Chapter 1

[Author's Note: If you have not read my previous work, "Into the Maelstrom", featuring my OCs Marcus and Tamsyn, you may feel a little lost in the beginning of this story. What you need to know is that Marcus and Tamsyn are from our world, and have been transported to the world of Skyrim, where Marcus – who has never played a video game in his life – discovers that he is the Dragonborn of legend. Along the way, Tamsyn – who has played the game…a lot – guides and advises him, but doesn't sit idly in the background as a side-kick. My first story dealt with Marcus discovering his talents and powers, and embracing his destiny. But that destiny is not yet fulfilled, as he soon learns. Other sinister forces are at work to endanger and threaten Marcus' adopted home. And he'll be damned if he'll sit by and let them do it. Now, on with the story!]

"But why?" demanded Alesan, with all the righteous indignation a teen-ager who feels put-upon could muster. "Why can't I go out on jobs with the other Companions? Mister Farkas says I'm ready! And Lars has already gone out on a job with him."

Marcus of Whiterun, called 'Dragonborn', blew out a sigh and ran a hand through his dark brown hair. It used to be blonde, in another time and place, he thought obliquely. He stared calmly at his younger son and tried to keep his frustration in check. 'Because I said so,' was never an acceptable excuse to a thirteen-year-old. That much he knew from previous experience.

"First of all," Marcus answered the boy, "Farkas – as nice as he is – probably isn't the best judge of how ready you are for a real job." He raised his hand to forestall another whining argument from the boy. "Secondly, Kodlak White-Mane hasn't given his approval yet, and until he does, the answer is 'no'. Farkas shouldn't have taken Lars with him in the first place, either. You know that. They both got into trouble, and Lars almost got killed—"

"But he didn't!" Alesan interrupted, his brown eyes flashing, and a ruddy heat blooming under his dark skin. "Mister Farkas was there—"

"And if he hadn't been," Marcus interrupted right back, "if it had been just you two out there on your own, one or both of you might have ended up dead!" He shuddered inwardly to think of it. "Now we'll hear no more talk of this," he said sternly. "When the Harbinger thinks you're ready, he'll send you out with Skjor or Aela or Vilkas – somebody with more sense in their head who can keep you alive until you can do it for yourself."

"But Pa—"

"I'm sorry, Alesan," Marcus said kindly, but firmly. "You've come a long way in the last three years, but you're still not ready to take on a Companion's full responsibilities."

"How would you know?" the boy muttered, stomping off. "You aren't a Companion." The front door of Breezehome slammed shut. Marcus sighed in frustration. Not for the first time that week he wished Tamsyn were here. She had a way with the boy that Marcus had yet to acquire.

"I see a lot of the person I used to be in him," was all she would say.

For the moment, Marcus was at home alone. Blaise and Sofie were at work, Lydia had the afternoon off, Lucia was out somewhere in town with Mila, and Tamsyn, his lovely wife of eighteen months, was down in Cyrodiil in the Imperial City meeting with members of the Synod.

It hadn't been this hard back in his old life, had it? Though some memories were as fresh as the day they had happened, many of the details were beginning to fade from Marcus' mind. He found he had to make a conscious effort to remember faces of people he had once known so well – some of them his own family. He had been born and had lived in a world of science and technology, where magic didn't exist and dragons were creatures of fantasy. The worst thing he had to worry about was whether he'd be able to make a mortgage payment or if the pain in his knees would keep him from being able to do his job. He had lived nearly sixty years in that world, and had left behind children and grandchildren he still thought about at least once a week.

But he wasn't in Gaea any longer; that life was over, and had been for nearly three years when he had first woken up in a wooden, horse-drawn cart on the way to a small town called Helgen in the Province of Skyrim. And his second life might have ended quickly when the town was attacked by an enormous black dragon known as Alduin, the World-Eater. In the ensuing chaos, Marcus had managed to escape with the help of a rebel soldier named Ralof, and the young woman who would go on to become the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and the love of this life – Tamsyn.

Sometimes it didn't seem that long ago. He still woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares about his battles with draugr Deathlords, Dragon Priest liches and huge black dragons that wanted to devour his soul. On those nights he would ease out of the bed he shared with Tamsyn without waking her and head down the stairs to brew a strong pot of coffee.

Yes! Coffee! Wonderful Lydia had found a Khajiit caravaneer whom she had cajoled, bribed or threatened to bring her a steady supply of the roasted mountain bean known to the cat folk as kaffre. Once brewed, the kaffre – or coffee, as he tended to continue to think of it – gave off a strong aroma not unlike a Starbucks kiosk in the local mall he used to frequent. He liked it that way, preferring to drink it black, while Tamsyn judiciously added milk and a touch of moon sugar to hers.

Nightmares notwithstanding, however, together he and Tamsyn had managed, with a lot of help from some legendary heroes, to destroy Alduin once and for all, saving Tamriel – and indeed, all of Nirn in the process – from the Dragon God's destructive hunger.

Upon returning to a hero's welcome, Marcus and Tamsyn had been quietly married at the Temple of Mara in Riften in a simple ceremony attended only by family and a few close friends. The Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf the Greater, had been present, and upon returning to his capital City, hosted a lavish feast to celebrate not only their liberation from Alduin, but also the marriage of the Dragonborn.

Yes, he was Dragonborn; he had discovered that not too long after arriving in Skyrim. He could focus his vital essence into a thu'um, a Shout in the language of the dragons, and could perform feats no one else could do. The Shouts allowed him to breathe fire, push his enemies down, disarm them or turn himself insubstantial. All around Skyrim were ancient ruins that held curving stone walls, where the Words of Power were carved, and Marcus had found a handful more in the last several months. He knew there had to be others out there somewhere, and he promised himself he would find them someday, but right now, he needed to figure out how to deal with a surly, disrespectful teen-ager without breaking the boy's spirit.

All four of his children had been orphans, adopted by Marcus as he had discovered them in his travels, learning the skills and powers he needed to face his destiny. Lucia – the first he had taken in – had been a beggar child of seven right here in Whiterun, and no one had done a thing to help her except to throw her a coin or two now and then. She had slept outside in all kinds of weather behind the Bannered Mare for almost a year before Marcus had taken her in. Blaise was a stable boy in Solitude who was treated as little more than free slave labor by the woman who ran the place. Sofie had endeavored to earn enough money for food by picking and selling flowers to the local alchemist and other merchants. Alesan had been abandoned in Dawnstar by sailors who dropped him and his ailing father off. When the father died, Alesan made a job for himself by running food and drink from one mine to the other in the town, back and forth all day, every day. In return he'd been allowed to sleep in the inn at night.

Blaise and Sofie weren't really any trouble at all. Even Lucia, though she was sometimes headstrong and querulous, wasn't really that difficult to understand. Alesan was his problem child. Every parent had one, it seemed. In his old life it had been his older daughter, Andrea, who had experimented with and gotten badly hooked on a veritable cocktail of recreational drugs. It had taken months for her to get completely clean, and she fought it every day of her life. Marcus wondered, not for the first time or the last, how she was doing now that he and her mother were no longer there. Lynne and he had both died in a vehicular crash. But while Lynne's soul had belonged to Gaea, and had gone on to the Heaven they both believed in, Marcus' soul had apparently belonged in Nirn, and it was here he had returned.

Not that he had too many regrets. If he hadn't been brought back here he would never have met Tamsyn, never have become the Dragonborn, or built this life for himself. But the question remained – Alesan – what was he going to do about the boy? His thoughts kept returning to that.

Because of his Redguard heritage and the life he had carved out for himself in Dawnstar after his biological father had died, Alesan was a boy of high energy. He needed to be doing things. He hated inactivity, and chafed at not being able to prove himself. Marcus had thought becoming an honorary Blade and a junior member of the Companions would have been enough for the boy, but apparently Alesan craved more. As much as Marcus liked the Harbinger, he was beginning to think allowing his younger son to spend so much time there might not have been the smartest thing he'd ever done.

Tamsyn usually had a better handle on managing their younger son, but Tamsyn was gone right now and wouldn't be back for at least two more weeks. Marcus had already caught Alesan trying to sneak out of the house after everyone had gone to bed. He'd tried to keep an eye on the boy after that, but as he had often lamented in the past, "I'm only one Dragonborn."

Being a father again felt odd, if only because of the odd circumstances by which he had arrived in Skyrim. His soul had been placed into the first available receptacle, as it were – a twenty-something Imperial he'd met in Sovngarde named Octavian. His mind still retained all the life experiences of that previous life; all the maturity and wisdom he had earned, all the intuition and empathy in dealing with people that he had so painfully acquired in his previous life was still there. Perhaps it was this perspective and experience that made people question how he could know so much "for one so young."

Giving a sigh of exasperation, he glanced out the window into the street. Alesan had long since disappeared from sight. He could see by the length of the shadows outside that it was a couple hours past midday. Blaise and Sofie wouldn't be home until later, and it was doubtful Alesan would come home before suppertime, if then. He had been spending more and more time at Jorrvaskr these days, even taking meals there with the other Companions. Lucia, ever the snitching little sister, told her Papa that Alesan was even drinking mead now. That didn't bother Marcus as much as the fact that the boy seemed to be avoiding spending any time at home at all, and on more than one occasion had groused and grumbled when Marcus insist he do his chores before going "up the hill" again.

"Tilma takes care of this stuff at Jorrvaskr," he had muttered.

"Tilma doesn't live here, and I'm not your housekeeper," Marcus had said firmly. "Clean up your room as I told you to do."

Alesan had stomped his way up the stairs.

"There's no need to stomp about it, either," Marcus had warned him.

The Redguard boy had muttered something Marcus didn't catch, but he didn't ask him to repeat it.

Patience be my guide, Marcus prayed. He found himself doing that more and more often these days, especially with Tamsyn gone.

He wished she were here now, to talk to Alesan and get to the root of the boy's problem, but it would be at least a fortnight before she would return.

"I don't want to go," she complained when she told him about the trip. "The last thing I want to do is leave you with four kids to wrangle."

"I've been a father before, you know," he reminded her. "And these four were in my life before you, if you want to get technical about it."

"I know," Tamsyn said, "but I'm worried about Alesan, and about being gone for so long."

"Couldn't you get one of the other mages to take your place?" Marcus asked, also worried about their son, but was determined not to show it.

Tamsyn shook her head. "No," she replied. "Tolfdir is too old, and Enthir is off in Valenwood."

"What's he doing there?" Marcus asked, curious. He liked her second-in-command at the College, even if he did have some rather dubious and shady connections to members of the Thieves' Guild.

"I'd rather not say," Tamsyn said quietly. "The official reason is to visit family. We'll leave it at that."

"Well, what about sending one of the others, then?" Marcus pressed, not really wanting her to make the trip.

Again, his wife shook her head. "The invitation was specifically issued to the Arch-Mage," she said. "And I'd be more than happy to put it off, except that I have a feeling if I don't go now, I may never get another chance."

Marcus was immediately alert. "You've Seen something?" It was well known throughout Skyrim that the Arch-Mage was a gifted Seer. At least, that was the official explanation. In point of fact, Tamsyn had come from Gaea the same way Marcus had, except that while he had never heard of Skyrim before, Tamsyn had played many hours of that particular video game, and knew much of its lore. She had been an invaluable advisor to Marcus as he gained the skills he'd needed to defeat Alduin.

"No," she had replied. "Nothing specific. I just feel that something could happen soon to prevent me from going down to Cyrodiil and meeting with the Synod."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, Marcus!" she said in exasperation. "That's why I need to go down there, to find out what's going on! The Synod has never given a flying skeever's backside about the College before, except during that whole 'Eye of Magnus' affair, when they thought we were hoarding powerful magical artifacts. And now, to invite the Arch-Mage down to the Imperial City, to discuss the 'future of magic in Tamriel' and to determine 'what direction our studies should take'? It's a load of cow patties, and I mean to find out what they're up to. I just can't do it from here."

"You think the Thalmor are involved?" Marcus asked.

"Up to their slanted little eyeballs," Tamsyn grimaced. "I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried."

Marcus had wrestled with his conscience for several minutes. Tamsyn was stubborn enough to do exactly what she felt needed to be done, regardless whether he liked it or not. On the other hand, he didn't want to lose the woman he loved, if the Thalmor decided retaliation against the Dragonborn was in order. While he knew she was more than capable of looking after herself, he felt frustrated that he couldn't go with her, to watch her back.

"It makes me very uncomfortable that you have to walk into the lion's den alone like that," he said slowly. "I understand that you need to go, but I'll tell you right now I don't like it."

"What else can I do?" she asked in frustration. "If I refuse, I'll never get an opportunity like this again! They'll never send another invitation my way, assuming that I've rejected their kind offer."

Marcus considered this. Finally he asked, "What do you hope to gain from going that you'd miss out on if you didn't?"

Tamsyn thought for a moment. "It seems to me that those who protested loud and long that we at the College were hiding things might very well have something to hide themselves. Mirabelle Ervine told me, before she died, that she thought the Synod was trying to hoard powerful magical items, perhaps to consolidate power."

"What kind of power?"

Tamsyn shrugged. "Most likely the kind that would curry favor with the Elder Council in the Imperial City. The Emperor is the head guy, of course, but the day-to-day decisions are made by the Council. The Synod probably wants the Council to come to them in cases of all things magical."

Marcus frowned. "Why wouldn't they?"

"Because the Synod isn't the only team on the playing field down there," Tamsyn answered. "There's another faction known as the College of Whispers. They're quite a bit more secretive than the Synod, and I believe they are masters at summoning Daedra. That's not something that anyone who lives in the Imperial City would feel comfortable about, considering the whole Oblivion Crisis thing." Marcus knew about that; he'd read the book.

"I see," he nodded, understanding. "So the Synod gets a solid contract with the Council and they edge out this other College from all sorts of opportunities. I'm guessing maybe the same sorts of services you offer up at Winterhold?"

"Exactly," Tamsyn agreed. "In point of fact, when Savos Aren was Arch-Mage, the Synod and the College of Whispers both tried to get Winterhold to align ourselves with them exclusively, but Savos never took sides. He didn't want to get involved in politics. Winterhold was meant to be a refuge from all of that."

"Sounds like the Synod wants to revisit old topics with the new Arch-Mage, then," Marcus mused. "Maybe they believe you'll be more amenable to the idea."

"Fat chance!" Tamsyn snorted. "I'm firmly with Savos Aren on this one. I spoke with him about it while we were in Sovngarde, and he impressed upon me the importance of keeping Winterhold neutral. I'm not about to let him down."

"The Synod doesn't know that, though," Marcus pointed out.

"And I'm not going to tell them until I find out a few things I need to know," Tamsyn smirked. "I received a heads-up about certain magical knowledge thought to be lost since the Oblivion Crisis, so it's doubly important that I accept the invitation."

Marcus didn't ask where she had received her 'heads-up' from. No one but he knew her father, through great machinations and manipulations, was the God of Magic himself, Julianos.

"I just wish I knew how much the Thalmor have infiltrated either group," Tamsyn went on. "That's the only thing that worries me."

"Don't go alone, then," he said.

"We can't both be gone," Tamsyn pointed out. "Someone needs to stay here with the children. Lydia has been wonderful through the whole last year, especially when you were gone for so long, but we can't keep expecting her to raise the kids for us."

"I agree," Marcus nodded. "But I wasn't suggesting I go with you," he added, a faint smile on his lips at her indignant snort. "I was thinking of sending along either someone with a little more muscle, or a lot more skill with a blade…or maybe two someones." It wasn't false modesty that prompted his comment. Marcus knew himself well enough to know there were others out there much better than he in specific areas. Fortunately, they were allies of his, and would willingly come when called.

So letters were sent to Markarth and to Dawnstar, and in a few short days Argis the Bulwark, Marcus' Housecarl from his home in the capital city of the Reach, and Cicero, his Sworn Dark Brother, arrived on their doorstep to accompany Tamsyn to the Imperial City.

"Oooo! This is so exciting!" Cicero cooed, dancing about. "Cicero will show pretty Tamsyn all the places he used to go to in the Imperial City! And we'll probably go through Bruma! Cicero lived in Bruma for a time, you know."

"Yes, I know, Cicero," Tamsyn smiled, delighted to see the former Dark Brotherhood assassin again.

"Do you think we will have time to visit Cheydinhall?" Cicero asked. "So many lovely jobs in Cheydinhall!" A shadow crossed his face then. "But oh…Cicero spent so many lonely…lonely years there. So many…"

"If we have time we'll go there and make some happier memories for you," Tamsyn promised, bringing a smile to the little Imperial madman's face once more. He jumped up and down and clapped his hands.

"Do I have to be 'Fenris' again?" Argis rumbled, smirking at Cicero's capering.

Tamsyn giggled. It was an old joke with them. "Not unless you want to be."

In spite of Marcus' assumption that Argis and Lydia might end up getting married, the two Housecarls eventually had called off their relationship soon after the Dragonborn and Tamsyn had returned from Sovngarde. While they had enjoyed each other's company, the spark just wasn't there, and the two remained friends. Less than a year later, Argis had approached Marcus and asked if he minded if his Housecarl invited "company" over to Vlindrel Hall. Marcus rarely spent time in his Markarth home and graciously gave permission.

The "company", he had found out later, was none other than Cicero, formerly of the Dark Brotherhood, and Sworn Brother to the Dragonborn. While it didn't entirely surprise him, knowing the attraction that had been between the two men, he insisted he didn't want to know the details, and promised to send word to Vlindrel Hall before dropping in unannounced.

Preparations were made, and the following day Tamsyn tearfully hugged the children good-bye before kissing Marcus and holding him tightly one last time.

"I won't tell you to take care of them," she whispered. "I know you will."

"You bet," he said. "Just watch over these two knuckleheads while you're down there, okay?"

"We'll be back before you know it," she promised. "Just don't get into too much trouble while I'm gone, Okay?"

"Hey," he chuckled. "I'm here at home with a bunch of kids. How much trouble can I get into?"

Cicero and Argis promised Marcus faithfully to protect Tamsyn, and the three left to board the carriage to Cyrodiil. That had been two weeks ago, and while Marcus knew this world moved slower than his old one, he was still nervous about not having heard from Tamsyn since she'd left.

"Papa, I'm home!"

"Don't slam the door!" he hissed as Lucia twirled into the house and hugged her papa. He caught the door just before it hit.

"Oops! Sorry!" Lucia whispered.

"The hinges work really well," he pointed out, wryly. "So you don't have to push so hard to get the door to close. Did Mila have to help her mother?"

Lucia nodded, grabbing an apple from the barrel under the stairs. At ten years old, nearing eleven, she was already going through a growth spurt, and Marcus noticed the hem of her dress – which had already been let down once – was exposing more of the girl's leg than current Skyrim society thought was proper. Her Imperial heritage was maturing her in other ways, too, he realized, if her developing curves were any indication. She would need new clothes soon.

"Uh huh," the girl's brown curls bobbed as she nodded her head, but a shadow crossed her face, darkening her gray eyes. "I wish she didn't have to work. I don't have anything to do."

"I can think of several things," Marcus offered. "Your chores are piling up."

"I didn't mean chores," Lucia whined.

"You know we all have to pull together here," Marcus said, a bit more sternly than was really necessary.

"Yes, Papa," Lucia said, suddenly contrite. "I'm sorry. I'll do them now." She headed up the stairs to feed and change the sawdust in the cage of her aging rabbit, Cotton, and to sweep the floors upstairs. "I had that dream again, Papa," she called over her shoulder.

"The one about the farm?" he asked.

"That's the one."

Marcus nodded quietly to himself. His younger daughter had been having recurring dreams about a farm, and trying to get to it, but it seemed she kept walking without getting closer. Marcus felt it probably had something to do with her aunt and uncle taking over the farm she lived on with her mother before the woman had died. When Lucia, at age six, found herself alone in the world, her relatives had swept in, taken over and thrown her out. Marcus still simmered about that. He'd had Proventus bring up every record of farmsteads in Whiterun Hold held by Imperials, but so far, visiting them with his daughter had brought no glint of recognition in her eyes. He wondered if the dreams were just suppressed memories, or if one of the Aedra was taking a hand in helping the child find her birthright.

"Was there anything different about this one?" he asked Lucia now.

The girl paused on the steps and turned halfway around. "I…don't think so…" she said slowly. "I remember Mama was in it, but I couldn't see her face. And then a man and a woman shooed me away and I began to cry." She gave a faint smile. "It was just a dream, right?"

"Or maybe a memory, sweetheart," Marcus said, coming to the steps as she came down once more and wrapped her arms about his waist. He gave her a squeeze and kissed the top of her head. "We'll find the place, don't you worry. The Jarl's Steward is still looking into the records for me."

"But we've gone to look at so many farms already, Papa," Lucia sighed. "None of them looked right. It's been so long, I don't know if I would remember it now if I saw it."

"I think you would, dear," he told her, lifting her chin and smiling. "I think the memory of that place was ingrained in you."

"What does that mean?"

He tussled her brown curls. "It means it's a part of you," he explained. "It's in there so deep, nothing can remove it."

"But what if my aunt and uncle are still there?" Lucia worried. "What if they don't want to give the farm back to me?"

"We will have the law on our side, if we can get the right information," Marcus told his daughter. "And if they won't give it back, I'll see that they pay you rent."

"You're the best papa!" Lucia smiled and hugged him tightly.

"I try," he smirked. "Will you be alright for a bit? I need to go up to Dragonsreach and speak with Jarl Balgruuf. "

"I'll be fine, Papa!" Lucia gave him the exaggerated sigh of a pre-teen who knows her papa is being over-protective, but she softened the blow with another hug and headed up the stairs to do her chores.

Marcus chuckled indulgently. Lucia might complain a bit, but the shy, hesitant child who craved affection was never far from the surface. He had made it a point to keep every promise he ever made to his children. Lucia had wanted to go back to Solitude, to perform for Master Viarmo at the Bards College. She especially had wanted to play him a song he had never heard before, and Marcus, with his sizable knowledge of music from another time and place, coupled with his own ability to play the guitar, had taught his daughter Mason Williams' Classical Gas. Lucia had practiced for weeks, perfecting her technique and ensuring she knew every note by heart. To say she had "wowed" the Master Bard was an understatement. A promise had been extracted from Marcus there and then to send Lucia to the College upon her fourteenth birthday.

"I'd ask to take her now, Dragonborn," Viarmo had said, "but she is young, and I know how attached you humans are to your offspring. A few more years won't make a difference, if she plays the way she does now, and as I'm Altmer, I can afford to wait."

Blaise had asked for nothing more than to go sailing again, and Marcus had obliged by taking him to Riften; they had stayed at Honeyside and Marcus bought a small sailboat which they both took turns in plying the waters of Lake Honrich. They ate the fish they caught, explored every cove, and even hunted rabbits in the woods south of the lake, bringing Marcurio along with them just for company. Bears and wolves seemed to find them easy prey – at least the first few times they were attacked – but Blaise had been a smith's apprentice long enough that he knew how to wield nearly any kind of weapon. He was also a Breton, and like his adopted mother Tamsyn, he used every magic spell in his arsenal to the best effect. A burst from his hand created Oakflesh around him; another summoned a wolf familiar to harry their foe. Flames, frost and electricity were thrown from one hand while his ebony sword – which Marcus had brought back for him from Skuldafn Temple – struck out with precision. He cast Healing on himself whenever they broke through his defenses. Calm and self-assured, he never panicked, but fought grimly and quietly alongside the two older men until the last beast was dead.

"You'd make for a decent spell sword, Blaise," Marcurio told him, impressed, and Marcus beamed proudly.

Marcus introduced the lad to Balimund when he delivered another load of dragon bones and scales, and the boy spent several hours watching the old smith in reverence as he turned the bones into daggers and swords.

"These are commissioned," he told Marcus. "Thanks to you, my reputation's been spreading all over Skyrim."

"I kept watching him, Dad," Blaise said later, "but I still can't figure out how he did it. I guess I'm just not that good yet."

"Give yourself time," Marcus assured him. "You're still working with orichalcum and moonstone. You haven't even started learning how to work with malachite or ebony yet. Dragon bones and scales are a lot more difficult." His son nodded, and Marcus saw the spark of determination in his eyes.

Overall, it had been a very enjoyable trip.

Sofie's special time with her father involved a trip to Winterhold, to visit the College there. Tamsyn had gone along to touch base with the Master Wizard Tolfdir, and to see to any administration that needed her attention. Sofie had been impressed and intimidated at the same time.

"I don't know if I would be as good as they are at magic," she worried.

"You won't know unless you go there and find out," Marcus had told her.

Sofie nodded. "I suppose. But I think right now I need to finish my apprenticeship to Miss Arcadia. I wouldn't feel right about leaving her with no one to take my place." Tall for her age, Sofie's blue eyes were serious as she spoke. Her blonde hair seemed to get lighter the older she got; at fourteen it was now a pale blonde – a testament to her Nord heritage. Unlike most Nords, Sofie never minded magic, and had already mastered the novice-level spells Tamsyn had taught her, as well as a few higher-level Restoration and Alteration spells. "I'd like to know more about Restoration," she had told her father, "so perhaps when my apprenticeship is over I can go study that at Winterhold."

Now, as he jogged up the road to the Jarl's palace, Marcus thought back over the last year and a half with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. After everything he had accomplished since first coming to Skyrim, why couldn't he figure out what was bothering a thirteen-year-old boy? He had been one himself, so very long ago, but it wasn't something you forgot about. If anything, he should have more empathy with his younger son, but he just couldn't seem to reach him these days. He shook his head slightly to banish the morose thoughts crowding in on him. Perhaps he'd have better luck finding out where Lucia had come from.

Up at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's Steward, Proventus Avenicci, greeted him cordially. "I still have no other information regarding your daughter's farm, Dragonborn," he announced. "I've gone through all the records of the past four years. It would help if she could remember her family's name – or at least, her father's."

"Are there any other farmsteads west of the city we haven't looked at?" Marcus asked.

"There are many that have been abandoned or destroyed," Proventus mused. "I haven't researched those."

Marcus stifled an exasperated sigh. Why haven't you? "If you could find those for me, I'd appreciate it," he said evenly. The Steward assured him he would pull everything he had on the subject.

Jarl Balgruuf, the ruler of Whiterun Hold, saw Marcus leave his Steward and motioned him over.

"I'm done with addressing the numerous complaints I've been getting for today," the Jarl scowled. "Just once I'd like somebody to give me some good news."

"It's a fine day outside," Marcus grinned, with the ease of long friendship. Jarl Balgruuf was the first person Marcus bonded to when he came to Skyrim. The Jarl sought out his advice and trusted him with a great deal of responsibility.

Balgruuf snorted. "I suppose that will have to do," he allowed with a smile. "What brings you to Dragonsreach today, Marcus?" It had taken the Jarl almost a year to stop calling him "Dragonborn" as his only name.

"Just touching base on a few things," Marcus replied, his eyes darting around the room. Balgruuf took the hint.

"Let's go somewhere where we can get comfortable to discuss them, then," the Jarl suggested. He led Marcus up the long stairs behind his throne and out onto the vast covered porch where they had once trapped a dragon together. A long dining table had been set up at the far end overlooking the White River Valley to the east. They seated themselves at one end and the Jarl called for wine, which was swiftly brought. When they were alone, Balgruuf asked eagerly, "So, what have you got to report to me?" He liked being kept in the loop, Marcus knew.

"I got a report from Hadvarr in Blackreach," Marcus said. "It's written in code, of course, so I had to translate it. Basically he says they've brought in a fresh group of recruits, and the veterans are being shuffled around to Mzulft and Bthardamz."

"That will keep the troops mixed up, for certain," Balgruuf nodded. "If they can see they're all brothers and sisters against a common cause, it will ease the tensions in this pretense of a Civil War we have to maintain."

That had been Balgruuf's idea: to continue to create "skirmishes" and send reports of "losses" to General Tullius which were then carefully spoon-fed to the Thalmor Ambassador, Ramallion z'ha Cirdain. By pre-arrangement, Tullius would know the report to be a fabrication if Balgruuf used a specific seal.

"I also received word from Madanach in the Reach," Balgruuf continued now. "It seems the problem with the Afflicted there at Bthardamz has been resolved. The Hag—I mean, the Matriarchs – have found a cure which pleased everyone except the apostate priest, Orchendor. It seems he felt their curse was ordained by the Daedric Prince Peryite, and had to be spread all across Skyrim."

"I'm going to assume Madanach dealt with him?" Marcus asked.

"He did," Balgruuf replied. "I didn't ask for details. I'm not sure I want to know them. But at least the matter has been taken care of, and they can concentrate on the training exercises that had to be put on hold until the matter was resolved."

Marcus nodded. It appeared the priest was the only one who seemed to think the plague was necessary. Its sufferers, however, only wanted to be cured, feeling they had been misled. That Madanach, the so-called "Reach King", had dealt with it personally was a testament to the man's integrity when he agreed to support their plan to wipe out the Aldmeri Dominion. "They're working on magical research out there, aren't they?" he said now.

"Yes," Balgruuf agreed. "I'm not fond of it myself – no offense to your lovely wife, of course – but I do see the need for it, if we're to be successful. Have you heard from Ulfric at all? It's not likely he would report to me."

"He'd better," Marcus growled. "I put you in charge of general operations for the very reason that you're the fairest man I know. You can see both sides of this conflict, between Stormcloaks and Imperials, and you have a gift for getting both sides to talk, rather than fight."

Balgruuf shifted uncomfortably under the praise. "It's not a position I like to be in, Marcus," he said. "But you've entrusted it to me, and I won't let you down. I know you need to be free to trouble-shoot wherever you're needed. I'll send an inquiry to Ulfric then. I don't like the man on a personal level, but this isn't personal."

"Better send it to Solitude as well as Windhelm," Marcus advised. "He's as likely to be one place as the other."

At that Balgruuf grinned. "Yes, he seems to be completely smitten with Elisif – and at his age, too! I never would have believed it if you had told me two years ago."

"Well, Tamsyn did say this was something that had to happen if we're to succeed," Marcus pointed out. "The last time I spoke with Ulfric he admitted his growing fondness for her. And Elisif told Tamsyn directly that she would not be adverse to a 'marriage of convenience' if it would help the cause. Tamsyn told me later Elisif seemed a bit too eager for that eventuality." Marcus allowed a grin. "Sure would be nice to have a High King and a High Queen for Skyrim, ruling jointly. Wouldn't you agree?"

"It would go a long way towards healing the hurt across the land," Balgruuf nodded. "Where is your wife now, Marcus? Up at Winterhold?" He knew that her duties as Arch-Mage sometimes required her to be there, rather than Whiterun, where she spent most of her time.

"No, she had to go to Cyrodiil on business," Marcus replied, missing her terribly. "She should be back in a week or so."

"Hmmm," Balgruuf rumbled. "I won't ask why, then. Better if I don't know, I'm thinking."

Marcus could hardly argue that point. It was one of the reasons he liked Balgruuf so much. The man knew when to ask questions and when not to. "She told me she received word from J'Zargo a few weeks ago. Research continues on the new spells she shared with his team, and they're making progress. They're continuing to enchant armor and weapons as quickly as they're made, too."

"Didn't I read they had some problems with the Falmer down there?" the Jarl asked.

Marcus shrugged. "Only minor trouble," he replied. "With each new group of trainees they keep expanding their hold on the territory in Blackreach. The Dwemer machines are actually more of a problem than the Falmer. But they've managed to deal with that, as well, and have used the destroyed machinery as resource material."

Balgruuf smirked. "All except the ones Calcelmo wants to keep, I understand. He's in a constant state of dither, I hear, and cringes every time they destroy another automaton."

"That's the price you pay for freedom," Marcus shrugged. He hadn't been completely sure at first if including Calcelmo had been such a brilliant idea. The man was an Altmer, after all, and no one knew exactly where his loyalties – or that of his nephew, Aicantar – truly lay.

However, it soon became apparent that no one knew more about the Dwemer than the aging scholar, and that immersion in everything dwarven was his only true interest; Dwemer history, culture and creations were his specialty. If anyone could figure out how to reactivate and use the machines left behind by the dwarves, it would be Calcelmo, and when cautiously approached, he immediately petitioned interim Jarl Nepos for permission to be released from his duties as court mage to "take a sabbatical for the purposes of field work." Jarl Nepos, knowing exactly what was at stake, made a show of gravely considering the proposal in the presence of the Thalmor Justiciar Ondolemar before "reluctantly" granting permission.

It left him without a court mage, however, and he quickly filled the position with an older Reachwoman who was extremely well-versed in Conjuration, Alteration and Destruction magics. Her skill with Illusion was also beyond expert; Ondolemar never suspected the middle-aged Esmerelda was actually a Hagraven Matriarch.

That Nepos had replace Igmund as Jarl had not gone down without several protests on the part of other Jarls across Skyrim, but Balgruuf and Ulfric's influence was not to be underestimated. Eventually they convinced the protestors that this was only right and fair, considering how far Igmund had let things slip in his Hold, and that it stood as a warning to the rest of them to be more vigilant in the governance of their lands and people.

Igmund, his uncle and Steward Raerek, and his Housecarl Faleen, had been given an opportunity to prove their loyalty to the Empire and to Skyrim by allowing themselves to be relocated to Blackreach, to oversee some of the day-to-day operations there. While some viewed it as a reward rather than a punishment, Marcus personally felt that giving someone a second chance was never a bad thing.

"What about the dragons?" the Jarl asked him now. "Have you managed to contact any of them?"

"Only a few," Marcus admitted, "and with only mixed results. Paarthurnax and Odahviing gave me a few names, but only a handful seemed inclined to follow me."

Balgruuf lifted an eyebrow. "And the others?"

Marcus compressed his lips sternly. "I sent their bones to Balimund," he said shortly. He refrained from telling his Jarl that he had commissioned another suit of armor from the Riften smith, hoping to make it a gift to the lord of Whiterun on his next birthday.

The Jarl of Whiterun grinned. "Well, that will spread the word among them that you mean business!"

"The Blades called upon me a few times, too," Marcus informed him. "Unnamed dragons, mostly. But they also wanted me to find out if Alduin had managed to raise some of the other named dragons on their list."

"What did you find out?"

"Nearly all the cairns were empty," Marcus admitted. "Somewhere out there are a few dozen really powerful dragons."

Balgruuf considered this. "You could call them, though, right? Make them come to you as you did that Odahviing."

Marcus nodded. "I could. In fact, I did try, but I think they may have been too far away, or they didn't consider me enough of a threat to bother with. In any case, they didn't show."

"That's a problem, then," Balgruuf rumbled, concerned. "If we still have to be concerned about dragon attacks while we're trying—"

"I'll find them," Marcus promised. "They'll either join us or end up like Alduin."

They spoke for a while longer about minor details in their plans before the conversation drifted to other topics.

"I see you've made a few more improvements to Breezehome," Balgruuf commented.

It wasn't that difficult to notice. As his family grew, Marcus realized that at some point Sofie and Blaise would need rooms of their own, though that didn't seem to be the standard in this Viking-like culture. Most families had two and three people in one common sleeping room, sometimes two to a bed. Coming from a culture that like its privacy, Marcus felt that courtesy should be extended to his family, though none had complained. Nevertheless, he had sacrificed his private space in the basement level to turn it into two additional bedrooms for his two older children.

"I kind of had to," Marcus grinned ruefully. "I'm just about at maximum capacity with Breezehome."

"Maybe it's time for a bigger house," Balgruuf suggested with a smirk. "Either that, or stop taking in every stray child you meet."

Marcus chuckled. "Yeah, Lydia's already warned me about that. I think she'd threaten to give notice if I did. There's also the eventuality that Tamsyn and I will have children of our own."

"I see," Balgruuf coughed, politely. "You haven't yet…I mean…"

Marcus hesitated. "We've…consummated the marriage," he admitted quietly. "But we both agree it's not time yet to start a family of our own. We're…taking precautions against it right now." To no one but Balgruuf would he have admitted this.

"Ah, well," Balgruuf said hastily. "If it were any other man but you, Marcus, I would question his sanity first and his virility second. But you and Tamsyn aren't really ordinary people. You are Dragonborn, and she is the Arch-Mage. Both of you are deeply involved in this…little venture of ours. But if you're interested, I may have some land in my Hold you could purchase, where you could build a house."

"That's a generous offer, Balgruuf, thank you," Marcus said sincerely. "But I'll have to talk with Tamsyn about it."

"Why?" Balgruuf asked, genuinely confused. "Aren't you the head of your household? You make the decisions, and everyone lives with them."

Marcus shook his head. "If I want to stay married to the most beautiful woman in my world, and one of the most powerful in Skyrim, I'll wait until I talk with Tamsyn," he chuckled. "When a decision needs to be made that affects my family, we make them together. Blaise and Sofie are still in their apprenticeships. I won't take them away from that."

"Most apprentices live with their masters," Balgruuf pointed out.

"Well, then my children are luckier than most," Marcus insisted. "They get to come home at the end of their work day."

Jarl Balgruuf shook his head, not understanding. "You are a strange man, Marcus Dragonborn."

"That's what keeps my enemies off balance," Marcus grinned.

The shadows were lengthening by the time he made his way back down the hill to return home. He stopped at the Bannered Mare and purchased enough food to feed his family. He knew he was being lazy, but he genuinely hated cooking. This way, he reasoned, he kept the economy flowing, the food was guaranteed to be good, and he didn't have to slave away all afternoon over a hot cookpot. At Tamsyn's suggested, an oven had been installed at the back of the dining area, but he had no idea how to make it work. That was Tamsyn and Lydia's department.

He saw Lydia in one corner, talking quietly with Severio Pelagia and Olfina Grey-Mane, Eorlund's granddaughter. He gave a rueful shrug as she smirked over the basket of food he was carrying out. She'd probably give him hell for it later, and he didn't care. She was the only reason he hadn't starved to death those first few months after he came to Skyrim, and she knew it.

As he entered Breezehome he saw Lucia playing with her rabbit Cotton. She had brought the bunny home very soon after Marcus and Tamsyn had returned from Sovngarde, and before they'd gotten married. She had begged to keep it as a pet, and Marcus saw no reason not to allow it, "As long as you take care of it," he told her sternly. "Keep him fed, watered and comfortable, and clean up after him." Lucia had been very good about that, with only an occasional lapse.

Sofie and Blaise arrived home not long after, and Blaise helped him set out the food while Sofie and Lucia set the table.

"Where's Alesan?" Marcus asked.

"Not home yet, Dad," Blaise answered. "I haven't seen him since this morning, either."

"Nor have I," Sofie added. Her blue eyes clouded with worry. "He's been spending an awful lot of time at Jorrvaskr, hasn't he?"

"Practically from the time he gets up," Blaise nodded. "Is he alright, Dad? He seems….I don't know, angry about something."

"Has he said anything to any of you?" Marcus asked, keeping his tone neutral.

"Not to me," Sofie sighed. "He barely talks to me anymore."

"All he says to me is 'Go away, Lucia!', or 'Go home, Lucia,'" the little girl said. "He used to want to play tag or practice our martial arts. Now, he's just grouchy all the time."

"I'll talk to him when he gets home," Marcus promised them. "Let's sit down and eat."

"But Alesan's not here," Lucia protested. Even though he'd been hurtful to her, he was still her brother and she was worried about him.

"Alesan knows what time supper is around here," Marcus said firmly. "If he misses it, he can go hungry. I'm sure one of you will sneak something to him later."

Three guilty faces turned their attention towards their plates.

After supper, Sofie and Lucia cleared away and washed the dishes while Blaise brought in more wood for the fireplace and stoked it for the evening. Marcus lit the oil lamps around the room and pretended he wasn't watching the street each time he passed the windows. As it grew later and later, he became more worried about Alesan's absence. Finally, after Lydia had returned, he made his way down to Jorrvaskr to retrieve his wayward son.

At first the boy put up an argument about going home. "This is my home now," he declared, seated between Skjor and Aela. The two older Companions, embarrassed, wouldn't meet his eyes.

Marcus kept a rein on his temper. "Is that what the Harbinger says?" Marcus asked, keeping his voice calm. "Has Kodlak White-Mane declared you to be a full member of the Companions?"

Alesan opened his mouth to answer, but shut it after Aela gave him a nudge with her elbow.

"Go on home for now, son," Skjor said. "There will be time soon enough when you can stay here for good."

"But I want to stay now!" Alesan protested.

"You do us no honor by disrespecting your father, Alesan," Aela said.

"He's not—" Alesan began, but Kodlak, entering the room, cut him off.

"Alesan!" he said sharply. "Do not speak the words you know will cut deeper than a knife. We have not trained you here to be an ungrateful whelp. I had thought better of you than that."

Immediately ashamed, Alesan's dark skin took on a ruddy hue. "I'm sorry, Harbinger."

"It is your father to whom you owe the apology, son," Kodlak said quietly.

"I'm sorry, Pa," the boy mumbled. He stood quickly and left Jorrvaskr without looking at anyone, Marcus included.

"I offer my apologies, as well, Dragonborn," the Harbinger said. "I had not realized that his fondness for our company would lead to rebellion against your authority."

"He's a teen-ager," Marcus replied, as if that explained it. He made an effort to shrug off the hurt. "We've all been through it. At least I know he's safe here, and not likely to come to harm." He completely missed the look that passed between Skjor and Aela. "My thanks once again for taking him under your wing, Harbinger."

He bowed and left, trotting to catch up to his son.

"Alesan, sit down a minute, please," he called, sitting on a bench under the Gildergreen and patting the seat next to him.

"Do I have to?"

"No," Marcus said equably. "You can stand if you like. But we're still going to talk."

"Why are you being so mean to me?" Alesan demanded. "I was with my friends! I was having fun! Why did you have to spoil it all by treating me like a child?"

"Because you are not yet fully grown," Marcus said, exasperated, "and until you are, I will watch over and protect you. That's my job as your father."

"You're not my real father!"

Easy, Marcus, he told himself. He's upset, so he's trying to lash out with whatever weapons he has.

"No, I'm not," Marcus agreed calmly. "But I love you as much as if you were my own."

That might have worked on Lucia, or Sofie, or even Blaise, but Alesan steeled himself against it.

"That doesn't give you the right to tell me what I can do with my life!" he challenged. "I want to be a Companion. I'm ready to be one. The only thing that's keeping me from doing it is you!"

"And the Harbinger," Marcus pointed out. "He doesn't think you're ready either."

"I am ready!" Alesan screamed, causing several heads to turn in their direction. So much for having a quiet talk with my boy, Marcus mused ruefully.

"You're not showing that you are," Marcus said calmly. "You're being surly and stubborn, and you're taking your aggression out on the rest of us. That's selfish and immature, and certainly not traits that a true Companion would have."

"How would you know?" Alesan sneered. "You aren't a Companion!"

"Would it make you any happier if I became one?" Marcus asked. It had always been in the back of his mind, since he first learned of the organization. But other things had gotten in the way, and he had never had the luxury of exploring the possibilities. If it helped Alesan, however, he'd consider it.

But his son's face grew darker, if that was possible. "No!" he said forcefully. "Do you think I want you peering over my shoulder every chance you get? That I want you showing everyone how great the Dragonborn is, compared to his adopted son? A kid he picked up in his travels and felt sorry for?"

Ouch. That had hurt.

"I think I understand now," Marcus answered slowly, sadness coloring his voice.

"Do you?" Alesan muttered, crossing his arms and flouncing down onto the bench. "Everyone thinks you're so great because you killed Alduin, and you know how to Shout, and you've done all these amazing things. How's a kid supposed to live up to that?"

"By being you," Marcus replied. "Alesan, I can't promise you that no one will ever compare you to me. But you aren't me, and that's the truth of the matter. You're you. And you will get the chance to prove what you can do in this world. Just not quite yet."

"Not ever," the boy grumbled. "If you keep holding me back."

"If I do, it's because I know you'll get stronger, faster, better, if you just allow yourself some time. You won't be considered an adult by Skyrim's standards until you're sixteen, you know that. Hell, even Blaise is still considered a child, and he's not upset about that."

"Blaise isn't going to be a warrior," Alesan sneered. "All he'll ever be is a smith."

Marcus frowned. "Say that the next time your blade gets dull or your armor needs repair," he said sternly. "If you don't know how to fix them when they're broken, you'd better damn well know a good smith who can do it for you, especially if your weapons and armor are enchanted!" He himself had still never learned how to repair magical armor. He'd only barely managed to keep Dragonbane and Alduin's Bane in sharp order, and only because Ghorza gra-Bagol in Markarth had helped him.

"My point is," he continued, "is that while you are still considered a child by the Jarl, you are under my protection."

"Can we go home now?" Alesan whined.

"In a minute," Marcus intoned. "I want to make sure you understand this. I also want you to understand that whatever you feel about living with me, your mother, brother and sisters, we still love you and we always will. You've treated your siblings rather shabbily recently, and I don't think the Harbinger would be pleased to know that. If a Companion upholds honor above all, you aren't being very honorable."

"Fine," Alesan grumbled. "I won't say anything bad to them. Can we go now?"

Realizing he wasn't going to get the resolution he'd hoped for this time, Marcus relented. "Alright. Let's go. You've missed supper, though—"

"I ate already."

"And you neglected your chores again."

There was a pause, then reluctantly, Alesan said, "I'll do them now."

And he did. As soon as they walked in, Alesan headed upstairs and cleaned and swept the room he still shared with Blaise, until such time as the downstairs rooms were ready to be inhabited.

Breezehome settled down into an uneasy evening. The children retired to bed and Lydia retreated downstairs to her private quarters. Marcus, unable to sleep, picked a book from his shelf and sat near the fire.

His thoughts were a whirl of conflicting emotions, however, and he realized he'd read the same paragraph three times and still hadn't made sense of it. He grimaced, set the book aside, and stared broodingly into the flames of the fireplace.

Worry was the most pressing thing on his mind. Inevitably there would come more and more frequent conflicts with his younger son, spilling over into the rest of the family and upsetting everyone. For the first time he began to doubt his parenting abilities. Had it ever been this hard to reach a child before?

Yes. Andrea was so far into herself it took nearly a year to get her free and clean of the numerous drugs she'd been taking. It took longer to clear away the debt she had racked up, which she couldn't pay while she spent time in a women's prison for theft and larceny, which supported her habit. Giving up on her had never been an option, and only "tough love" had seen them through it. He didn't think Alesan was at the point where he needed "tough love". He'd thought the boy only needed to be shown that people loved him and cared about him, and for a while, that was all that was needed. After the death of Alduin, and Marcus' marriage to Tamsyn, they had all settled down in Whiterun and lived normal, comfortable lives.

Perhaps not quite as comfortable as Marcus had believed, since Alesan still felt the need to "prove" himself to others. No one had said anything, but in the boy's mind he felt he would always be compared to his famous father, and it was a hard thing for a child like Alesan to accept.

A commotion rang out in the streets, and Marcus sat up suddenly, listening. Voices were shouting, people were screaming, and there was a hollow, coughing sound, like a dog barking in a cave.

He rose quickly and ran to the window, looking out, up and down the street.

Near the forge he saw Adrianne fighting with a group of people. Guards were helping her, but the people they fought had huge, mastiff-like dogs, black as night with glowing red eyes.

Vampires! They were here again, in Whiterun!

"Not this time, you don't!" he growled, as Lydia came up the stairs.

"My Thane, what—"

"Stay inside!" he ordered her. "Keep the children safe!"

"Yes, my Thane!" She drew her sword and positioned herself in the center of the room, in front of the stairs.

Marcus didn't look back, but grabbed Alduin's Bane from the rack by the front door, and headed out into the street.

"Never should've come here!" one of the guards barked as he fought off one of the mongrel hounds.

Marcus saw Adrianne go down and cold fear gripped him.

"You sonofabitch!" he cried. "I'm going to kill you a second time!"

Red eyes glittered Marcus' way as the Master Vampire turned toward this new threat. Extending one hand, he struck Marcus with a beam of red light, and Marcus felt his life force being pulled away from him.

"Gah!" he cried. Two could play at that game, he thought.

"KRII LUN AUS!" He Shouted, narrowing the focus of the thu'um to hit only the Master Vampire. The undead staggered, and the beam of draining magic snuffed out as he attempted to recover from the debilitating effects of the Marked for Death Shout. Marcus didn't give him the chance. He drew an ebony dagger he had picked up in a barrow somewhere to keep in his off-hand as he slipped easily into the two-handed style that was now so familiar to him. Dimly, he recognized that Sigurd and Amren were battling on the other side of the road, but he couldn't take the time to see how they were doing.

Lashing out at him, the Master Vampire scraped his claws across the front of Marcus' tunic, and with a jolt of fear, Marcus realized he'd grown so comfortable in recent months he had neglected to wear his armor on a regular basis.

"They say if a vampire so much as scratches you, you'll turn into one."

How many times had he heard the guards gossiping about that? Well, he'd just have to make sure they didn't lay a finger on him. The tingle in his throat told him it was too soon to Shout again, so Marcus backed away, drawing the vampire away from the smithy. He lunged with the dragon bone sword and was pleased to see it trace a line of fire across the vampire's midsection. Screeching in outrage, the undead extended his hand again to weaken Marcus once more. Avoiding the ray of hellish light that streamed toward him, Marcus stepped forward to grab the arm and twist it over his head, intending to flip the vampire onto his back so he could deliver the final blow. That was a big mistake. The vampire was stronger than he anticipated, and instead of having his own weight used against him, he used the momentum of the flip to twist in mid-air and land behind Marcus, far too close for comfort.

The back of Marcus' neck rippled with gooseflesh as the Master Vampire twisted the Dragonborn's arm behind him and brought his neck close enough for the fangs to sink in. Reflexively, Marcus bashed his head backward, hearing the vampire's septum shatter, and the night creature howled in pain, relaxing his grip on his victim.

Twisting away, Marcus lashed out behind him with Alduin's Bane, and the flaming sword cut a deep gash in the vampire's side. At once, the undead disappeared from view, and Marcus peered around furiously to try to find the tell-tale warping of air that would indicate where the vampire had gone, but in the gloom of night he could see nothing.

By now, Amren and Sigurd had killed one of the thralls and a death hound, and were closing in on the other lesser vampire that had accompanied her lord. Adrianne lay unmoving in front of her shop, but Marcus couldn't take the time to check on her, with the Master Vampire still around somewhere.

Something shifted at the edge of his vision to his right, near the guard house, and without thinking, the tightness in his throat now eased, Marcus roared out his Unrelenting Force. A dark shape flew several feet into the air and slammed against the stone wall of the building. Leaping forward, Marcus called forth another, seldom-used power, and channeled what little magicka he possessed into a stream of flames at the stunned form of the Master Vampire.

Shrieking, the vampire rushed at him one last time, only to run himself up on the blade made of dragon bone in Marcus' other hand. The cry was aborted and the vampire gasped, shuddered and slumped to the ground. It took a full minute for the light to go out of his eyes, but Marcus didn't wait that long. Barking at the guards to "watch him!" he rushed to Adrianne's side, where Amren and Sigurd already knelt.

"It looks bad, Marcus," Amren worried. Blood dripped down his face from a gash in his forehead, and was smeared where he had wiped it out of his eyes. The chainmail at the sides of his cuirass were separated, and blood oozed between the links.

Adrianne's wounds were severe, and she had already lost a lot of blood. One leg had been savaged by one of the death hounds, and blood pumped freely from slashes on both arms and her chest. Claw marks raked down her face, narrowly missing her right eye.

"She needs a healer right away," Sigurd agreed. "I'll go get Danica Pure-Spring!" He sprang to his feet and took off at a dead run, only limping slightly from the wound to his left leg.

"Do you know any healing magic, Marcus?" Amren asked hopefully.

Marcus shook his head helplessly. "I only know the one Tamsyn taught me," he admitted, "but I don't have a lot of magicka. I've just never really put that much practice into it. I'm not even sure it will help. I've only ever used it on myself, not on others."

Amren frowned. "Anything you can do might help until Priestess Danica can get here," he said urgently.

"I'll try," Marcus said. He closed his eyes and concentrated on casting the healing magic outward, rather than channeling it inward. A faint, pinkish-gold energy emerged, and he directed it towards Adrianne, but while the blood flow slowed, he knew it wasn't enough.

Footsteps rushed closer, and the two men looked up to see Ulfberth War-Bear approach. Behind him, an Orc in heavy armor hovered in the background.

"Adrianne!" Ulfberth cried, crashing to his knees next to her. "My gods, Adrianne! Don't die! Please don't die!"

"Sigurd's gone for the healer, Ulfberth," Amren told him as Marcus sent another burst of healing energy into the Imperial smith.

"That will take too long," Ulfberth said frantically. "I'll take her myself!" He made a move to pick her up, but the Dragonborn forestalled him.

"She can't be moved, Ulfberth," Marcus said firmly. "I'm doing my best to keep her alive right now as it is. Move her, and you'll only make things worse."

"Damned vampires!" Ulfberth roared. "I'll kill every last one of them! Oh, Adrianne!"

"Amren, pull him back," Marcus said shortly. "I need room to work." He shot another burst of magic, but deep inside felt he was fighting a losing battle. If Sigurd didn't return with Danica soon…

"Here, Papa, let me."

Sofie's voice was calm and reassuring.

"Sofie! You should be in bed!" Marcus sputtered.

"The shouting woke me up, Papa," his daughter replied. "Let me do this. I'm better at it than you."

"Sweetheart—"

"I'll need the potions from my room," she continued as if he hadn't spoken. "The ones in the blue bottles that Mama helped me make."

With those words, Sofie knelt down and began to channel much stronger healing energy into Adrianne than Marcus had been able to do. Torn, her father watched her work for several seconds before she reminded him, "The potions, Papa. I need the potions."

"Right. Potions," he said. For a moment longer he stared at his older daughter, kneeling by the injured smith in the middle of the street, in the middle of the night. In her blue nightgown with her blonde braid trailing down her back, she suddenly seemed much older than her fourteen years. Then he kicked himself into gear and bolted back to Breezehome where Lucia met him at the door, a wooden box filled with six blue potion bottles in her hands.

"I knew she'd need these," Little Sister said smugly.

"Is Adrianne going to be alright, Dad?" Blaise asked from just behind her.

"I hope so, son," was all Marcus would say before rushing back to the little group in front of Warmaiden's, side-swiping the Orc who still stood nearby, observing. Marcus felt a bit irritated at the spectator, but had no time to address the matter.

He set the box down next to his daughter and opened one of the bottles for her. She drank it quickly, then resumed her healing. By the time Danica finally arrived, a robe thrown over her nightgown and her sleep-tussled hair escaping its braid, four of Sofie's potions had been consumed, and the young girl looked exhausted.

Danica quickly examined Adrianne, however, and smiled in satisfaction. "You did well, child," she praised. "I'm very proud of you. Your quick action might just have saved her life. But she has a long road of recovery ahead of her. Sigurd, Amren, Ulfberth, pick her up carefully now and bring her up to the Temple. With Kynareth's blessing I may be able to make certain she doesn't turn into a vampire."

Gently, almost tenderly, the Imperial woman was picked up and carefully carried up the hill to the Temple.

"She didn't thank you, Papa," Sofie frowned when they had gone. "You healed her first."

"That's alright, sweetheart," he smiled tiredly. "I wasn't able to do that much. It really was your healing that kept her stable enough to be moved. I'm also very proud of you."

"Thank you, Papa," the teen replied, yawning widely. "Can I go back to bed now?"

Marcus chuckled. "Absolutely, dear. Don't forget your other potions." He looked back at the other bodies and nodded to Sofie. "I'll just be a minute. Go on back to bed."

Looking around, Marcus noticed the Orc had apparently wandered off. He crossed the road to where the Master Vampire had died. There was a shimmering layer of sooty dust collecting on the body, and Marcus – knowing enough about alchemy to know that vampire dust was rare and hard to come by – scraped off as much as he could from both undead into a small pouch he pulled from the larger one on his belt.

Sofie's probably too tired to think of this right now, he thought to himself with satisfaction, and Tamsyn would never forgive me if I let this opportunity pass.

The guards waited respectfully nearby until he was done, then set about the business of disposing of the bodies of the enemies, and preparing the bodies of the slain guards to be taken to the Hall of the Dead.

As he returned home, Blaise met him at the door. "Dad, we have a problem."

Instantly alert, Marcus set the bag of vampire dust down on a nearby table. "What problem?" he asked warily.

"Alesan's not in his bed," the red-haired boy said. "I don't know where he is, or how long he's been gone, but after I saw them take Adrianne away I went back upstairs, and he wasn't there."

Marcus compressed his lips. This had gone far enough. "Alright, son," he said, keeping a tight rein on his temper. "Thanks for letting me know. Go back to bed. I'll go get your brother."

"You think he went back to Jorrvaskr?" Blaise asked, worried.

"I'm almost certain of it," Marcus said grimly. "Go on back to bed. I'll deal with this."

Blaise nodded, his eyes troubled, but he dutifully turned and headed back upstairs to his room. Marcus saw Lydia standing just beyond.

"Well?" he demanded, a bit harsher than he should have.

Lydia knew what he meant, and she wasn't happy with herself at all. She had been instructed to stay with the children, to protect them, and now one of them was missing. "He never came downstairs, Thane," she said morosely. "I swear to you! The other three came running down here when all the commotion began, but I don't remember seeing Alesan among them. He must have slipped out the hatch in the roof and used the ladder to get down to the ground."

Marcus blew out a breath. Yes, he had installed that escape hatch two years ago; but at the time his only thought was for his family to use it as an escape route if enemies like the Thalmor invaded his home again. He never imagined his younger son would use it as a means of sneaking out of the house.

"Alright, Lydia," he said finally. "It's probably my fault, then. You did what I asked you to do."

"Are you going after him?" his Housecarl asked.

Marcus nodded. "I think I have to. And we'll both have a talk with the Harbinger this time. I don't think Kodlak's going to be too pleased with the boy about this. He already warned him against disrespecting his elders."

Once more, Marcus made the trip up to Jorrvaskr, making a supreme effort to diffuse the anger and frustration he felt over Alesan's stunt. At the mead hall of the Companions, he paused a moment to collect his thoughts before entering.

A wailing howl, muffled as if from a distance, ripped through the air, and the keening sound sent chills up Marcus' spine. It was like a dog, and yet like a human, too. He'd never heard anything like it. Down near the Gildergreen one of the guards stopped and made the sign of Kynareth on her chest.

"Divines preserve us!" she gasped. "What was that?"

Marcus didn't know, but it sounded like it came from the Skyforge, where Eorlund Gray-Mane labored each day making his Skyforge steel weapons and armaments. Cautiously, Marcus made his way around the mead hall to the path that led up the hill.

The cry split the air once more, and suddenly, a small figure emerged from the flat stone bedrock under the Skyforge, bolting past Marcus, emitting an ear-splitting scream as it rushed down the stairs, crossed the park and disappeared on the other side. Marcus only caught enough of a glimpse to see pale skin and blonde hair, and the tell-tale silhouette of scaled-down Blades armor – Lars Battle-Born. The boy never stopped screaming all the way home. But his screams weren't the ones Marcus heard, and now the cry came again, louder, and from the doorway that now stood partially open under the Skyforge. The night air was resonant with the sound of anger, terror and despair, all contained in one mournful wail.

Drawing his sword, Marcus crept over to the door and looked in, but it was far too dark to see anything. A light came from somewhere down at the end of a long, twisting tunnel, and Marcus followed it, hardly daring to breathe, as the sounds of roaring, snapping and whining grew louder. At length, he emerged in a room lit by sconces, hollowed out from the solid rock by unknown hands in the dimness of the past. Three figures huddled around a central font filled with blood. One of the figures was Skjor, who looked aghast at the Dragonborn's sudden entrance. The other two figures were wolfen, but stood on two hind legs. One was smaller than the other.

At sight of him, the three figures froze, and Marcus raised Alduin's Bane to strike down what he knew to be werewolves.

"Hold, Dragonborn!" Skjor cried. "These are not enemies! I am not under attack!"

At his words, Marcus paused, and two things happened at once. The larger werewolf morphed, changed, melded back into the form of Aela the Huntress. The smaller one took one long, anguished, pleading look at the Dragonborn, howled one more time and disappeared down a tunnel at the back of the chamber.

"This isn't what it looks like, Dragonborn," Aela began, but Marcus didn't hear her. He was thinking about the look the smaller werewolf had given him. Begging him to understand; pleading with him to help him with large brown eyes. Eyes that were exactly like Alesan's.

In fury, Marcus raised his blade again and turned on the two Companions. All his rage and frustration found an outlet at the words he roared at them.

"What have you done to my son? What have you done to Alesan?"

[Author's Note: For my new readers, I hope you haven't been confused too greatly, and I hope perhaps you'll be intrigued enough to read "Into the Maelstrom" to find out more of the backstory. For those who have followed me from my previous effort, welcome back. It's good to "see" you here again. I hope you enjoy this second installment of my "dimensionally displaced duo", as CrazyHades has dubbed them (I love that term! Thank you for that!). Please read and enjoy, and if you prefer, leave a few words in the Review Box below. Thank you again!]