-Here I am again. Standard disclaimer of 'I do not own any properties hereto previously owned by Bethesda's The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, blah blah blah', you know how it goes. These chapters as of late have been coming out both fast and strong! I hope I can keep up the momentum for you all! Anyway, enjoy!-


"Illia!" Siffre's voice rang out. She dashed towards the fallen mage, with Lydia trailing right behind her. Having sheathed her great-sword into place on her back, Siffre's now free hands frantically reached down towards the mage. Lydia soon reached her as well and the two women quickly but carefully flipped the downed, shivering woman onto her back. What greeted their eyes made them wince and grimace at the sight.

The entire left sleeve of Illia's mage robe was gone. Completely burned away with singe marks leading all the way to the shoulder portion. Thus the delicate flesh of the Imperial lay beneath, exposed to the world. The reason Illia had been shivering so hard was not simply because of exposed flesh to the snowfall, but because of the burns. Nearly her entire left arm was shaded red, extremely tender to the touch. In between her shivering, she hissed in pain at every little shift in movement her arm made.

"Hey... Illia?" Lydia softly spoke, "Can you... hear me?" The mage did not reply, instead held her eyes clenched shut and her mouth letting out a hiss of pain from behind gritted teeth.

In that moment, Siffre gasped a sharp inhale of breath as well. Looking upon Illia's arm and the exposed parts of her body, the burn marks... Her teeth began to chatter a little as memories began to creep back into the front of her mind. She'd seen burns like this before, but in much more quantity, as well as sheer... brutality. No one deserved this, especially not those who'd lived in...

Siffre shook her head of her thoughts. No, this was different! The mage before her, Illia, she may have been burned, but she was still alive! She had not suffered quite so similar a fate, which meant there could potentially be a chance for her!

"Lydia, remember that inn we passed down there?" she addressed the housecarl who nodded in response, "We should get her there; someone should be able to help!"

"Well, if you say so, my thane," Lydia nodded, "Just... how are we going to...?" She trailed off as she indicated to the ice mage.

"Urrrgh! Ouch!" Illia growled in pain from something having barely irritating her arm.

"Illia? Come on, get up..." Siffre reached down to grab Illia's good arm. The mage was reluctant and gave a little resistance before surrendering her arm that supported her to the Nord. She was then carefully pulled to her feet. Lydia reached in to try and help somehow, until she was given a careful look at what exactly she'd have been grabbing. Aside from Illia's burnt left arm, there was no sleeve, no shoulder, nor even a side-covering of her robe to keep her covered in those places. Thus there was a sharp contrast in color between the burned parts of skin against the naturally pale skin tone. A small piece of cloth could be seen underneath the robe, indicating that the mage had little else besides undergarments on beneath that robe. No wonder she'd been shivering so hard.

Even with her handling her 'good' arm, Siffre took care in wrapping that arm of Illia's over her own shoulder to support her. The mage hissed in minor pain, but nothing else beyond that.

"Alright, maybe we can..." Lydia spoke from off to the side. She didn't need to be any healer or alchemist to know a bad injury like what she was seeing, "Here, I'll guide you and her down to that building, let's go!"

"Thank you. Come on..." Siffre agreed, then gently ushered the mage to walk with her. Illia remained silent but carefully began to walk forward. Fortunately none of her legs seemed to have suffered any similar damage...

Lydia remained close as she essentially escorted the two back down pathway they had climbed up before. While Siffre and Illia focused themselves on walking forward, Lydia glanced one last time over her shoulder at the dragon skeleton as she walked. The unmoving mass of bones still lay where it was, many feet away from the very burial mound it had crawled out of at the start. Let the wolves and sabrecats pick those bones clean for all she cared; their battle was over, and now she and her thane had more important matters to attend to.

"Hey, Illia... can you hear me?" Siffre softly spoke.

"Urgh... I-I..." the mage replied even softer, almost as a whisper. She appeared to be speaking just as softly like Siffre, as opposed to struggling to form words at all. Her eyes were half-lidded as well and stared straight forward. The dragonborn held a firm grip on the arm around her shoulder as the two of them descended the path. The downward walk was nowhere near as treacherous as the climb down the 7,000 Steps, but the fact that she was supporting an injured person yet again only added tension to the task at hand.

Lydia held her sword arm at the ready, with a firm grip on the hilt and her shield out before her. She marched at the side of the two a little in front of them, making sure the path was clear. However, walking the path itself was not the only issue to be mindful of. Snow was continuing to fall all around them, perhaps a little bit more than before. Coincidentally it seemed to be a little heavier now compared to when the three of them fought the dragon. Whatever the reason for it, they'd need to be cautious when descending. Gods, it really was the Throat of the World all over again...

Or, maybe not. After a couple of familiar downward twists and turns, the pathway began to level out back onto solid ground. The inn stood before the three women, slightly darkened from the lack of significant light in the sky. It was still standing, thank the Gods. Looks like that other black dragon hadn't gone and destroyed this place...

"This way you two! We're almost there...!" Lydia ushered them around the fenced garden. She maintained a steady few steps in front of them while keeping in time with Siffre and Illia's much slower pace.

Eventually the three of them rounded the garden and stood back at the front of Braidwood Inn. To Lydia's relief, she wouldn't need to call out for anyone. There, standing on the front porch, were two blue-garbed guardsmen. Their weapons were drawn and at the ready, until they quickly lowered their arms upon seeing the trio of women.

"Shor's bones! You two?!" one of the guards nearly exclaimed.

"Guards, please!" Siffre spoke, "We need help! 'She' needs help!"

"Ergarr, what's going on?" the other guardsman spoke up, indicating to his partner, "Who are these three?"

"They're the two mercenaries I told you about earlier! The ones with the death-wishes!" the guard 'Ergarr' quickly explained, before looking back down at the three women, "What are you doing here? Surely you couldn't have-"

"Sir, please! We don't have time!" Lydia insisted, while gesturing back towards the mage, "Look at her- she's injured! Is there anyone, anything, that could help her?!"

"By the Gods, those burns..." the other guard said after peering a little closer at Illia's left arm, before looking back to Ergarr, "Do you think she would...?" The other guard simply shrugged, "Come inside, quickly!" The two guardsmen made their way through the inn door with one of them holding it open. Lydia led the way to guide Siffre and Illia up the entry stairs and through the door, closing behind them.

The persistent chill in the air vanished slowly but surely. It was instead replaced by a warm and toasty air. In the center of the inn's stone floor, a central fireplace burned gently, with a couple of cauldrons held over them. Illia's hisses of pain grew more infrequent as the cold no longer nipped at her arm as well.

The two guardsmen walked deeper into the inn, where the women could see they were not alone. Inside the inn were a small number of people, all of them bearing looks of fear and concern. Some were dressed in every day casual clothes, while some of them wore miner's clothing. All of them were civilians, none of them looked the slightest bit prepared with having to fight something, much less a dragon.

"Dravynea! Can you help? They've got someone injured..." the guardsman Ergarr called out. The majority of the people inside the inn were human, which made the one dunmer that stepped forward stand out all the more. The dark elf was dressed in a mage's robe, blue colored with a dull yellow trimming on the edges of the sleeves and collar.

"By Azura, these burns..." she said, looking at Illia's arm, "They're not like mine-scorch marks I'm used to..."

"Can you help her?" Siffre insisted.

"I'll do what I can, but I make no promises. Give her here." With that Siffre gently eased the mage's good arm off of herself and allowed the dark elf to take her place. The two then gently maneuvered their way to one of the side doors of the inn, closing it shut behind them.

"What's going on out there?!" voices from the inn's patrons could be heard.

"It was a dragon, wasn't it?!"

"Are we really safe here...?"

"Alright, you two," the guardsman Ergarr addressed both Lydia and Siffre directly, "Just what happened up there? You both seemed hasty in following after where that dragon was seen flying, and now I find you back here, this time covered with blood...?" His comment caused the two women to instinctively look down at their own bodies and each others'. It was true, there were small splattered drops of blood marking their armors, as well as on their skin. Lydia herself hastily tried to wipe off as much of the red liquid from her arms as she could.

"My thane...?" Lydia spoke softly to Siffre, "What... what do we...?" The dragonborn's eyes met hers. They weren't filled with fear or terror as before, but with something else. Slowly, she turned her head back towards Ergarr and the other inn patrons.

"Everyone..." she spoke, clearly and concisely, with the new-found confidence Lydia had heard before. The tiniest of vibrations could still be felt in the air, yet were nowhere near as potent as the housecarl had come to recognize from before, "You all... you all don't need to fear. The... dragon, it won't cause trouble because... it's dead. We've made sure of that." A round of gasps filled the room all around.

"Dead?"

"Impossible!"

"But how? How could anyone kill a dragon?" The clamoring voices talked over one another, somehow panicking even harder at what was supposed to be good news. Lydia held a hand straight in the air, barely grabbing their attention once more.

"It's true, it's all true. We've slain the beast." she turned her head to Ergarr, "This guardsman can attest that we had gone up there, and we likely would not have come back down otherwise..."

"But isn't killing a dragon of all things supposed to be impossible?" the guardsman countered, "How could any ordinary person slay such a creature?" Lydia heard Siffre give a light sigh next to her.

"It's not impossible, because..." she spoke, "There's something that you all must know... about me."


"Urgh..." Illia moaned. Her eyes remained clenched shut, only no having realized she was closing them so hard. Wait, why were her eyes clenched shut again? What had happened...?

She gently opened her eyes, or strained to open them as best she could. The world before her looked strangely different. She didn't feel like she was outside anymore, but rather inside something... like a room?

She tried to shift herself up on whatever she lay upon, and instantly regretted it. A wave of stinging pain from her left arm shot up and along her entire body. She hissed loudly and instinctively reached her right hand over to grab at her left side, until something stopped her. She instantly became alarmed when she felt something stop her hand from moving any further; or rather, 'someone'.

Her head snapped to the side, where someone was actually there to her left side, holding her good arm in place.

"Hey hey, be at ease, alright?" the voice said. It was a woman's voice, and with Illia's she could see this woman was also a dunmer. The dark elf's dark red eyes met her own, not displaying any extreme emotion like anger, sadness, surprise, or anything.

"What the- where am I?!" Illia said, lightly tugging her arm in the woman's grip, "Who are you?!"

"Please, just calm down; You are not in danger," the dunmer ordered calmly yet forcefully. Illia in turn did relax her struggling, enough to allow the woman to release her arm, "I was just treating your arm here."

"My arm-" Illia started to say, until she looked over at her left arm. Immediately, her breath hitched in her throat at what she saw. Her entire left arm was colored red from burns! All the way up past her shoulder! "Gah! My arm! What happened to it?!" She began to squirm a little again at the sight of her appendage.

"It's fine, it really is," the woman tried to calm her down, "You're lucky you were brought in when you were, and this was the worst of it..." As she spoke, she proceeded to rub some sort of creamy substance all along the mage's arm. Illia should've felt pain up where she touched it, but instead the cream felt rather cool to the touch. It didn't cause her pain at all, instead felt rather soothing. Eventually, the dunmer finished coating Illia's entire arm and the base of her shoulder in the substance completely, "There, how does that feel?"

"It ... it doesn't hurt anymore? Doesn't burn," Illia said, giving a few light twists of her arm and flexes of her fingers. She expected to feel overwhelming pain, but instead the pain was rather muted, "It's... better? It is..." She looked back at the dunmer woman that had helped her, "I... thank you."

"It was my pleasure," the dunmer placed the small vial of the substance on the nearby nightstand, and instead pulled forth a roll of wraps, "Now let's get this on."

"Huh? What's that for?"

"The salve I've given you should help with the healing, but it's best it not be exposed to the elements," the woman explained, "These wraps should be kept over it for the time being, probably a few days."

"Oh... I see," Illia said. She then relented and allowed her arm to be wrapped up completely. The dunmer started at the base of her shoulder and worked her way downward. When she reached the elbow however, she broke off the wrap and started a new one at the other end, which would allow the mage to still bend her arm. Illia continued to watch this dunmer woman treat her arm, with more than a few questions crossing her mind, "So um... who are you? Where am I exactly?"

"I am Dravynea, and this is Kynesgrove," the woman 'Dravynea' explained without looking up from her work, "And you are?"

"My name is Illia," the Imperial replied.

"We'd all heard that roar from across the land and we took shelter in this inn," Dravynea spoke as she worked, "Never in all my years would I have guessed it to be a dragon of all things! And then the three of you showed up when you did..."

"Wait," Illia quickly realized, "The other two- Siffre and... Lydia, where are they?"

"Oh, is that what those two's names are?" Dravynea said, giving her a look before returning to her work, "Nord names always sound strange to me... Don't worry, they're in the tavern hall, with everyone else I'll bet..." By now the dunmer had wrapped Illia's arm up completely, all the way up to the wrist, when she began a new set of wraps to cover Illia's palm, "I would also advise against casting spells with this hand for the time being as well."

"Huh...?" Illia's eyes slowly widened as the realization came to her, "Wait, how did you-?"

"Please, I thought a fellow mage would recognize another," Dravynea said. This caused Illia to look back at the other woman again, her eyes in awe this time. Another mage? And one who wasn't an Imperial or even a witch like her? But rather a dunmer mage?

"... Although, that is a rather strange robe you choose to wear..." Illia's eyes were drawn back down to her robe, and her face instantly flushed red at what she saw. The entire left sleeve was gone, along with a healthy chunk of that side of her robe! Burned off! It nearly left her skin and... undergarments, exposed underneath it!

"By the Gods!" her free hand shot to her face to cover it as best she could, "This is embarrassing! How could I have let that happen!?"

"As I said before, you should be thankful that this," she indicated to both the burned sections of the robe and even her bandaged arm, "is all you got off with. You're not a warrior like your two companions are, so consider yourself fortunate."

"My... companions..." Illia found herself repeating those words. Those choices of words to describe Siffre and Lydia. Two women who only recently had only-

'GROWLLL!'

Her eyes snapped open again and her mind was once again brought back to embarrassing reality. Her free hand shot over to rub her stomach. Her very empty stomach.

'As if my day could not get any worse...' she thought to herself.

The dunmer on the other hand let out the tiniest of chuckles. It didn't sound like a laugh at Illia's expense, but the poor witch was left with the sense of mortification regardless. Yet another complete stranger had heard her stomach growl! She almost wished that dragon had burned 'all' of her...

"Hm, that was quite powerful," Dravynea commented. Illia watched as the dunmer twisted herself opposite the bed she lay and reached for something, "I guess facing the likes of a dragon can really work up an appetite..." After a moment, she turned back around bearing something in hand. One look was all it took for Illia's eyes to practically light up, as well as her mouth to water: a plate holding a pink-colored delicacy of grilled fish, "Here, this was to be mine, but you definitely need it more."

With but a single hand, yet displaying a fair amount of desperation, Illia grabbed the plate and brought it closer to her. Immediately the scent of the cooked food flooded her nostrils, making her desire to eat increase tenfold. She held the plate steady with her right hand and with her left hand- or, she tried to. A sharp stab of pain shot up her left arm as she moved her bandaged arm. Ultimately, her need to satisfy her hunger overpowered her sensations of pain. Her left arm still gingerly grabbed hold of the fish fillet and brought it to her mouth, where she practically wolfed it down like an actual wolf of Skyrim's forests. Illia was faintly aware of the way she was being very vocal in her consumption, but she just couldn't find it in herself to care. This was the first bit of food, REAL food, that she was eating all day! And to think, she had started off this very day trying to catch and eat a fish much like the one she was eating right now.

The irony was not lost on her.

Within mere moments, Illia had finished the entire fillet of fish from the plate. Her head spun back to look at Dravynea, the look she delivered her itself almost demanding more.

"By Azura! You really must have been starving, haven't you?" She reached back to the side again to retrieve two more things: half of a bread loaf, and a flagon containing some liquid within. Illia's need to have her hunger sated completely disregarded her mild concern as to what might actually have been in the flagon being presented to her. At this point, anything would suffice.

"I'm just, I'm just so hungry...!" she said, hastily taking the two sustenance items in hand. To her own credit she managed to restrain herself a little with the bread half. Though this might've also been from her trying to take it with her left hand as well. Regardless, she munched on the bread much slower and deliberately this time. She took her time to savor each bite from the bread. In her state of mind to simply see her hunger sated, she brought the flagon to her lips without care of what she might be consuming. What greeted her was the taste of something... rich? Deep? With hints of... tart flavor?

She suddenly stopped to actually ponder what it was that she had just taken a sip of. A quick sniff and she smelled the smell of something bitter. This certainly wasn't any wine or drink she was familiar with. Just what was this?

"Um, what exactly is this?" she indicated to the flagon.

"Ah, that would be Matze, an old Morrowind favorite," Dravynea said with a gentle smile. Illia could only tilt her head in confusion at the strange word she'd just heard.

"Ma... tze?"

"'Matze'" the dunmer corrected, "Truth be told, the swill the Nords drink just can't compare to Morrowind classics. A little bit of Matze here helps me get through the day personally... Do you like it?"

"It's... it's good," Illia admitted. The drink's taste was as enigmatic as trying to pronounce its name. Still, in addition to simply filling her belly, her belly was also filled with a warm, pleasant feeling. Within seconds, she finished the drink from the flagon, letting out a sigh as she did, "It's really good." Dravynea simply smiled as she took the empty flagon from her to set aside. Illia then took the time to finish off the bread in her other hand completely, "Thank you. Really, I needed this."

"That was obvious, but still, you're welcome," the dunmer replied. With her hand no longer holding a piece of bread, Illia was left to look down at her left hand and arm, completely wrapped in bandages. A quick bend of her arm reminded her the bandages were not constraining enough as to prevent her from bending it. There was still that tiny sting of a burning feeling, which only brought memories back to the forefront of her mind. Painful memories.

"So, you say this needs to stay on for a few days?" she asked, to which the dark elf nodded.

"It's a special salve of my own creation you know," she explained, "The secret is actually frost salts, a light pinch of them blended in with the usual medicinal herbs like blisterwort. Some of the Nord miners of Kynesgrove suffer steam burns working in the mine." As Dravynea explained her salve, Illia listened to her with deep fascination. In all her time, she'd never considered common frost salts being utilized in something small-scale like salves. Or, perhaps, this was something that Vedina herself had never experimented with herself, despite being the alchemy enthusiast among them.

The thought of her witch-sister brought back memories yet again, Memories of her days as a witch of Darklight Tower. The things that were done there...

"Why?" she suddenly spoke up, interrupting Dravynea while indicating to her bandaged arm, "Why did you do all this for someone like me?"

"What do you mean? I helped you because you needed help, and I wanted to," Dravynea said, eyebrows furrowing, "Was there some reason I shouldn't have?"

"Well, I mean... that is..." Illia stammered. There was a precise reason, and it was this reason she was hesitant to disclose it. How would Dravynea react? She'd been hospitable so far, but there was still that chance that she might think differently of her if she were made aware. Illia took a breath of resignation, "Well, you see... I'm a witch, of a now dead coven of witches. And an Imperial as well, living now on my own in a land filled with Nords that, well, don't look kindly on people like me..." As she spoke, she noted how Dravynea was simply listening to her, as opposed to any of the reactions she had predicted. Her eyes didn't widen with surprise, shock, nor anger. She didn't say anything, didn't interrupt her. There was no judgement at all, right up to when she spoke.

"Being a strange mage in Skyrim...," she said with a humorless chuckle, "I suppose I can very much relate to that."

"What?"

"I too am not from Skyrim you see," the dark elf explained, "I like many dunmer hail from Morrowind, to the east, forced to flee my homeland when Vvardenfell erupted. As west was the only way to go, I quickly found myself here, in a small settlement barely noticed even to the Nords themselves. A hardy and stubborn bunch they are, with little tolerance for outsiders. And that's on good days..."

"But, if they're like that, then why do you stay here...?" Illia asked. Dravynea returned her look with a smirk of her own.

"Funny how quickly they'll change their opinions of you when you prove your value," she explained, "I'm called 'the Stoneweaver' not just for show; it is I who keeps the miners safe in Steamscorch mine. With my magic I keep their tunnels from collapsing upon them, as well as treat them for burns with my salve. Over time, they came to see the... benefits, of my living here among them, eventually even accepting me as one of theirs." She suddenly raised an eyebrow, "Is that how it is for you and those two Nords you are with?"

"Oh, um..." Illia considered, "I... suppose it is? I mean, one of them definitely accepts me. The other one... I'm not, 'entirely' sure about..."

"That sounds about how Nords would be..." Dravynea admitted, "Headstrong and fearless, often at the expense of decency and common sense..." The dunmer paused for a moment before looking back at Illia, "And it would seem you managed to find two of the most battle-thirsty Nords ever to be fighting a dragon of all things!" She let out a chuckle at the end, with Illia smiling a little as well.

"Yeah, I'd say they did most of the work..." Illia agreed, letting her gaze drift back down to her bandaged arm. It was strange, but while she did remember the dragon breathing that fire at her, and her projecting that ward to try and protect herself, she remembered little else afterwards. All she did remember was picking herself off of the ground and walking herself towards where she saw Siffre and Lydia standing. With the dragon nowhere to be seen. The only logical conclusion was that those two had slain the dragon, or at least dealt with it somehow... without her. They clearly didn't need her to vanquish the creature however they did in the end. The very same creature that had ended up doing... 'this', to her arm.

Her breath hitched in her throat a little, in part from reflex at a wave of light pain shooting up the length of her arm. But also a different feeling of pain; the pain of inadequacy. She remembered giving her best effort in dual-casting that ward! The strongest she'd ever made that magic-repelling barrier before, and yet that dragon was able to completely shatter it! She'd given her best, and it was not enough.

And for that, her arm had to pay the price.

"They did the work... because I wasn't strong enough," she spoke in a low voice. Dravynea's eyes narrowed from this new shift in tone, "It's true; I was burned like this because my ward didn't hold. Who knows what that dragon might've done more to me if 'they' hadn't dealt with it..."

"Your ward?" Dravynea asked, "Wait, as in you cast a spell ward to shield yourself?"

"Not simply casted it; I dual-casted it," Illia clarified, "I didn't 'feel' my magicka... was low when it... when it shattered, but still..."

"Is that so..." the dunmer said, "And you feel you simply weren't strong enough in that moment?" Illia did not reply, but still gave a solemn nod of her head. The dunmer was actually silent for a moment, pondering something in her mind. Finally, she spoke up again, "Well then, in that case, why don't you simply get stronger?"

"Huh? Stronger?" Illia blinked.

"Exactly. If your magicka wasn't strong enough in the past, then why not grow it to be stronger for the future?" Dravynea proposed.

"But how? How could I possibly grow my magicka to be stronger?" Illia said, before pointing to her bandaged arm, "And would I even be able to do that with my arm like this?"

"With constant practice," the dark elf replied professionally, "As mages, our magicka and reserves grow in strength through consistent usage. The mana pools within ourselves grow ever deeper, allowing us to cast more powerful spells and for longer durations. However, that can only be done if your reserves have been 'stretched to their limits', so to speak. It's really no different from growing your own body's muscles to be stronger." She then gave a point to Illia's bandaged arm, "As for that, it'll heal in no time, so you have little to worry about there." The Imperial brought her other arm to gently rub along the bandages of her injured arm, almost regretting it as she winced lightly from the small sting she felt.

"You make it sound so easy..." she said.

"Child, would you believe me when I say I'm nearly two hundred years of age?" Dravynea asked with a slight smile, "I did say I left Morrowind when Vvardenfell erupted, around that time as well. Let's just say that's given me plenty of time to follow that very same advice." Illia blinked once as she looked again at the dunmer; the same allegedly two hundred year old dunmer that somehow still looked relatively middle aged!

"Two hundred years...?!" she breathed, "I-I'm sorry, I just had no idea... I mean, you look so...!"

"Please, you'll make me blush," Dravynea dismissed with a wave of her hand and a smile on her lips. Illia then looked down at her own hands. Both of her hands, one perfectly intact and one covered in a thin layer of bandage. So with these hands, constantly practicing her spells, she could allow her magicka potential to grow stronger? It really was possible, wasn't it?

Another look from Dravynea seemed to reassure her mentally. The kind dark elf had given no reason to second guess what had been said so far. Perhaps... perhaps there was potential for her to be better. Better than she was before.

"Thank you, Dravynea," Illia spoke up, "Really, I mean this. Thank you for healing my arm, for the food, and for your words. I'll try and keep in mind what you've told me this day going forward."

"It seems we're one in the same kind, you and I," the dark elf said with a nod. After a few moments of comfortable silence that followed, Illia felt her legs stretch a little as she lay upon the bed still.

"Alright, I think I'm feeling ... I'd like to get up now, and back out."

"Ah good, I'll just-" Dravynea started, until her eyes widened in realization of something, "Oh, wait a minute."

"What?"

"Well, I'm not sure you'd want to go back into the world with 'that' still on. No offense." She pointed a finger to the partially burned black robe that Illia still wore upon her body. Illia took one look down to be reminded of the singed garment, and her face flushed with embarrassment again.

"Oh, by the-!" she exclaimed while unconsciously bringing her right arm back over to conceal her bare left side, "I'd forgotten about this! I really can't go back out there wearing this anymore! But... what am I going to do?"

"Hm..." the dunmer pinched her chin in thought. After a few seconds, her eyes seemed to light up again, "I believe I have an option." Illia watched Dravynea as she moved to the other side of the room, coming to a stop in front of a chest against the wall. She opened the chest up and pulled something from it. From her angle Illia couldn't see exactly what she was holding. When she turned around to return to her position, she could see exactly what it was.

Dravynea held in her arms a set of clothes. Despite being folded over in half, Illia's eyes widened a little as she identified what they were. They were robes. Specifically, they were robes that a mage would wear. Dark gray shaded with brown trimming, and a small bag laying atop them.

"Are those... robes?" Illia spoke, looking at them closer. Dravynea gave a single nod.

"These robes I once wore in my younger days..." she said.

"This really was yours?" Illia said, "I... I couldn't possibly accept this-"

"My days of wandering are behind me now," Dravynea insisted, gently ushering Illia to take the garment set, "I have no further need of it myself. And let's not forget that you could use it more than I could. So, consider it a gift." After hesitation, Illia reached both hands out to take the mage robes in her hands. There was a slight sting from her left hand again, but that pain was almost forgotten about completely in the moment. The Imperial looked down at the robes in awe; 'her' new robes.

She looked back up at the dunmer, "You... you keep doing so much for me... How can I ever repay you?" Dravynea chuckled again.

"After preventing the likes of a dragon from destroying us? What is one robe next to that?" she said, "And if you'd prefer, I can step out of the room to allow you to change?"

"Oh yes, that'd be nice of you," Illia nodded, "And, thank you again!" Dravynea nodded one last time before turning to leave through the room's door, closing it behind her. The Imperial was now alone in the room, privacy granted to her. She slid her legs over the side of the bed before holding the robes in her lap to look closer at them. Now that she thought about it, the only form of clothing she'd wear were black robes, signifying her role as a witch. Her and her witch-sisters wore such clothing during their lives, and even Sylvia was no exception. She found little reason back then to question it, but looking back, she couldn't help but wonder the reasoning as to why there was little... variety, in what they wore?

With that, she set the folded robes on the bed and pulled herself to her feet. The remains of her current robe would have to come off first. First she reached down to undo the sash that was tied around her waist and over the robes. As the sash fell slack, she quickly reached to catch her holstered knife before it fell. Perhaps this tool wasn't worth discarding yet as the robe was, so it might be better to keep it for now. After a quick scan of the room to make sure again that she was absolutely alone, she pulled the robe over her head and clear off of her body. Cool air immediately pressed upon her exposed skin, causing her to shiver. This feeling was much different from last night when she was forced to sleep outside in the cold. Back then was cold and unforgiving, this time felt cool, but also with a shiver of anticipation.

As she stood in place, she gazed down upon her body, with attention immediately drawn to her left arm. Her pale skin was exposed, which made the foreign bandages wrapping her arm stand out all the more. If what Dravynea said was true, then it wouldn't be a permanent addition to her image. Still, she remembered her arm being burned by the dragon's fire; how would it end up looking after she would finally free it from the bandages...?

She first slipped the trousers up her legs, then the dark colored tunic over her torso. Next she adjusted the brown neck-piece across her shoulders with her head emerging through the hole in the center of it. This one also had a brown hood hanging off in the back, similar to her old robes. But there was no need to pull it over and conceal her head just yet. Lastly she pulled the faded white robe itself over her right shoulder, with the size pin adjusted accordingly for tightness. That entire ensemble was held in place by a final wide sash piece held around her waist by a belt within it.

Finally, the entire outfit was upon her. Illia smiled a little as she looked down at the brand new robes she now wore. She gave a twist of various body parts to test how the outfit felt upon her. Amazingly, it didn't appear to sag or squeeze her body uncomfortably. Dravynea must have somehow been a similar size to her, back then anyway.

"Yes, yes I'm liking this...!" she said to herself. She reached back to the bed to grab the remaining two items. Her knife she took and re-fixed itself back to her new belt. The other item was a small handbag with a long strap to hang by her side from her shoulder, "And this bag! I can fit plenty more things in this bag than the old one...!" She cast a sideways look towards her previous bag. The same tiny piece of cloth that came equipped with her old black robes. All she could fit in there were the smallest of alchemical ingredients, which even by now were all gone!

Her ensemble was finally completed upon her slipping her leather shoes back on her feet. A sense of invigoration ran down her spine, for what felt like the first time all day today. This was only reinforced as she looked down one last time at the cloth that was her old robe. This might as well have been a final connection to her previous life; the life of a witch in the wilds, preying on innocents. Having shed it completely this time, this was the first time she truly felt like she had broken free from it; the days of her 'witch-family', not even her real family, were gone! Even bearing that robe that had come from them served as an involuntary reminder that they could no longer hold her. From now on, Illia would be choosing her own path in life, the shackles of her familial past breaking away for good.

"Goodbye, Sylvia... Movera... even the old Illia..." she said to herself, "I'll keep on living and become stronger than any of you could've been!" With that, she turned to the door to follow after where Dravynea had gone, the robe remaining in the room behind her.

Almost immediately, she was greeted to a different sight. She now stood within a larger room, a bar by the looks of it. The room itself was filled with a gentle warmth from the central fire place, and the strumming of a lute could be heard. There was the bar itself near one end of the room, with a number of people standing close to it, mostly Nords. Some where sitting on stools in front of it, while others were standing about the room on their feet.

But one thing was for sure: nearly all of them had a tankard in hand, with some of them singing to some song that the lute was playing.

"And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no more... when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!" The song they had been singing came to an end, followed by silence from the lute and laughter from the Nords. From the looks of it, none of the jovial Nords had seen her enter the room yet. Though, would that be a good thing? From the mead they were likely drinking, wouldn't that make them more crazy towards... 'non-Nords', like her? A quick glance around the room told her that Dravynea was nowhere to be seen? Had she taken too long in dressing? Where had she gone?

As her eyes scanned the room, she fell back upon the group of Nords at the bar, with one of them catching her eye. There, sitting on one of the stools with a tankard in hand, was Siffre! She was still here? Somewhere in her mind she had a notion that she wouldn't see her again, even after the fight with the dragon, yet here she was! What was she doing here...?

"Illia!" she heard Siffre declare after suddenly looking in her direction. Illia flinched a little, unprepared for attention suddenly being directed upon her. The Nord hastily unseated herself from the stool and made her way towards her. A number of the Nords casually watched after her as she moved, yet didn't seem to pay much mind to it, "Illia... you look, different."

"I do...?" the Imperial said, before looking down at herself and realizing, "Oh! The robes; yeah, they were given to me by Dravynea, since my old robes were burned too much to wear."

"Drav-ynea...?" the Dragonborn said with a tilted head, "Is that who it was that helped you?"

"Yes, that's her," Illia nodded, before lifting up her left arm before them, "She's treated my left arm for the burns too."

"Ah good, so you're alright then..."

"Oh, you're finally up." Illia and Siffre turned their heads towards the familiar voice. Lydia approached to two of them from the side, a full tankard in her hand as well, "And look at you! Now you look the part of a mage!"

"Ah, thanks..." Illia said. She instinctively moved to rub the side of her left arm with her right hand, until she stopped herself at the last minute. That likely would've stung more if she did that, "Um, to be honest, I didn't really expect to find you two still here."

"Huh? Why?" Siffre asked.

"Well, I just thought you'd have moved on by now, or something..." Illia said, her voice growing softer. She felt a hand suddenly on her shoulder; her unburned shoulder no less. Her eyes looked back to meet the reassuring ones of the Dragonborn.

"Illia... Of course we'd stay for you," she said, "After all... we're here in this place because you were injured! We brought you here after the fight... Don't you remember?"

"Ah, no, actually..." Illia rubbed the side of her head with her good hand, "After that dragon... well, 'burned' me, everything became a bit of a blur... I don't even remember getting here..."

"Oh yes, you'd gotten burned, but you're alright now?" Lydia spoke up. Illia nodded again, before lifting up her bandaged left arm before the two women, "Oh... the entire arm? That's likely gonna scar up..."

"Scar up?" Illia's eyes widened. She hadn't considered that; would her arm be disfigured? What if it would be completely unsightly to look at in the future? "Wait, what's going to happen to my arm? Will it ever get better? I don't want it to be ugly and riddled with scars!"

"Just calm down, alright? I was only joking," Lydia said before taking a sip from her tankard in hand.

"Oh..." Illia looked down at her bandaged arm one last time before lowering it.

"Does it hurt...?" Siffre asked.

"No, not really... not that much anymore," Illia admitted while trying to squeeze its fingers in response. She then remembered the discussion that she and Dravynea had a few minutes ago in private. She remembered her resolve she had found in those moments, as in symbolized by these new robes she had donned. And here stood the two Nord women in question, whom she felt needed to hear of it, "Listen, Siffre, and Lydia. Back then, when we fought the dragon? I was... I was next to useless-"

"No, no you were not; if not for you we could not have-" Siffre started, but Illia held up her good hand to stop her.

"But! That's alright! I'm not complaining, nor saying I feel sorry for myself," she continued, "What I'm trying to say is... I'm going to do better! I'll work on my magic so that next time- or, if there even 'is' a next time... I won't be a burden. I'll prove my worth that I'm not just a useless mage." As she finished her small declaration, she was met with the faces of Siffre and Lydia, both giving her smiles and smirks.

"Illia..." Siffre spoke first, "I was trying to say... You weren't useless because... you were in fact a big help. It was thanks to you that the dragon was brought down in the first place! Remember?"

"Huh?" Illia said. She then thought back to the encounter with the dragon, or what she remembered from it. True enough, she did remember shooting a dual-cast ice spike at the dragon which did in fact manage to pierce its scales, "Oh yeah... But, that was still in large part to that voice magic of yours, wasn't it?"

"But that you were willing to step up and help at all was admirable!" Lydia added, "And even if you did get burned and your arm gets scarred from it..." Her tone of voice softened a little before continuing, "You know, there's an old Nord saying here in Skyrim: 'To bear scars is to bear knowledge.'"

"What?" Illia said, "'To bear...' sorry, I've never heard of such a phrase..."

"It's still real simple," Lydia explained, "The scar that marks your skin is a reminder of how you got it in the first place. Just let it serve as a learning experience too; knowing what to do now, here today."

"Oh, I see..." the Imperial said. Such Nord ideology was a strange thing for Illia to hear, but it did make some semblance of sense. A learning experience? Who would've thought such learning would require a high pain tolerance...? Still, Illia returned the Nords' smiles with a smile and nod of her own.

"Oy, Dragonborn!" a different voice suddenly called out from behind them, "Who's that there?"

"A mage?"

The three women turned around to regard the few patrons that were looking to them. From the slight sway of their heads and their hands gripping tankards as well, the women could only assume that they were quite drunk off their mead by this point.

"Bah, an Imperial looks like... why don't ye run on back to Cyrodiil...?" one of the men slurred, his voice heavy and laden with inebriation. Despite the blatant drunk tone in his voice, the three women couldn't help but frown in response.

Illia herself opened her mouth to say something, anything, when something caught her eye. There, standing off to the side and silent reading something to herself, was the familiar dark elf. Dravynea had casually looked up from her book and was looking towards her as well. Even from the space between them, Illia could see the corner of her mouth tugged into the faintest of smiles. What followed was the tiniest of twitching of her head into a shake, which Illia's sharp eyes noted. The silent gesture was a completely subtle one, but still managed to speak to Illia, even hearkening back to earlier discussions.

She turned to look back over at Siffre and Lydia, giving them a firmer shake of her own head.

"It's fine, don't worry," she spoke softly.

"Are... are you sure?" Lydia asked just as softly.

"Come now Kjeld, enough," the three women heard a scolding tone from the barkeep, addressing the Nord that had called Illia out, "You'd best not let the mead do any more talking for you, if you know what's good for you."

"Dammit woman!" the man exclaimed. He opened his mouth to retort further, until his words seemingly died in his throat. Thus he resulted to taking yet another swig from his tankard. The woman dismissed his outburst with a wave of her hand, before looking over at the three women.

"Don't worry about Kjeld; any friend of the Dragonborn is welcome here!" she said with a smile, "It's the least we can do for Kynesgrove's saviors." Her statement was met with some scattered cheers from a couple of the other patrons.

Illia on the other hand turned back to Siffre in confusion, "The Dragonborn...?"

"Oh yeah... It seems they now know about what Siffre is; or rather 'who' she is..." Lydia explained.

"I just figured, they deserved to know," Siffre said as well, "They needed to know that their settlement here was safe. Plus I was... I felt it was time. After all, what harm was there in letting select people know who I am...?"

"As it was your choice my thane, I'll defer to your judgement," Lydia said. She took one last swig from her tankard in her hand to finish it completely, "Although, if you being Dragonborn guarantees free drinks, I can certainly see the benefits!" In response to her comment, Siffre actually let out a small chuckle. It was a light and hearty sounding laugh, almost strange to hear from the mouth of Siffre. Even stranger was the apparent absence of the potent vibrations in the air that usually accompanied her speech.

In the midst of her laugh, Lydia and Illia both had similar realizations in their heads: never before had they heard Siffre laugh! To hear this sound from the Dragonborn's lips now, an expression of pure joy, it was enough to bring genuine smiles to their lips as well, as well as a bit of laughter of their own! Perhaps it was the alcohol in the mead as the influence, but Lydia was certain she had never felt more happy and merry in all her years!

That is, up until the sound of heavy pounding could be heard on the inn's door.

"What, now who could that be...?" a nearby guard could be heard saying as he walked towards the door. Upon pulling open the door and looking out, his attitude changed. Despite having a helmet on, his demeanor and posture all changed visually from who he saw outside.

"Ysmir's Beard!" he exclaimed as he backed up away from the door. This allowed whoever stood outside to take a few steps within, allowing all to see who exactly it was. From the number of footsteps, as well as the specific attire, there was no mistaking them for anyone else.

"Stormcloaks."


-So as you could see, this one was more of an 'Illia-centric' chapter. I figured if she's going to be a 'listed character' in this story, then she should get development as well.

As a side-note, over the recent days, I realize that what I had written was actually an unintended literary reflection to a friend of mine. A lot of what you see Illia going through here is what he had been going through as well, so I hope if that certain 'he' is reading this, then this helps him out a great deal.

Stay posted here with the views and reviews, I'll try to be back real soon! Take care!-