This chapter focuses on the events leading up to Bjorn's capture at the Skyrim border, setting the stage for Helgen. It's dialogue-driven, exploring family matters and personal connections. The chapter also dives into Cordelia's backstory—my character for the College of Winterhold questline—an experienced mage from the Synod, explaining her quick rise to Archmage in the College of Winterhold, considering the rushed questline in the game. It also expands on Saadia's backstory and the In My Time of Need quest, offering a more nuanced take and raising questions about what happened, portraying both her and Kematu as morally ambiguous, rather than labeling one as all good or all bad. I prefer creating distinct characters with unique backstories, rather than playing as "me." Bjorn is my canon Dragonborn, and I use different characters for different questlines. This chapter leads directly to Bjorn's capture, setting up the events at Helgen.

As Bjorn's time in prison went on, he no longer worried about when or if he would be released. After meeting his daughter, he felt he had already succeeded—he had left behind something as wonderful as her. What happened to him no longer mattered. His daughter visited him several times after their first meeting.

He wrote a ballad for her on the lute, entitled The Ballad of Tava Storm-Bear:

In the north where the cold winds roar,

And deserts hum with legends of yore,

A child was born from sky and sand,

A legacy of two proud lands.

Eyes of green, so deep and true,

A thousand lifetimes in her view.

Her skin, the sun, and frost did weave,

A tale of strength none could leave.

Tava Storm-Bear, child of air,

Born of strength, both fierce and rare.

Nordic storms and Yokudan skies,

In your name, their spirits rise.

Amirah, of House Hadran's line,

A mother's love, a heart divine.

From Umar and Iszara who stood against the night,

Her strength, her spirit, her guiding light.

Though the winds of fate kept them apart,

Her love for Tava remains in her heart.

Tava Storm-Bear, child of air,

Born of strength, both fierce and rare.

Nordic storms and Yokudan skies,

In your name, their spirits rise.

Named for the winds that carry free,

For Kynareth's breath and Tava's decree.

Storm and bear, in one heart combined,

Power of body, wisdom of mind.

Freya Storm-Child, fierce and true,

Gunther Bear-Blood, strong through and through.

Their courage shaped the world they knew,

And in Tava, their legacy grew.

Through battles fought, and storms that swirled,

The Storm and Bear stand strong in the world.

Tava Storm-Bear, child of air,

Born of strength, both fierce and rare.

Nordic storms and Yokudan skies,

In your name, their spirits rise.

So let the bards in hallways sing,

Of Tava's birth and the winds she'll bring.

A child of two, a tale to share,

Forever strong, the Storm-Bear's heir.

One day, as Bjorn was deep in meditation in his cell—this time praying to the god Talos, whom he viewed as another manifestation of the god within—a guard interrupted him.

"Sorry to intrude, but you're free to go now."

Bjorn opened his eyes slowly, both relieved and confused. "But why?"

He looked up and Amirah was there, smiling back at him. "Let's just say I was able to pull a few strings."

"Amirah?" Bjorn rubbed his eyes to make sure he wasn't dreaming. "What are you doing here?"

"Getting you out of here," Amirah said dryly, with a playful smirk on her face.

"But you, of all people, didn't approve of what I did."

"My concern was mainly for you, Bjorn," Amirah clarified with genuine care in her voice. "I didn't want you to lose yourself. Yes, you went too far. But Louis Motierre murdered your friends at the stronghold and was trying to kill you. Even if you made him suffer more than he needed to, this wasn't random cold-blooded murder."

"Even so," Bjorn muttered, looking down at the cold stone floor in shame. "It doesn't erase what happened to Siward. Why should I roam free while his chance at life is gone forever?"

"It was an accident, Bjorn," she said, stroking his back affectionately, offering him a calm, steadying presence. "Yes, you were impulsive. Yes, you should've been more careful. But it wasn't all your fault."

Bjorn looked up at her, surprised by the softness in her words. Amirah took a deep breath, her eyes filled with regret as she continued. "It was me who agreed to go with you. I was the one who stood watch outside while you went in alone. You told me Margaret was a mother, and I should've thought more about that before helping you seek revenge. Confronting her in her home, with her son there—it was a risk to him."

Bjorn was at a loss for words, overwhelmed with guilt.

"Maybe confronting her at all was a mistake," Amirah continued, her voice quiet but firm. "It wouldn't bring your parents back, and even if you had succeeded in killing her, it would've left her son an orphan. And making another child an orphan wouldn't change anything about what you lost." She paused, her hand now resting gently on his back, her fingers tracing small, comforting circles. "Bjorn, I don't want you to keep torturing yourself. Sometimes, things spiral out of control. It's easy to blame yourself or blame someone else, but it's rarely just one person's fault when tragedy strikes. Sometimes, it's just how events align."

Bjorn nodded, and the two of them gathered the remainder of his belongings before exiting the Imperial City prison. Once outside, he took in the sight of Cyrodiil's scenery as if he were a newborn gazing upon the world for the first time. He admired the towering pine trees, the lush green meadows, and the distant river.

As he turned to his right, he spotted a doe standing just a yard away, her eyes filled with quiet compassion, an understanding beyond words. At that moment, it felt like the Divines were watching him through her.

Bjorn felt more alive in that moment than ever before. The time he had spent in prison had made him forget sights like this even existed. Yet, even before his imprisonment, he had rarely taken the time to appreciate simple beauty like this.

Imagine if mankind decided to admire the beauty of the world we live in, Bjorn thought. If only we could appreciate that we're alive every moment, instead of fighting each other over petty squabbles. Perhaps then, there would be peace.

He then thought of the doe. She's at the bottom of the food chain and lives in a world harsher than most creatures knew. Yet, despite this, she never loses her serenity. That kind of strength is rarer than any warrior's.

"Feels good to be out here again, I bet," Amirah smiled at him, snapping him out of his trance.

Bjorn zoned out for a moment before responding. "Oh, yes definitely. You know, I could go for something to eat too. How about we grab lunch in the Imperial City? I've always wanted to see what it's like there, maybe visit the waterfront too."

"Well, funny you should mention that, because that's exactly where we were going anyway," Amirah quipped.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Bjorn. Remember I told you I had to pull a few strings to get you out? Well, one of those strings wants to speak to you."

Bjorn raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "What do you mean?"

"Let's just say Louis Motierre had enemies in higher places too. He wasn't just hated by the common folk. His own family, as ruthless as they are, even saw him as an embarrassment."

"So the Motierres were the ones you spoke to and helped get me out?"

"Not exactly. Cordelia's brother, Gaspard Masterham, is looking to put the Masterham name back on the map. He views the Motierres as competition, and he thanks you for getting a thorn in his side out of the picture."

"Cordelia was in on this too?" Bjorn asked, genuinely curious. Everyone should have exes as supportive as mine, he thought to himself.

"She was," Amirah smirked. "She's my friend now too. We've gotten close since that battle at Sentinel. She and my brother are still going strong together, by the way."

"Well, that's good to hear."

Before Bjorn asked anything else, he wanted to test the waters. His heart still pulled him toward Amirah, no matter what had happened between them.

"What about you?"

"What about me?" Amirah stuck her tongue out at him playfully and bumped against him slightly as they walked.

"I mean, a woman like you... there must've been someone during our time apart."

"For a time, yes," Amirah said candidly. "He was a Crown from another noble house—the ideal man my father would've wanted. A good man, but it just wasn't for me."

"Oh yeah? Why not?"

"Let's just say I prefer someone a little more... real, I guess you could say."

"Real? What do you mean?"

"You know, not about titles or status or appearances. Someone with a good heart. Someone I can laugh with and just be myself around."

Bjorn smiled lightly, knowing that's what he used to be for her. He then gulped, feeling a sudden nervousness before asking the question that had been on his mind: "Do you think... do you think what we had could ever be rebuilt? Could we get a fresh start together?"

Amirah pondered his words for a moment. Bjorn's heart raced as he waited for her response. "I think it's possible, Bjorn. I mean, anything's possible. Just not right now. I'm still healing from everything we've both been through, trying to move on from the past. Maybe one day we can get a fresh start—whether it's together or with someone else. But no matter what happens, we'll always be connected, whatever form that connection takes."

"I understand," Bjorn said softly, respecting her answer. "Our daughter visited us while I was in prison. I finally got to meet her. It's good to know that no matter what happens we created something beautiful together."

Amirah stopped in her tracks, her hand instinctively going to her chest as her eyes widened. "Bjorn, if you make me cry now, you're drinking a whole bottle of Cyrodilic brandy with me when we get to the hotel."

"You know I'm a mead guy," Bjorn laughed.

"Doesn't matter," she teased, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "You're drinking every last drop of it with me."

When they finally arrived at the Tiber Septim Hotel, they were greeted by the lively yet stiff atmosphere typical of an upscale establishment—luxurious furnishings, polished marble floors, and a bustling staff, all set against the rigid formality expected of such a place. Bjorn felt out of place, yet he was happy he wasn't like them—noble lords and ladies in their fine clothes, their airs of superiority as empty as the gilded walls that surrounded them. Amirah, however, held herself with a quiet kind of grace, the kind that didn't need to be flaunted, unlike the others, whose every gesture seemed designed to make sure everyone knew their place.

At the bar were Cordelia and her brother, Gaspard. Bjorn remembered her mentioning her two older brothers. Jean-Pierre, the oldest, was an aspiring novelist whom she got along with well. Gaspard, the middle child, was more interested in politics, and she didn't care for him as much. He looked just as Bjorn had imagined from her descriptions: short in stature, with medium-length hair and a goatee that complemented his pretentious and condescending demeanor.

"Ah yes! Here's the man who did all my dirty work for me!" Gaspard said, handing a bag of gold to Bjorn, who reluctantly accepted it.

"I never asked to do anyone's dirty work."

"Yes, well, you did anyway. I've been looking to put the Motierres out of power and restore House Masterham to prominence. Your getting rid of Louis was just the beginning. I managed to gather dirt on him thanks to you getting him out of the way, and now I've lifted my name in the court."

Bjorn looked at both Amirah and Cordelia, surprised at their involvement in this. "I didn't think scheming and politics were things either of you cared for."

"We didn't do this for him," Cordelia shot Gaspard a dirty look, her fingers tightening around the edge of her glass. "We did this for you. We both knew you didn't deserve to be behind bars."

"Ah yes, well, either way, you've all done High Rock a great service," Gaspard scoffed, clearly indifferent to their reasons as long as it worked in his favor. "I think House Masterham's relations with House Hadran could be beneficial for both of us."

Amirah nodded, though contempt for Gaspard lingered in her eyes. "It would be good for Hammerfell and High Rock to have better relations. But you better keep your word. I'm doing this for my family and my people, not to take part in your cutthroat politics."

Bjorn glared at Gaspard, his mind flooded with memories of Erikur, Louis Motierre, and all the other corrupt nobles he had known over the years—men who punched down and hurt people he cared about. He was seething inside, struggling to maintain composure. How could he see the beauty of the moment when men like this acted with impunity, committing acts of injustice with no repercussions?

"Well, I suppose you have my thanks," Bjorn said hesitantly.

Gaspard glared at him expectantly, then smiled condescendingly. "My lord."

"What?" Bjorn feigned confusion, though he knew exactly what the man wanted. He wasn't going to give it to him.

"You have my thanks, my lord," Gaspard sneered.

Bjorn rolled his eyes, shook his head, and spat at the man's feet. A couple of patrons turned their heads but quickly looked away, intimidated by Bjorn's imposing stature. A serving girl passed by with a tray of drinks, overhearing the tension and hesitating for a moment before moving on. "You're no lord of mine. Just a bloke in fancy clothes."

Amirah face-palmed and stepped in, trying to ease the tension. "What he means is—"

"I mean exactly what I say," Bjorn snapped, never breaking his glare at Gaspard.

Gaspard cleared his throat and mocked, "I'll forgive your lack of formality. Perhaps commoners like yourself aren't accustomed to being around highborns—"

"No," Bjorn interrupted, his voice growing louder. Amirah looked around anxiously, hoping he wasn't making too much of a scene. "I know your kind all too well. The ones who'd betray anyone for coin at the drop of a hat."

"This is madness—" Gaspard was flabbergasted.

"And I'm damn proud to be the son of a blacksmith and a bard," Bjorn stepped closer, his voice full of pride. "I'm damn proud to be a commoner, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Amirah quickly placed a hand on his shoulder, flustered, and smiled awkwardly. "Hey, Bjorn, take a deep breath in... exhale. Calm down."

She demonstrated with exaggerated slowness, trying to ease the tension. The bartender, who had been eyeing them curiously, seemed to pause momentarily at the heightening energy in the air but carried on his work. "He did help you get out of jail, remember?"

Bjorn shot her a quick side-eye glance. "Right. Right. I'm calm."

He took a deep, mockingly slow breath, making a face at her, but his eyes never left Gaspard. Then he aggressively threw the bag of gold back into Gaspard's hands. "Take your gold and shove it," he said sharply. "I earn my money through honest work, just like my parents taught me."

"Well, their son's a crazy brute," Gaspard laughed in Bjorn's face. "What good did that do them?"

Amirah held Bjorn back, knowing he'd want to knock Gaspard out after hearing that.

"Gaspard," Cordelia interjected firmly. She glanced at him, then at Bjorn, and without another word, took the bag of gold from Gaspard's hand. "We don't act like that. Our father raised us with honor, and our name means something because we treat others with respect, not because we walk over them."

She handed the gold to Bjorn, her expression softening. "If you won't take it from him, at least take it from me. You've earned a fresh start, not just a handout."

"Thanks, Cordelia," Bjorn said with a short nod.

Amirah stepped in, slipping an arm around him and patting his shoulder. "Come on, Bjorn, let's get some fresh air. You'll feel better."

The door clicked shut behind them, and the argument between Gaspard and Cordelia picked up in intensity.

"If we're going to uncage this animal, Cordelia, one of you should put a leash on him! He's a danger, a loose cannon, and you can't control him." His voice raised, and anger flickered beneath the surface. "He still could be useful. I want to gain more influence in Skyrim, and having hired muscle wouldn't hurt. But he needs to be tamed, like the savage he is."

"Don't you dare talk about Bjorn like that," Cordelia snapped at him, ready to throw her wine in his face. "He's been through things you could never imagine—things that would've broken lesser men. He's stronger than you'll ever be for having survived it. Whatever his flaws, he's a man of honor. Something you know nothing about."

"Oh, yes, another one of your pet projects, isn't he? Just like the brute you've chosen to shack up with now." Gaspard cackled, his voice cutting through the noise of the bar, drawing a few annoyed looks from nearby patrons. "Always the savior, aren't you, Cordelia? Always picking up the broken pieces of people, trying to fix them, make them into something more... something you can control. Pathetic."

"It's called caring about others," Cordelia shot back without hesitation. "Something you'd never understand. You've never cared about anyone but yourself."

"And that's the way it damn well should be," Gaspard replied, his tone smug. "Where has this Masterham motto of honor and selflessness gotten us? The Motierres wiped the floor with our family generations ago because they knew what it takes to win—what it takes to make people fear you and respect you. Our friend started something beautiful. Louis Motierre's death was just the beginning. We're going to take back everything we lost and put our name back on the map."

"You're talking about war, Gaspard." Cordelia's voice grew cold, filled with disbelief. "You want to risk everything we've built—our legacy, our family—for a war that'll burn it all down? Is that really worth it, just for some fleeting power?"

Gaspard guffawed and shook his head at her. "You don't get it, do you? The Motierres are survivors, Cordelia. They've learned to play the game better than us. They don't care who hates them—because power is all that matters. Our family's been stuck in the past, clinging to ideals that are long dead."

"You're just like Louis Motierre—hated and feared, but never respected. You think that's power? It's a mask, Gaspard. And just like his, yours will crumble when they see who you really are."

Gaspard's steps were slow, deliberate, as he closed the gap between them. He was hoping she'd cower and look away, but she didn't flinch for a second. "You're weak. You always have been. But you'll see, Cordelia. When I'm standing at the top, you'll be begging to join me."

"Weak?" her voice cracked, but her eyes never wavered.. "You've always been the weak one. Everything you put me through when we were kids…you couldn't stand not being the baby anymore when I was born, you couldn't stand not being the center of attention."

Gaspard scoffed, rolling his eyes. "And what are you now? Some sort of martyr? Always playing the victim?"

"No," Cordelia shot back. "I'm not a martyr. I'm someone who had to fight to survive you. You made my life hell when Jean-Pierre left and couldn't keep you in line anymore. You always bullied me—hit me, humiliated me—and I couldn't escape. I tried to tell Mother and Father, but they never listened. They always made excuses for you." She took a step forward, her eyes blazing. "You were the golden child, the one they protected no matter what."

Gaspard's face twisted with irritation. "Oh, come off it. I was just a kid. You never could take a joke."

"Take a joke?!" Her voice rose. She didn't care who heard."You weren't just playing games, Gaspard. You broke me. You wanted to see me cry, and when I fought back, when I finally had enough, you cried like a coward. Do you remember that?"

Gaspard's eyes flickered, but he quickly recovered. "You broke my nose, didn't you? And yet you stand there acting like I'm the one who's wrong. You always think you're right."

Cordelia's voice dropped to a bitter whisper. "When you cried, like the coward you are, Mother and Father made excuses for you. They scorned me, not you." Her eyes were cold, piercing him with every word."They protected you, and they ignored everything I went through. You're always the victim in their eyes. I had to fight for everything, and you… you never had to fight for a damn thing."

Gaspard's fists clenched. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out at first. The words were stuck, tangled in the history between them. Cordelia stood, unmoving, waiting for him to say something—anything—but he couldn't.

Finally, he sneered. "You're still trying to make everything about you, huh?"

"I'm not making it about me," she replied, the anger in her voice replaced with quiet resolve. "I'm making it about you. About how you've never had to face the consequences of your actions. How you've always been allowed to get away with whatever you wanted, and you think the rest of the world will treat you the same. Well if you keep down this route, you're going to get a reality check. The more you try to cut corners, the more you shame our name, the more people will want your head. And I say, let them have it!."

Gaspard didn't have anything to say in response, "Yeah, well at least I'm doing something for this family. What are you doing? You never do anything! Just talk!"

"I never do anything? I NEVER DO ANYTHING?" Cordelia gritted her teeth, "I'm a respected member of the Synod, you fool. I've earned my place because of my hard work and sacrifice."

"But now you're leaving the Synod to join the College of Winterhold, huh?" Gaspard chuckled. "You think you're above it all?"

"I'm leaving the Synod because I don't want to be part of their political games. All they care about is power, manipulation, and backstabbing. Though they are real game players, not try-hards like you," Cordelia knew she got under his skin with that one, even if he tried to hide it. " The College of Winterhold is about knowledge—true magical study. I'm going there hoping to rise through the ranks, to be among those who value learning over politics. At least there, I can focus on my craft instead of worrying about who's scheming against who.""

"Yeah, in other words, you couldn't handle it," Gaspard finished the rest of his wine, "Weak, like you've always been."

Cordelia was seething. Without a word, she extended her hand toward Gaspard, and the air tightened around his throat. His breath came in shallow gasps as his eyes widened in panic. He knew she was studying forbidden and rare aspects of the arcane arts, but he never imagined she could do anything like this.

"You don't think I'm tough enough to be ruthless, Gaspard?" she said, her voice cold. "I could be more ruthless than you if I wanted to be. You'd have been dead years ago, if I took that path. But, I choose not to. Still, I am anything but weak. I'm stronger than you'll ever be."

The grip tightened again, cutting off his air.

"You think I'm afraid of you? Of the Motierres? I'm not. I get what I want through respect, not fear."

She released him, and Gaspard gasped for breath, his face flushed.

"Next time we meet," she said slowly, "stay away from me. If you push me again, I won't let go."

She sat back down, coolly sipping her wine as if nothing had happened. Gaspard, still choking, struggled to recover. Cordelia glanced at the others around the room.

"I told you not to eat so fast, Gaspard." She smiled, making it seem like a simple choking fit.

Meanwhile, outside the inn, Amirah sat on a bench beside Bjorn, trying to center him.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Bjorn? Are you trying to go back to prison?"

"I know… I know. I just—" He paused, shaking his head. "I fucking hate men like him."

Amirah's tone was firm but caring. "Bjorn, calm down. You need to control yourself. You've been given a second chance—don't throw it away."

"I can't let anyone disrespect my parents, or disrespect me," Bjorn's voice was filled with regret. "I've already dishonored them enough with my actions. I'm just… I'm not the man I wanted to be for them."

Amirah sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You didn't dishonor them. You made mistakes, but you've also grown. Your parents would be proud of the man you are now. But you need to stop punishing yourself, or you'll keep spiraling."

She paused, choosing her words carefully. "I know you hold your parents in high regard, but they were human too. Do you think they never made mistakes? Never did things they regretted?" She glanced away for a moment, lost in thought. "It's easy to mythologize people, especially after they're gone. I do the same with my mother. She was a symbol and an inspiration to so many… but I must remember that even she was human. If I keep holding myself to some impossible ideal of what she was, I'll always feel like I'm falling short."

"I know, it's just…" Bjorn paused, staring off into the distance. "I've lost so much. One of the only things I have left is my pride. I can't let anyone disrespect me or my family and get away with it. What do I have left if I don't have my pride?"

"You don't need to prove anything to vermin like Gaspard, Bjorn," Amirah reassured him. "Honor your parents and who they were by being the man they raised you to be. The man you're capable of being."

Amirah raised Bjorn's chin with her hand. "Bjorn, there's more potential in you than you realize. You could make a name for yourself. You could be someone. You can be proud of your roots, and use that pride to get ahead. What if you could be an inspiration to other commoners, showing them that they too can earn respect in this world if they fight for it?"

"You're right," Bjorn said, managing a slight smile, but it quickly faded. His expression turned somber. "I just don't know if I can control myself, control my anger. I thought being locked up would center me, but now I'm out, and the first man like him I run into, I just see red all over again."

"I believe in you, Bjorn. You've already improved so much," Amirah reflected for a second before she continued speaking, "Just next time you start losing yourself, imagine me or Kurdan there. "

Bjorn nodded and smiled at her, "Thanks, Amirah. I appreciate it."

They watched the busy street for a moment, taking in the people passing by, until Amirah spoke again

"Bjorn…" Amirah's voice trembled slightly, betraying her usual composure. "There's something else. I... I need your help."

Bjorn's eyes narrowed in concern as he sensed the shift in her demeanor. "What is it?"

"My father," she started, her gaze momentarily drifting away, as though finding it hard to meet his eyes. "He went missing the last time he was in Skyrim. He was trying to form an alliance with the Stormcloaks. I never thought they were the right path for us... but he was stubborn, always convinced his way was the best." Her voice broke for a moment, but she held herself together. "I should've said something, but... he didn't listen."

"What do you think happened?"

Amirah took a deep breath, her eyes closing briefly as she prepared to say what she feared. "We think the Thalmor took him."

Bjorn's expression hardened at Amirah's words. "The Thalmor," he muttered. "If they have him, then that means—"

"I know," Amirah interrupted, her voice steady but filled with urgency. "That's why I need your help. I'm going to Skyrim to find him."

Bjorn turned to face her fully. "Then you won't be going alone."

Amirah was relieved but not surprised. She knew he had her back. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"I was heading to Skyrim anyway," Bjorn said. "But if the Thalmor are involved, that just gives me another reason to go. I know what they're capable of."

Amirah nodded. "We'll need to be careful. If they have him, they won't let him go without a fight."

Bjorn smirked. "Good. I've been looking for one."

She sighed, shaking her head, but she couldn't hide the small smile forming on her lips. "Just don't get yourself thrown back in prison before we even get started."

"No promises," Bjorn said, but his grin faded as he met her gaze. "We'll find him, Amirah. I swear it."

"I hope you're right," she said softly. "Because I don't know what I'll do if we don't."

She hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "There's also the issue with my aunt."

Bjorn raised a brow. "Your aunt? You mean Mahsa?"

"No." Amirah shook her head. "My other aunt, Iman."

Bjorn frowned slightly. "I don't think you've mentioned her before."

Amirah exhaled, as if bracing herself. "She's my father's much younger half-sister. Born of an affair—an illegitimate child, the 'bastard of House Hadran.' From the day she was born, no one trusted her, no one wanted her around. She was a reminder of infidelity, of a mistake. My father's family disowned her because they were more traditional, but House Suda—the family of her mother—took her in. Yet they never fully trusted her either."

Bjorn listened intently as she continued. "Because of the way she was treated, she became ruthless to get ahead. She was born into wealth, of course, yet she had to work harder to prove her worth to the rest of the nobility. From what I heard she always wanted to be 'the Barenziah of Hammerfell. "

Bjorn snorted. "Ambitious."

Amirah nodded. "Maybe too ambitious. The Thalmor made some kind of deal with her when she was young—only seventeen. They promised to help her advance if she helped broker some peace deal with them. She thought she could be someone, that she could carve a place for herself in a world that never wanted her."

"I wonder what kind of deal that was. Would she betray her own people deliberately?"

"I don't think so," Amirah told him. "I think she just got in over her head. The details of what really happened are shady. For all we know, she could have been tortured into giving information away. We don't even know what harm she really caused. She was just scapegoated—she was a pariah from the day she was born."

Bjorn's expression darkened. "And now?"

"She's been keeping a low profile for the past twenty years," Amirah said. "But now, suddenly, Kematu and his mercenaries are looking for her. Why? Why now, at the same time my father is missing?" She clenched her jaw. "The Thalmor may be using her as leverage."

Bjorn folded his arms. "And you think she had something to do with it?"

"I don't know," Amirah admitted. "She was young back then—flawed, ruthless, had dealings with the Thieves Guild in Hammerfell—but I don't think she was intentionally a traitor. She might not have even dealt with the Thalmor at all. It could have been political."

"What do you mean?"

She sighed. "The noble houses of Hammerfell hated her. There was one noblewoman who spread rumors about her, all because she married a man that woman wanted. He loved Iman, not her, and she was jealous. It's possible the 'traitor' narrative was just a way to ruin her."

Bjorn tilted his head. "And if she's involved with the Thalmor now?"

"Then I'll turn her in myself," Amirah said firmly. "But only if it's true, and only if I have evidence. If she's just living her life, minding her own business, then she deserves a second chance."

She hesitated before adding, "But there's something else—something doesn't add up. Maybe the mercenaries looking for her are being deceived. What if this isn't about what happened twenty years ago at all? What if they're unknowingly working for the Thalmor? If that's the case, they're being used to capture her and take her to wherever my father is."

"Hard to believe Alik'r would work for the Thalmor."

Amirah nodded. "You're right, not willingly. But they could be tricked into it. Perhaps they have a contact in Skyrim—someone working for the Thalmor. Or maybe a mole infiltrated their group. It'd be easier than sending Thalmor search parties after her in Skyrim. I also wouldn't put it past Kematu to do anything for the extra coin, including helping the Thalmor."

Bjorn's expression darkened. "Then we make we get to her before he does."

"Definitely.

"What does she look like? Just so I know what to look for in Skyrim."

Amirah sighed, rubbing her temples. "Well she might have changed her appearance of the years. But from what we know, she looks a bit like me, but with blue eyes, shorter hair, and a scar on her face. We don't know where the scar's from—maybe the Thalmor, or maybe one of the nobles tried to kill her."

Bjorn's brow lifted slightly. "A Redguard lass with blue eyes?" His gaze unfocused for a second, as if staring at something far away. "She must be beautiful."

Amirah frowned. "Bjorn?"

No response.

She waved a hand in front of his face. "Bjorn, you with me?"

He blinked, straightening. "Yeah, yeah, I was just trying to paint a vivid picture in my mind, you know, so we know what to look for."

She folded her arms. "Uh-huh. Well, go paint a vivid picture later—when you're alone."

Bjorn held up his hands. "I didn't mean it like that—"

"I really don't want to know. We're talking about my aunt, remember?"

"I wasn't—"

She shot him a sharp look.

He cleared his throat. "Anyway, yeah. I'll help you find her."

"Good. Thank you, Bjorn."

"Of course, she's your family. I know you'd do the same for me."

The door to the Tiber Septim Hotel opened behind them, and Gaspard rushed out, breathing heavily, clutching his throat. He looked terrified, as if he wanted to quickly escape something.

"Guess he didn't like the food there." Amirah shrugged and quipped.

"He deserves whatever he got, that prick."

Amirah looked at Bjorn with a twinkle in her eyes. e on now."

"Oh yes, yes. Deep breaths. Stay calm, be centered, blah, blah, blah," he waved his hand dismissively.

Amirah guffawed. "Yes, very good Bjorn."

"Why the alliance with him, though?" Bjorn was curious. "Surely House Hadran could find a more honorable ally from High Rock than Gaspard."

Amirah sighed. "Well, aside from him being able to help you get out of prison, I can't really be too picky right now. House Hadran is barely surviving. I'm the only real member left of note with my father missing. And, of course, my brothers are off doing their own thing."

"I understand."

"By the way, Bjorn," Amirah said, slightly concerned. "You said you were headed to Skyrim anyway—what were you planning to do there?"

Bjorn exhaled, glancing toward the horizon. "Figured it'd be a good place to start fresh. It's the homeland of my people."

Amirah studied him. "And are you planning to confront Erikur and Elenwen?"

His jaw tightened slightly. "Possibly. But I know the risk. He's a noble, she's the Thalmor ambassador. They aren't exactly people I can just take out without anyone noticing." He hesitated before adding, "If I do go that route… I'll let my sister handle it. She's good at being discreet."

Amirah shook her head. "Bjorn, come on. Let it go—or at least think bigger. Gain influence in Skyrim, take them down the right way. The legal way."

Bjorn's lips curved into a faint smirk. "I'll be careful, Amirah. Don't worry."

He hesitated, knowing what he was about to say would set off a heated debate. "I've also been thinking… about joining the fight to free my homeland. If Hammerfell could break free from the Empire and the Dominion, why not Skyrim?"

Amirah's eyes narrowed. "Don't tell me you're actually considering throwing in with someone like Ulfric Stormcloak."

Bjorn met her gaze evenly. "And why not?" His tone held a quiet challenge. "Whatever his flaws, we can hold him accountable once the rebellion is won."

Amirah scoffed. "Hammerfell stood on its own because we were united—not because we made war on each other like Ulfric is doing to his own people. And the way he treats non-Nords? That isn't freedom, Bjorn. That's just trading one oppressor for another. You really think that's the future Skyrim needs?"

Bjorn shrugged, unwilling to argue.

Amirah sighed. "Bjorn, just… try to see the bigger picture. If you're going to pick a side, fight for the Empire. I know they've hurt you, but don't go with your knee-jerk reaction. A divided Skyrim plays right into the Thalmor's hands. Your people need a new leader—one who actually fights for all of them." She tilted her head, eyeing him pointedly. "Frankly, even you would be a better choice than Ulfric."

Bjorn raised an eyebrow at her last statement, but before he could say anything, the doors of the Tiber Septim Hotel swung open, and Cordelia stepped outside, her gaze settling on them as she approached the bench.

"Cordelia! We saw your brother rushing out before—looked like he was choking on something," Amirah remarked "Was everything alright in there?"

"Oh, he's just not accustomed to the food around here," Cordelia quipped, waving a hand dismissively. "He'll be fine. And I apologize for his earlier behavior."

"So I understand you're going to Skyrim too, right? To the College of Winterhold?" Bjorn was quick to change the topic from her brother Gaspard.

"Yes, I've already packed most of my things. I'm in the process of moving." Cordelia opened her arms for a hug, and Bjorn stood to reciprocate. Once again, Cordelia held on longer than expected. "Take care, Bjorn," she whispered in his ear. "Feel free to stop by the college anytime. We'll be in touch."

Once Cordelia walked away, Amirah eyed him teasingly, though she seemed to be masking a hint of jealousy. "You two are still very comfortable with each other?"

"Yes," Bjorn said, shifting uncomfortably. "But we're just good friends. And she's with your brother now. He's my friend. Not going to stab him in the back."

Bjorn then looked at Amirah longingly. "Plus, there's someone else I'd rather rekindle my bond with. She just needs time."

Amirah hesitated and stood, feeling the awkwardness of the moment. "Well, Bjorn, I have some business to attend to before I head to Skyrim. But I'll meet you there."

The two of them hugged. They also held each other longer than expected

A few days later, after packing his things and making his preparations, Bjorn set out for the Skyrim border. Upon arriving, he was greeted by Imperial Legionnaires.

"State your business, Nord," one of them barked harshly.

"I'm returning to my homeland," Bjorn replied, his anger rising. "I don't need to state my business beyond that. Get out of my way, Imperial."

"Ah, you're one of Ulfric's boys, maybe?" The other Legionnaire prodded, eager for a confrontation.

"No," Bjorn snapped, "I'm just returning home, that's all."

The first Legionnaire's eyes narrowed. "Well, you should join Ulfric and the others then. The other Legionnaires ambushed those Stormcloaks just up ahead."

Before Bjorn could respond, he felt the presence of more Legionnaires closing in. One of them, hidden from his view, swung a heavy fist at the back of his head. The blow landed hard, and the world spun into darkness.