Mountain nights are cold, and though I know I haven't done so much today I still get frustrated when I can't fall asleep, even after the wake downstairs ends and people start to make their way to bed. I figure after maybe another hour of tossing and turning about, the hearth downstairs will still be warm so I take my furs and the pillow and drag everything down there.

Yes, sleeping on the stones will probably hurt my back. No, I do not care if it means I get to be warm.

The fire is burning low, casting deep shadows over everything, but I'm not bothered as I tuck the furs into a makeshift bedroll and curl up beside it. The stone floor is warm, and I know Bjorn sweeps it at the end of the ni—

"What are you doing?"

I yelp as I all but leap out of the furs, staring into the shadows where the voice came from. Pulling the furs away from the fire's edge, I settle back again.

"Too cold up there," I tell the figure. I can just make out a shape in the shadows, and he leans forward, smiling slightly.

"So you figured you'd sleep down here, where people are likely to trip over you in the morning?" Hadvar asks. I roll my eyes, settling into my bundle.

"I'm sure I'll wake up the second someone opens that door and a gust of air hits me," I tell him. "And if not, I can always heal myself."

"I'd rather you didn't get hurt in the first place," He chuckles, shaking his head. I tuck a hand under my head as I watch him.

"So, why are you down here, then?"

"Posting guard," he replies simply. I arch a brow at him, and he shrugs. "Skjoren's been making threats. We've been taking it in turns to make sure he doesn't try to make good on them."

"What kind of threats?"

"The standard," Hadvar shrugs, leaning forward, elbows on his thighs. "Telling us to watch our backs, a dagger between the ribs in the right spot and nobody'll hear us go. Easy to get us when we're all sleeping. Most of it's probably bluster, but he drank enough tonight that I think he might make good on some of them."

"Someone needs to talk sense into him," I sigh. "We're stuck up here for gods know how long; we need to work together if we want to survive."

"He's the worst of them, for what it's worth."

"Still."

Silence fills the room for a while, and I roll onto my back, feeling myself starting to actually doze off when Hadvar speaks again.

"Hilde told me about Aurius," he says softly, now sitting back in his seat. The way he seems to blend into the darkness and the stretched shadows is a little unnerving, but a small voice in my mind reminds me this is Hadvar. He won't hurt you. "You didn't have to do that."

I hum softly, enjoying lingering on that border between sleep and waking. "He wasn't going to recover, not before the rest of his body—"

"I meant, you could have gotten me to do the kill," he says. I look up at him, blinking through bleary eyes.

"I figured the sooner, the better," I reply, though my words are more of a mumble than proper speech. Hadvar scoffs slightly.

"Yeah, but now you're twisted up inside with guilt that isn't yours to carry."

I mean, he's not wrong. Kinda out of line, though. I let my eyes close, though I'm still mentally present.

"It was all my fault, Hadvar. All of them. I said no one, but... I couldn't even keep to that."

"Brighid, that's just war," he says gently. "People are going to get hurt, people are going to die. Add a dragon and it complicates everything, too. For what it's worth, you did amazingly."

I know that he's being kind, just trying to save my feelings, but in this moment I appreciate it. I hum softly in response, but I don't really have the consciousness for more as I feel myself slowly drifting off to sleep instead.

I was right about being woken by the first blast of outside air, but I didn't expect it to be so early. Nevertheless, despite the stone floor, I slept surprisingly well, so even with only a few hours I manage to rise with more energy.

There's a shout outside, an angry one, and after questioning looks are shared around the room many of us are on our feet, heading for the door as the yelling continues.

Outside, one of the locals is going off at a Stormcloak. A ring of people has formed around them, with the local pacing angrily back and forth as the Stormcloak tries to shrink away, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"I don't want to hurt you, can we please talk this out?"

"Like hell! I'll gut you where you stand, you milk-drinking snowback!"

"She invited me in, I never forced anything!"

"You've already ruined her, now you want to smear her name?"

"I'm not ruined, Papa!" The teenage girl I noticed yesterday cries out, but the woman holding her – mother, judging by the family resemblance – hushes her. I think I can guess what's happened, and shove aside another local as I force my way into the circle, putting myself between the two men with a hand raised to both of them.

"What's going on?" I ask, looking from the local to the Stormcloak.

"He handled my daughter, is what's going on," the local says, pointing at the Stormcloak. "Woke up this morning and she's in her bed, but holding the sheets up to cover herself. Found him hiding underneath!"

"Is that true?" I ask the Stormcloak. I think his name is Niom or something. He shifts, looking anywhere but at me. "Is it true?"

"I caught you red-handed, you bastard! Try to lie about it, we all know what you Stormcloaks really are!"

"Hey!" I snap at the local. "I wasn't asking you. Is it true?" I turn to Niom. Silence has surrounded us, and Niom jerks his head forward. A nod.

The rest of the circle, mostly locals, start shouting in anger, hurling insults at Niom as he tries to shout back a defense. I raise my voice as well, yelling for everyone to stop before turning to him.

"Why?"

Niom looks at me now, and I can see the fear, the utter defeat in his eyes. Like whatever he might try to say just won't be enough for me. I press him again.

"Why?"

"It was cold last night," he says softly, "And I mentioned it when we... well, we met up. So she let me in and we shared a bed, but nothing happened," he adds, clearly panicking now. "I swear it on my life, my clothes never came off nor did hers."

"How old are you?" I ask. He doesn't look too old, maybe mid-twenties. I know it's normal for Nords to have age gaps in relationships, but she's clearly a teenager, and he's clearly an adult.

"Nineteen, Dragonborn."

Okay, way younger than I thought. I look over to the local, past him to where the mother is holding the girl, as if hugging her. "Is it true?" I ask her. "Did you invite him?"

"She'd never lay with filth—"

"Shut up!" I snap at the father, turning back to the girl. "Tell me what happened, from your side."

She looks scared, glances at the others. I can sense more have joined the circle now, but I'm not interested in them.

"I-I was put in with the children," she says shakily, "And Ni was usually the one left to watch us. H-he helped me with some of the younger ones. And w-we... I figured we were close."

I catch the nickname, though I don't think anyone else picks up on it. There's definitely some sort of closeness there – the other Stormcloaks weren't calling him "Ni". Not to mention the looks they were sharing yesterday.

"What happened last night?" I ask her, softening my voice. Her father goes to open his mouth, but I raise a hand in his direction, to shut him up. "You won't be judged, don't worry about that."

"Well, it was so cold," she says nervously, "And I didn't want him to get sick, so I... I let him in and thought he'd be gone before Papa woke. I was still in my shift when he came in, I just hid 'cos I don't like him seeing me in it."

I can relate to her nervousness about being seen in just her shift – I feel very much the same way. The local looks like he's about to blow a gasket, though, as he rounds on her.

"I'm your father! Why can't you bear for me to see you, but it's fine for him?"

"Because that's what happens when you grow up," I snap at the man. "Do you still wave your dick around in front of your mother?"

He shuts up, and I look past him to the daughter again. "What's your name?"

"Julette."

Like a fucking fairytale. I can't bite back the single laugh that comes up, shaking my head. I look at her.

"Do you like Niom as more than a friend?"

"I— Well, uh—" She stammers, her face going bright red as she fusses with her hair a little. "I mean..."

"Do you like Julette as more than a friend?" I ask Niom. His eyes dart about nervously before he jerks his head forward in response. I wave my hands in a vague gesture.

"Let them be together, then. Fuck's sake, you Nords with your complications of romance."

"Kovalt's Breton, actually," someone mutters behind me. I guess Kovalt is the father? Even so, I shake my head.

"Whatever, the point still stands."

Kovalt turns and stalks off, and his wife hesitates before running after him, leaving Julette on her own. I figure the pair of them have had enough attention and gesture broadly to the rest of the group.

"I'm sure you all have something better to be doing,"

It gets people moving, although they seem to be a little embarrassed about being called out. As the group disperses, I notice Niom moving closer, hesitantly towards me.

"Thank you, Dragonborn," he says softly as everyone filters away. "I thought he was going to try and kill me, and I wouldn't go down easy."

"Again, you people overcomplicate love," I tell him, shrugging. "Just, like, do right by her. And maybe don't, y'know, lay with her until she's actually of age."

He chuckles nervously at that, before moving past to where Julette looks like she's waiting for him. I can't help but smile slightly as he hesitantly greets her, and she throws herself at him. Young love. Part of me wishes I could have something like that with Ondolemar, but he's far too reserved for any sort of PDA.

"You didn't have to do that," Skjoren says, nearly startling me out of my skin. Where the fuck did he come from? "The boy was indiscreet, would have taught him a lesson to be humiliated by that father."

Oh, so now he wants to talk to me? I don't even look at him, actively trying to look as bored and impatient as possible.

"He was humiliated enough having to declare his feelings with the whole public forum," I say, turning to walk past him. "And, believe it or not, a heavy hand does not make a strong soldier."

Skjoren grabs my arm as I try to pass him, fingers digging into the flesh as he looks down at me.

"Remember where you stand," he tells me softly. "We held this town first, and we can just as easily set torches to thatch while you're all sleeping at night."

"Oh goody, then I get to actually put you in the dirt,"

The dragons have risen to the bait, but I also feel that icy cold other self. The words sound sweetly innocent, but I force her back, shifting my tone so it's more menacing – two can play this game. "I choose peace, but I can bury you and all of your followers without a second thought. It's up to you to decide which fate you prefer."

I wrench my arm free of his grip, striding away. The dragons are baying for blood, but after the petty drama and now Skjoren's outright attempt at a standover, they're getting worked up.

Maybe I can put them to use...

I find myself at the edge of the path, looking down to where the shelf is wide enough to have caught a lot of the rubble, and across to the other side of the destroyed track. I know there's earth-moving spells, but I don't have any in my repertoire. Note to self: learn some sort of digging spell.

"You're not going to try again, are you?"

I glance back to see Brand picking his way along the short track, looking over the edge. I shrug.

"I barely used magic yesterday and I slept well," I tell him. "I should be able to handle it."

"You know that completely draining your magicka causes you physical injury, right?" He asks, leaning against the rock wall and folding his arms. I shrug.

"Then I won't drain my magicka."

"Brighid—"

"You sound like the elf," I sigh, shaking my head. "For once, I just wish someone would believe me when I say I can do something."

Brand gestures at the gap. "Alright then. But I'm staying with you just in case you push too far."

Waiting for me to fail. I sigh, but I know it's the closest thing to a concession I'm going to get. Instead of pushing the point though, I turn to the chasm again.

I have a spell that can freeze things in place, relative to other things. I've taken to calling it the glue spell, because it basically does that. Maybe if I can move rocks into place, I can lock them in with that. I figure it's gotta be worth a shot, but maybe I should test it with something smaller first. Looking around on the ground, I pick up two pieces of stone and hold them against each other in my hand. Calling forth the spell in question, I cast it on the two stones, then try to pull them apart.

"Here, try to break these apart," I tell Brand, tossing him the coupled stones. He catches them deftly, trying to break them – using considerable strength, I note. He shakes his head.

"What is that, some kind of freezing spell?"

"Glue," I tell him, turning to the chasm.

"Ga-loo?"

Oh, right – glue doesn't exist in Skyrim. Wonderful. "Adhesion," I correct myself. "Back home, we have a substance that does it, and we call it glue. I guess it doesn't exist here though."

"Maybe you can bring all these Atmoran inventions back to us the next time you visit," Brand suggests, with only a hint of a smirk. "Is that how you think you'll do it? Layer the rocks and make them stick to the wall and then each other?"

"More thinking of building a bridge," I tell him, "I can use Telekinesis to move the rocks into position with one hand, then cast Adhesion to make them stick to each other. Do it enough times and we might have a bridge by lunch time."

"You have a few hours then, if that's your deadline," he comments, "Just don't overdo it, okay? You seem to be the only one who can keep those Stormcloaks from drawing their swords."

I glance at him, smirking. "You're not worried about the Imperials?"

"Hadvar's got them under tight control."

I nod, returning my attention to the chasm, and the plans of the bridge in mind. Raising both hands, I cast telekinesis on one of the large rocks on the other side. It shudders, and I remember that even though I'm using the spell, it'll still feel like I'm trying to pull the rock myself. It tips onto its side as I grunt with the effort, sliding along the ground slowly. As it reaches the lip of the chasm, teetering on the edge, I cast the adhesion spell and it freezes in place, hanging out over the border as if frozen mid-fall.

"It's actually working," Brand says, sounding awed.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence,"

He chuckles as I focus on the next large stone. The sooner I can get them out of the way, the more easily I can add the smaller boulders to the bridge. This one is longer and flat on one side, but that makes it harder to drag into place – especially when I realise I have to pull it up and over the other rock.

I can feel myself straining as I tug it along, balancing it on top of the first stone, preparing the adhesion, as I tug it just past the tipping point. It starts to tilt, but I cast the adhesion quickly, catching it mid-fall like with the first one.

"Brighid, you look pale," Brand says carefully. I realise I'm swaying a little unsteadily, and I can feel a bone-deep weariness that seems to be spreading through my body. I shake my head, forcing myself to stay standing as I smile at Brand. Just one more.

"I'm fine," I reassure him, "I was holding my breath on that one, probably why it was so difficult."

"Try not to forget breathing," he remarks drily, and I chuckle as I turn to the next large stone. With the first two, the bridge is starting to poke out over the chasm, probably about a metre and a half. If I can get this next one to the right position, I could extend that by at least a metre, maybe more. All I have to do is hold it up instead of letting it start to fall.

I can do that.

It feels heavier than both of the other two, though this one is narrower and should be lighter. I plant my feet, focusing on my breathing as I try to drag it up, over the first two. It starts to slide sideways and I almost throw myself forwards, as if to catch it with my own hands, but the wordless cry from Brand reminds me and I manage not to dive headfirst over the edge. The boulder is frozen, and I try to lift it again, pull it along the second stone. It juts over the edge inch by inch, and I feel the added weight as it starts to topple, but I force it to stay in place. I can hear my breaths, strained gasps as Brand says something, but I'm too focused on trying not to let the stone fall. Just a bit further—

Perfect.

I try to summon adhesion to my other hand, try to cast, but nothing happens. I try again, feeling it build, and then spark out. Like an electrical circuit shorting out. I try again, but I feel the stone slipping and redouble my "grip" on it, keeping it in place—

It's as if something in me snaps.

I lose the stone, lose all sense of magic, lose all sensation. I can feel the world in slow motion, my knees buckling as I tilt forwards, but I can't move – darkness is there, closing around me rapidly, and I hear that dark, demonic laughter, taunting my weakness as I pitch forward into shadow.