone assumes he's dead. But he's not. I just know it. The Imperials captured him, and they're holding him someplace. The Battle-Borns know where. I'd go and search their house for proof, but they want me, too. I'd be captured, and then we'll never know what happened to him. So I need someone to find that proof for me."

"Let me get this straight..." Cura began. "You want me to break into their house and steal papers that potentially exist, exposing involvement of wrongdoing between the Battle-Borns and the Empire?"

"Yup. That's about it." Avulstein put it plainly.

"I can't do that." Cura shook her head. "It goes against my code of honour."

"Then you're as useful to us as tits on a bull." Avulstein sneered. "Best get out now while I'm still in a good mood."

Fralia looked a little discouraged, and Cura shook her head. "I said I couldn't do it. That doesn't mean I don't know someone who can."

Avulstein was dumbed silent for a moment. Were all half-Elves this convoluted?

Fralia turned to Cura with pleading eyes. "Thorald's disappearance has been hard on all of us, but Avulstein has taken it badly. He's afraid of being taken as well, so he hasn't left the house. All he talks about is Thorald. Please, help Avulstein if you can. Something has to be done, or we're all going to lose our minds." Her disheartened expression made the Vigilant's heart melt. Why was she so soft?

Cura gave a reassuring smile to Fralia. "I'll do what I can. If you don't mind me involving another person in this. She works for me. As for Thorald, I hope he's still alive... if I've learned anything thus far, it's that the Empire does not take Prisoners."

Fralia became a little defensive in response to the assertion. "He's my son. I know he's alive! I just... I feel it in my heart. You'd understand if you had children."

Avulstein approached Cura. "Okay, you can ivolve your little servant, but if one word is breathed out about this, I'll personally take your head, Elf."

Cura took offense. "You're welcome."

She exited the house in a huff. Avulstein was a difficult person to get along with. Very standoffish, and a bit prejudiced, it would seem. Cura had half a mind to ignore his plight, but seeing Fralia's sorrow instilled a feeling of obligation in the Paladin. She headed back to the Bannered Mare, and Lydia was awake at last, drinking some mead at the Bar Counter, speaking to Saadia and Hulda, evidently.

"Good morning, Lydia! Cura stated.

"My Thane!" Lydia immediately stood up from her seat. "Where did you go? I was wandering the city in search of you!"

Cura shook her head. "I was... preoccupied with other things. May we step outside?"

"Of course!" Lydia exclaimed, following Cura outside.

Once they left the Inn, Cura headed Eastward, away from the marketplace, and closer to the wall near Arcadia's Cauldron. When she was sure nobody was around, Cura cleared her throat. "Okay, Lydia... I need you... to..."

She had trouble squeezing the words out. She had never contemplated doing such a thing in her life, Stendarr forgive her. Something this illegal was bound to rack up points in Oblivion, to be sure. Stealing potential Government Documents? An affront to Stendarr, the God of Mercy and Justice, himself.

"Yes, my Thane?" Lydia crossed her arms and raised and eyebrow. She was clearly confused by Cura's shifty behaviour.

"I need..." Cura swallowed her salive. "I need you to break into the Battle-Borns' house, find some hidden Documents in said house, preferably ones stamped by the Legion-and make sure it speaks of a "Thorald Gray-Mane"."

"Is that all?"

Cura's jaw almost dropped. That was her reaction? 'Is that all?' Lydia had no qualms with robbery?

"Yes... that's all." Cura said, a little concerned.

"I can do that." Lydia shrugged. "As long as I have an Invisibility Potion and a few Lockpicks."

"Arcadia's Cauldron is there... do you think she sells Ash Creep Clusters, Chaurus Eggs, and Luna Moth Wings?" Cura asked.

"Maybe." Lydia said. "Why?"

"To brew the Invisibility Potion." Cura said plainly. "I have a good memory." She said. "The Vigil has some books stored away on Alchemy. I've read up on different potions and their effects. I'm really quite savvy." She lightly boasted.

"You're a Breton. You having a good memory doesn't surprise me." Lydia shook her head.

Cura asked her to stay put as she walked inside of the Alchemy Shop.

Immediately, she was greeted by an Imperial Woman with brown hair and a pink apron behind the counter on her left. "Welcome to Arcadia's Cauldron!" She said. "That's me, incidentally."

Cura smirked, and walked over. This would be the hard part. Obviously, Arcadia would figure out what she was intent on brewing based on the ingredients she was buying. Cura would have to buy a couple of extra things to throw off suspicion of making an Invisibility potion. She did not need to be connected to the crime she was about to be an accomplice of.

Arcadia chuckled. "Maybe a hardy Nord like you doesn't need a cure-all. Hmm? What about an invisibility potion?"

Cura flinched.

Could this woman read minds, or something? Play it cool, Cura, play it cool... She thought. "I'm not a Nord."

"Oh?" Arcadia looked closer. "Ah! You're a Breton! I have friends in Cyrodiil who are Bretons. Lovely people. My apologies for the error; it must be the lighting in here."

Cura nodded, trying to cut it short. Arcadia then leaned in closer. "Hmm. You look rather pale. Could be Ataxia. It's quite a problem back home in Cyrodiil."

"Or it could be the lighting." Cura corrected the saleswoman.

"Yes, it could be that too." Arcadia repeated back. "So, are you here to buy something?"

"Yes. I would like some Blisterwort, some Wheat, some Taproot, some Chaurus Eggs, a Cyrodiilic Spadetail, a set of Luna Moth Wings, Charred Skeever Hide, and an Ash Creep Cluster."

"That comes to 103." Arcadia said as she began to collect the ingredients off her back shelf. "Huh. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were going to go sneaking into a fortress or something."

Cura reached into her bag, and began to separate her funds. "Er-why would you think that?"

"The Healing Potion I understand, seeing as you're a Vigilant of Stendarr." Arcadia pointed the obvious fact out. "But why the Invisibility potion? Is it because of my joke?"

"Vampire at Embershard Mine." Cura lied through her teeth in the heat of the moment. "I want to kill it before it sees me."

"Ahh." Arcadia exclaimed. "That makes sense. Might want to bring along a Potion of Cura Disease too, then, for good measure."

"I already have one." Cura bluffed as she pat her empty satchel. "Just need the other preparations. Can I use your Table?"

"Go right ahead." Arcadia motioned towards it. "Just clean up after you're done."

"Of course." Cura reassured her as she walked over to the Alchemy Table, turning her back to the Apothecary.

Stendarr forgive me, she pleaded mentally. It's for a good purpose, I swear.

She added the ingredients in and began to ground them up using a mortar and pestle. Like Boethiah herself, Arcadia crept on over to see how Cura was mixing her things. Cura could not protest in good faith, as she was simply borrowing the table. "You're quite experienced at this, aren't you?" The woman asked as the potions' ingredients meshed together.

Cura just wanted her to go away, desperately. So she would, at the very least, try to divert attention from herself as discreetly as possible. "So, uh, Arcadia? Are you a Healer, yourself?"

"Of a sort. I don't have formal training in the Restoration school, but... something just as good. Within these walls, I have all that I need to brew a potion for nearly any ailment. If I had a Septim for every case of Rockjoint or Witbane I've cured since I opened this shop, I'd be a rich woman indeed." She bragged aloud.

"So, why aren't you?" Cura asked as she continued to direct the flow of mercury.

"You don't have to be like that!" Acadia became slightly insulted. "You like affordable Ingredients, don't you?"

"Of course." Cura said, paying half attention.

"Then don't judge me." Arcadia sneered.

"I... wasn't judging you." Cura continued to watch the simmering of the ingredients. "I'm sorry. It wasn't my intention; more of a question of curiosity." She cleared her throat. Best to change the subject. "Do you ever think of returning to Cyrodiil?"

"Why, because I'm a proud citizen of the Empire? Because the Stormcloaks only want Nords in Skyrim?" Arcadia began to escalate again. "The Stormcloaks can rot in Oblivion for all I care. I've lived in this city for twenty years. Twenty!"

"The Stormcloaks hate the other races?" Cura asked. Oh, what was she thinking? Of course they did. Avulstein's treatment of her was evident enough, to be sure. Why was she doing this, again?

"Oh, absolutely!" Arcadia exclaimed. "Do you live in a rock? Haven't you seen how the Khajiit are locked outside of the walls? Haven't you been treated poorly for being half-Elf?"

"I have, and I have not." Cura stated. "I've run into Stormcloaks who've let me live, and Imperials who've wanted my head, and everything in between in just three days, so who am I to pick one apart?"

Arcadia shrugged. "So... which side do you support?"

"I support the People." Cura responded. "I support you, I support Jarl Balgruuf, I support the Khajiit, I support the townsfolk, the animals, anyone I can in this time of horror." When she turned to arcadia, she said this firmly, which surprised the Apothecary.

"Ah, right. Stendarr, and all that." Arcadia thought.

"I want nothing to do with this stupid war." Cura began to drain the liquid from the table into a flask, creating her Invisibility potion. "My pledge is to the children of Tamriel, under the watchful eye of Stendarr. I vow to protect the people from abominations and Dragons. I vow to reunite families separated from the war, to heal the sick and wounded..." She capped the potion, and pulled a switch on the table, draining the waste byproducts into a tank below it. "...and that's all there is to it."

Arcadia was silent through Cura's small diatribe. She then exhaled. "All right. If it helps, I'd like to give you this." She took out a Potion of Cure Disease and handed it to Cura. "For the road, because I know you don't have one."

Cura stared at her as she slipped the potion in her bag, free of charge.

Speaking of the charge, Cura was down to 418 gold.

At this point, she might as well return to the Hall and say she was mugged by Bandits on the road. Or maybe lie and say the Imperials took her money when she got arrested, because no doubt Carcette heard about it by now. Surely the Field Watch would have witnessed or heard of such a thing.

A letter.

Cura intended to write Carcette a letter. She really should get down to doing that.

She snapped out of her stupor, and realized Arcadia had given her the potion. "Oh... thank you. I'll put it to good use."

Arcadia walked back to her counter, and gestured to the door. "If you ever need potions for your journey, you're welcome to come back, Breton."

Cura nodded as she walked out, closing the door behind her.

Lydia was pacing back and forth when Cura came out to meet her. "Here you are, Lydia." She looked around, and slipped the potion into her pocket, and 4 lockpicks, saved from Helgen. "This potion will keep you invisible for 60 seconds."

"Very good, Ma'am." Lydia said. "But may I ask why you're helping the Gray-Manes? They're known Stormcloak-sympathizers, and a Stormcloak in their son."

"That doesn't matter to me." Cura stated. "I... I felt bad for Fralia. No Mother should have to go through this. No son should have to go through this."

"Ma'am, with all due respect," Lydia began. "I don't think you've quite thought this through."

"I know." Cura looked away, embarrassed.

"By helping a Stormcloak, you're choosing a side." Lydia informed her.

"No." Cura shook her head. "I'm not helping in the war. I'm helping the citizens."

"Thorald Gray-Mane is a Stormcloak Soldier." Lydia stated frankly. "As soon as he's freed, he'll return to Windhelm. To Ulfric."

Ulfric.

Yes, Cura remembered him. The man who allegedly shouted the High King to death. She thought it was absurd, until she discovered she could do it, herself. "Fus" was the word. Could Ulfric shout the way the Dragons had? Perhaps he was a Dragonborn, as well. The book she read said it was unknown if more than one could exist at once, but then again, she was supposedly the last of her kind. That book was icnredibly inconsistent, although the prophecy at the end rung very frightening, and very close to what she had learned.

"Well," Cura began. "what he does next is his business." she shrugged. "I'm just helping Fralia and Avulstein."

Lydia shook her head. "If a Namira Cultist asked you to bring them a sacrificial feast offering because they needed it, would you?"

"Certainly not!" Cura reviled, insulted by the notion. "I'd slaughter the lot of them where they stood!"

The two approached the marketplace, and remained silent. Cura went and sat on the park bench, next to the dead tree. Lydia nodded to her, and headed off on her own, creeping around the Temple of Kynareth, and the Hall of the Dead, and headed to the back of the Battle-Borns' house. She went down on one knee, and slowly began to pick the back door's lock. After some struggle, she pried to lock open and entered.

Cura looked up at Dragonsreach, then to Jorrvaskr on her right. Then she looked at the Statue of Talos, admiring the artwork that went into it. The epic Nord warrior with his sword pointed downwards at a serpent trapped beneath his feet, an Angelic icon. She looked past the bellowing priest, at the Shrine that sat beneath the statue. Talos was the Divine of Mankind. And a Dragonborn, himself. A part of Cura wanted to pray at the shrine for Tiber's blessing, but she was hesitant. Would it anger Stendarr if she did so? She did not want to chance it, especially in light of the sins she's been racking up since arriving here.

The dead tree felt too real to Cura. Perhaps it was a manifestation of her soul, with its falling, dried-up leaves in the cool breeze.

A frustrated Redguard woman came out of the Temple of Kynareth, and sat down on the bench. Cura looked at her up and down, confused. "Er... are you-"

"What? Are you looking for my Husband, Nazeem?" the woman snapped. "Check the Jarl's backside! That's usually where he stuffs himself these days."

"I wasn't looking for him." Cura looked to the sky. "Just about to ask how you are."

"Men are all alike, from Skyrim to Hammerfell; all they care about is war and politics, and they treat their women like cattle." She kicked a rock into the small river.

"I'm sorry he treats you that way." Cura said. "Unfortunately, War and Politics seem to be the order of the day."

The Redguard stood up and turned around. "Well, maybe we should just let the Dragons burn us all to ashes! Finish this nonsense, once and for all!"

"Don't be ridiculous!" Cura scolded her. "This war will pass. All things pass. Wishing death will not help matters."

The woman became irritated, and walked away, leaving Cura bewildered and agitated. For a peaceful city, the people of Whiterun sure were ornery. Though Cura could not blame them, necessarily. Being in the center inbetween two warring factions could be nothing if not terrifying.

Soon enough, Lydia came out of the house, her Invisibility potion worn off. Cura got off the bench, and the pair walked to the Gray-Manes' house.

"These documents are pretty suspect, Ma'am." Lydia handed the booklet to her. "You really ought to read it. Who knows? It might change your mind."

Cura accepted it. "I doubt it." She hid nearer to the wall, and Lydia provided cover as she began to read it.

"It has come to my attention that inquiries have been made as to the whereabouts of one Thorald Gray-Mane.

It is my duty to inform you that Thalmor agents have taken possession of the prisoner and have escorted him to Northwatch Keep.

I don't think I need to elaborate. It is in everyone's best interest if the matter is dropped entirely. I trust there will be no further inquiries as to this matter.

Gen. Tullius "

Cura's eyes widened as she mentally read the missive. General Tullius. This was becoming more and more real.

The Thalmor.

If she were going to help the Gray-Manes, she would undoubtedly be making an enemy of the Thalmor. The Aldmeri Dominion itself.

She really hadn't thought this through. What in Oblivion did Thorald do?

The Breton wasted no time; she hurried inside the Gray-Manes' house. Fralia and Avulstein were discussing the situation when she entered.

"Did you find anything?" Fralia asked softly, keeping a low voice.

Cura nodded. "This is Lydia, my Housecarl. She retrieved this Missive."

Avulstein waved at Lydia. "I know her." he stated. "A fine Nord lass, she is."

Lydia smiled proudly.

"I have proof that Thorald lives." Cura stated, handing the missive to Avulstein.

His face immediately fell as he read the document.

"The Thalmor? By the Nine, it's worse than I thought. So... Northwatch Keep. Then we know where to hit them."

Cura was floored. He wasn't seriously planning what she thought he was.

"You're going to assault Northwatch Keep?"

"I'll do anything if it means saving my brother." Avulstein beamed, more determined than ever.

Cura never had siblings, but she knew that if any of the Vigilants were in trouble and she could try to save them, she would without hesitation. But a Brotherly bond was a whole other thing entirely. The man had not an ounce of fear in his eye. It was admirable.

"You'll join us, won't you? Thorald can't be left to those... monsters." Avulstein asked.

She didn't know what possessed her, but Cura nodded in agreement. "Of course I'll join you. "

Lydia looked on in horror, and Fralia clapped her hands together, in excitement and joy.

"I'll round up what men I can, and meet you outside Northwatch Keep in Haafingar. We'll get in and out as fast as possible. I'll see you there." Avulstein was raring to go.

Lydia placed a hand over her brow. This was insane. Why couldn't she have been assigned to anybody else? Why this foolish Breton with a heart bigger than her brain?

She sighed.

Cura's eyes lit up. Haafingar was not far from the Pale--merely due West.

Maybe she could use the Bandit excuse, after all.

"Please be careful, dear." Fralia asked. "This is very dangerous."

Cura knew this. "If all goes well, you'll see your son again."

"I can't wait!" Fralia exclaimed. "Please, bring him home safely."

"I'll try." Cura stated as she walked out.

She would be in Haafingar in 7 hours. Close enough to home, to boot. She hoped things would go over smoothly, but deep down she had her doubts.

When did anything ever go over smoothly?