I know! I've been gone so long - update is on my profile. This story is the end fragment of the saga anyone who's played Skyrim knows well, and I hope you all enjoy! There won't be much waiting between chapters as this short story is actually completed, so I'll be aiming to put a chapter up each day.

The market of Whiterun was alive and bustling under the bright First-Seed sun; Spring had come with vengeance after a long and bitter winter, and the entire city seemed to feel it. I was glad to have chosen this week to visit Jorrvaskr; the icy wastes of Winterhold had been cold and cruel and no doubt still were. Still, it was a pleasant break from my new duties at the College; I'd been away from the Companions far too long.

Farkas joined me that morning; we had a fair bit of shopping to do and the first harvests from the south were finally in. I'd asked him to join me simply for the fact that he was big, burly and very capable of carrying most of the parcels of food. He liked to be useful. I stopped at Carlotta's stand, eyeing off the fresh fruits and vegetables while Farkas grumbled.

"Don't waste all your gold on vegetables," he muttered, "We don't all eat like you, y'know."

I smirked, inspecting some carrots and potatoes that I added to my basket.

"You've got a whole bag of meat there and there's a deer being salted back at the hall," I chided; he wasn't the first Nord to either mock me, or be genuinely confused at my dislike of eating meat. I didn't see what the problem was; I still liked fish, sometimes fowl… but the smell of burning blood and boiling fat was…

I'd smelled too many human bodies burning to like the taste of meat.

Still, there were a lot of hungry warriors to feed there, and today I knew Tristane would be arriving to visit from Riften and knowing him, he'd be bringing friends. And trouble. He always brought trouble.

"The Emperor murdered, and Ulfric has taken the Jagged Crown; it won't be long now till the Empire falls."

We both glanced over our shoulders; Vignar Grey-Mane was bragging loudly to Anoriath at his stall; the little Bosmer shook his head at the Nord.

"The Empire is more than one man; Ulfric won't find an easy victory," he warned.

I glanced up at Farkas who was frowning at the conversation; he hitched the pig over his shoulder that had been wrapped in calico and the sack of flour on his other arm.

"You think he's gonna win?" Farkas asked me drolly. I matched his frown, instead piling apples into the basket over my arm.

"Maybe. This war has been raging so many years, it's hard to say if it will change any time soon." The Emperor had died a fortnight ago, it was said to be by the hand of the Dark Brotherhood. Half of Skyrim had been in mourning; the other half stirring restlessly as the fire of rebellion was rekindled.

"What do you think?" I pressed my Shield Brother. His chin jutted forward and eventually he shrugged.

"I don't like thinkin' on it much," he grumbled, "The Companions got history with Battle-Borns and Grey-Manes. I don't like takin' sides."

I tried to hold back my sigh; dear Farkas… I could try to get him to use his brain but in the end he always just seemed… disinterested.

"It's about more than the families here, this is a Kingdom we're talking about," I attempted again, and he just sort of shrugged, watching as I got rather choosy with the few tomatoes the store boasted.

"Y'know, I thought they might talk to you about bein' the Emperor. Empress?"

I laughed abruptly, thinking him to be joking, "What?"

"The old Emperors had Dragonblood, right?" He said frankly, "My brother said they did."

I shook my head, choosing a rare aubergine, "The last one was two hundred years ago now."

"But you done a lot. You killed Alduin, Miirak. And you got a lot going for you. You're a Thane, a Companion… you're real important up in the College. You're a hero, it makes sense."

"Farkas…" I muttered, shaking my head, "Being a 'hero' doesn't make one an Emperor. Being a warrior doesn't make one a King; Ulfric thought so and it's been many years now, it hasn't worked out so well for him, hm?" I thanked Carlotta and dropped the septims into her hand, leaning down to pick up my second basket, heavy with eggs and cheese.

"Besides, what would you all do if I was the Empress or High Queen? You hardly see me as it is and I'm only Arch Mage."

He started at that comment, "That's right… you'd be better off not being Queen. Hey, your brother won't mind pork, will he? I mean he's not like you, is he?"

"Don't worry about Tristane," I laughed, "He won't mind what he eats so long as there's a lot of mead to wash it all down with."

"Miss Ashwood!"

I blinked and jolted; when in Oblivion did anyone ever address me as Miss Ashwood? I looked through the thin crowd, seeing Belethor waltzing over, causing me to raise an eyebrow. Belethor was the Breton who ran the general goods store in the market, a stocky, middle aged man with rather long dark hair he oiled and tied back at the nape of his neck, and wore his sideburns long down his cheeks. I knew him mostly by face, which is why it was quite a surprise when he took my right hand and promptly kissed my fingers despite the heavy basket hooked on my elbow.

"Uh-"

"Good morning maiden!" he jeered in is gruff, coarse voice before liberally reaching forward and sticking a blue mountain flower in my hair; from the corner of my eye I could see Farkas quickly looking back and forth from the merchant to me. I blinked, dumbfounded, and Belethor feigned disappointment.

"What? You can't tell me the only Breton girl in the city doesn't know the day!"

Day? 25th of First-Seed?

"Oh!" I gasped, shaking my head, "I'm sorry, of course. It's been a few years since…" I cleared my throat, stumbling into a quick, awkward curtsey even though I wore trousers and tunic, not a dress. "Thank you sir."

Belethor chuckled and finally released my hand, nodding a farewell and started back through the market place to open his shop. I felt my cheeks colour and shook my head.

"Uh, what was all that about?" Farkas murmured, looking strangely concerned.

"It's nothing, just… Flower Day. It's silly, just a Breton thing," I said quickly. It was very rare to encounter anyone celebrating Flower Day outside of High Rock.

"Why'd he give you a flower?" Farkas asked and I could feel my cheeks colouring more as I hitched the basket onto my elbow. We began the short trip up the steps home.

"It's just the way the day is celebrated," I gave an indifferent shrug, "Young men would greet unmarried women and put a flower in their hair, each colour has a different meaning. Then at night everyone gets drunk and dances till sunrise. Most girls wake up the next morning with half a garden sticking out of their heads."

"Huh. We don't really have anything like that here… so what does blue mean?"

"Oh, uh… blue for beauty," I muttered, "Then, yellow for friendship, red for passion, pink for youth, white is purity, purple is love. Then there's other flowers that have special meanings, deathbell would mean betrothed, nightshade means 'I'd give my life', elves ear for luck. Daisies are only ever given to little girls, like from a parent to a daughter."

"I never thought give'n a girl a flower could be that much trouble."

"There's supposedly a secret meaning behind every flower but most people hardly know the meanings anymore, they just choose by colour."

"Huh." Farkas considered this a moment as we walked, then went to the edge of the path, setting his sack of flour onto his shoulder and stopping to pull something from the ground. I felt myself smile when he came back with a small yellow dandelion with a fairly long stalk. He 'carefully' stuck it into the back of my half-braid.

"There," he said, smiling proudly at himself and I laughed, continuing along the path.

"Well thank you."

"Aint you supposed to curtsey now?"

"Don't push your luck," I warned with a smile, and Farkas chuckled.

"So when was the last time you celebrated this?"

"That'd be the year before I came to Skyrim… though outside of Highrock it's not really a celebration, just an excuse for any local Bretons to get together and- Oh Gods…" I put my fingertips to my forehead the moment it struck me.

"What?"

"It just occurred to me. Today is Flower Day, Tristane arrives for a visit… that is not a coincidence…"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, really." I hitched my basket up with a sigh, smiling though I shook my head.

"Is he a lot like you?"

"As day and night." I gunted as I started up the steps for Jorrvaskr, "You'll see what I mean."

By noon I was out in the training yard; staying inside the mead hall was torture when I could smell Tilma's cooking wafting up from the kitchen. I'd wanted to fix a snowberry crostata for when my brother arrived but she'd taken up every inch of space, happily humming herself a tune as she prepared the meals; and since she'd already roped Athis into helping her peel potatoes there was simply no room.

It was fair, and I needed the exercise. Giving my shoulder a roll I lifted my bow, drawing back slowly and glaring down the arrow, feeling the cold ethereal feather touch my lips before I released it. The summoned arrow let fly, thudding into the straw target on one of the outer rings. Like the others I'd shot, it was determined to avoid the bullseye I was aiming for. I huffed.

"Damn."

"Back straight, Lyri," a voice behind me growled and I smirked, glancing over my shoulder. Vilkas was setting his cuirass down on one of the tables, starting to buff and polish it with oil. Though he still wore the black leather greaves his shirt was a soft grey tunic, in lieu of the armour he worked on. His shaggy black hair flopped down over his silvery eyes… he needed a hair cut, the locks that would brush his jaw were now half down his throat. My eyes followed the contour of his neck and down his arm…

He flashed me a rare smile before looking back down at his work, but when I glanced back at the target it was suddenly hard to focus. I drew my arrow back, shoulders proud, and glared at the mark. With that, I let my arrow fly.

It stabbed the top edged of the target, and behind me Vilkas chuckled.

"Oh shut up," I tossed over my shoulder, my bow vanishing as it was pulled back to Oblivion.

"I hope you're not so rusty with your short sword," he commented, rubbing hard at a patch on the breastplate of his armour.

"Not at all… but then, you were the one who told me to fight to my strengths. Besides, it's no good sparring unless you're sparring with someone."

I turned back to the target, about to summon another bow when Vilkas spoke up;

"You want to go a round then?"

I glanced back at him, and where he'd dropped the old rag onto his cuirass, and a playful tingle ran through my belly.

"…One-hand swords, two of three?" I offered, and he smirked, going to the weapon rack for a shield and training sword. I walked up to retrieve two blunt short swords; I knew Vilkas wouldn't appreciate my summoning one instead - and those were a little deadly for sparring.

In the clearing of the training yard we faced off, Vilkas hitching up his shield.

"Alright. Two of three, no magic."

I rolled my eyes but smiled, "I'm better at this than you think, Harbinger."

With that we edged a moment or two, and I sprung forward, short sword swinging and his shield swung to meet my blow, glancing it off. I dodged aside as he countered, easily out of his reach. Turning both short swords in my hands, I felt my heart race. It had been a long time since I'd fought without using my power, and I was finding something wonderfully primal about it. He swung at me that time and I glanced his blow away, rolling past him and swinging my short sword into the back of his knee, the dull metal thudding against the leather.

"Point."

"Hn. Not bad," he commented and we moved back into our positions. His specialty was the longsword, feet too used to balancing that weight and thus less nimble than me; out of his heavy armour, his weight seemed to be off, too. That said, I was used to more recently fighting with a staff, making one hand always a little lazy. I swung at him, and he parried.

"I had your letter only a day before you arrived," he said casually between moves, "I didn't know those vampires were attacking Riften too-?"

"Yes," I huffed, short swords singing as I swung another blow away, "We've not seen them north, but there's so few people out there I suppose there's little to tempt them."

He gave a mighty grunt and pushed me back with his shield - I rolled readily and was back on my feet, huffing a loose curl of red hair from my eyes.

"I don't like it," he warned solemnly, "You're up there alone, if they did decide to target Winterhold there'd be no guards, no fortifications…"

"There's the College," I laughed breathlessly, grunting a hard swing at him, "I think those vampires would have more than they bargained for should they attack. I'm still going to enchant a few swords for you here."

I saw him grimace and back off a moment, "We don't need it."

"I know," I chided gently; they'd always been wary of magic, but were making great concessions. "Humour me, please. It'd put my mind at ease, and Gods know I'd better do it than Farengar, he has no idea what he's doing."

Vilkas laughed at that, "Arrogant."

"Pup, it's not arrogance if it's true."

The name seemed to throw him off a second when he went to bash me back with his shield again - I rolled off it, behind him and sprung up, blade swinging into his neck and stopping.

"Yeild."

"Cheat."

"Belly-acher."

"Three of five?"

I smiled and nodded, and when he looked down at me now it was with determination, a wolfish, hunting glare that made something tighten in my stomach. I rallied quickly.

"Have you been keeping up with Dovahsul?" I asked, twirling my blades. But he didn't answer this time, lunging forward instead in earnest and like that I was on the back foot, glancing his blows back. Training was no longer for words.

I grunted with exertion; I may have been faster but he was far stronger and every heavy blow I glanced away took more energy to recover from, but the action was exhilarating. Then his sword flashed above my head, coming straight down and I crossed my blades above my head to block it, swinging the blade away and turning in the process as he turned the other way - and suddenly his sword belted me hard across the chest, knocking the wind out of me. The ground rushed up to greet me and I was staring up at the clear blue sky, coughing hard at the ache spreading through my chest.

"Lyrielle!" I heard a sword and shield clatter to the ground, and Vilkas came into view, his arm worming under my shoulders, gently pulling me up, "Are you alright?"

"…Yield?" I croaked and the worry on his face was replaced with an exasperated smile. I rubbed a hand over my sore chest. "Damn… I'm glad that blade was dulled…"

"This is why you wear armour when you're training," he chided, but kept his arm around my back even when I was sitting. "Gods, you're lucky you're not any shorter, I could have gotten your throat…"

"I'm alright," I said, twisting to get up when a sharp pain lanced between my shoulders and I hunched back down, "No, nope…"

He suddenly held me in a bit closer, worriedly, and a hand gingerly at the base of my throat where and angry red welt was already starting to blossom. It made it a little harder to breathe, and not from the stinging ache…

No, I was painfully aware of his closeness now, inviting, a memory burning to the front of my mind when I smelt his skin… woodsy, pine and leather. No different than it had been, that one night. It made me reluctant to look at him.

"…Do you need anything?" he asked and I shook my head.

"Just to cast, I'll be fine," I said, fully expecting him to let me go - true he edged back, but his hand was still at my back, on my shoulders. I flexed my fingers and summoned a healing spell, the orange light washing around me and the pain bleeding away from my chest. I drew in a grateful breath and Vilkas helped me to my feet, awkwardly brushing me off.

"That… may have to do it for today," he said, withdrawing from my coldness. I only nodded, but a tension hung in the air.

Wishful thinking, Lyri…

In that moment it seemed he might say something, when a voice called out from around the side of Jorrvaskr and Aela came into view, striding over with a small, rare smile. Vilkas pulled back from me sharply.

"Lyrielle?" she waved, "I found someone in the markets for you."

And from behind her, my brother burst around the side of Jorrvaskr, flanked by some familiar Breton friends from Riften. He spied me across the courtyard, grinned and threw his arms open.

"Ellie!"

I grinned back, hurrying over to welcome the embrace. He pulled me in with a hard thud, squeezing the air from my lungs and lifting me a little. Tristane did nothing by halves, including a hug.

"It's good to see you Triss," I said warmly, feeling a pure joy wash over me at being back in the arms of family.

When I said my brother and I were as different as day and night, it is in reality surprisingly true; where he was vibrant and social, I tended to be quieter and serious. He was restless and active where I found peace in reading and writing. And even where we were similar in appearances, we were different. He was a feather taller than me (which was not hard to be), and his hair was bright, fiery red where mind was the colour of blood, his curls neat where mine were wild, his blue eyes sunny, mine stormy, his skin pale like sunlight, mine cold like moonlight.

We both tended to freckle.

"Oh, oh, who's been giving you flowers then?" He said, pulling me back and looking into my half-braid and loose curls. He looked from Vilkas to Aela teasingly, "The Noble Companions? Feel free to stick a flower in my sister's hair, but if you want to stick her anything else you'll have to marry her first!"

"Tristane!" I yelped sharply and my cheeks burned - he'd not been here a minute and already tormented me. Aela cracked a low snigger and Vilkas audibly choked on his chuckle;

"Good to see you again," he said dryly, giving me a sideward glance; Tristane liberally shook his hand then looked over his shoulder to his travelling companions.

"See Vex? Even Ellie's gotten into the spirit."

"Tristane I am well in my spirits," Vex said, swinging a bottle of wine from her fingers pointedly. It was strange seeing her in the light of day; her lovely blonde hair seemed silver instead of gold. She almost smiled at me, reaching out and shaking my hand.

"It's good to see you Lyrielle."

"You too Vex - hello Delvin," I greeted as the gruff man came forward to shake my hand, hard.

"Lyrielle! It's been too long," He carefully stuck a twig of lavender into my braid. From there I made the formal introductions, though Vex seemed a touch standoffish to the Companions. Delvin did what he could to be more inviting.

"I'd better see you all down at the Bannered Mare this evening," he offered.

"I'm sure my brother won't let us have a choice in the matter."

"Speaking of, we'd best get down and secure a room," Vex said, glancing about at the watchful eyes of the Companions; she probably didn't want her face too easily remembered, "Till later, Lyrielle."

"Till then."

Aela then encouraged Vilkas away to leave me some catch-up time with my brother, and soon, he and I were alone in the courtyard. Seeing the doors to Jorrvaskr close I frowned, turning and glaring at him. He blinked back at me innocently.

"…What?"

"So, is this Guild business?" I said stonily and my brother winked at me, throwing an arm over my shoulders.

"Ah, Guild business, family business, fun business! Can I help the stars aligning?" he jeered and I prodded him in the ribs.

"What are you planning?"

"Why are you worried?"

"I just prefer to be in the loop, if you're going to be getting yourself into a situation."

"I won't be."

I grabbed his ear and twisted it, "Tristane Ashwood you tell me what's going on right now."

"Fine! Fine! Gods you're a miserable old thing for six and twenty…"

I released him and he rubbed the side of his head, "I did just want to come up here and celebrate Flower Day…" he lowered his voice and leant in, tone suddenly changing as he swapped out Tristane Ashwood for The Guildmaster:

"But, Delvin has something to take care of up in Dragonsreach, nothing too devious, just fudging some papers to get a certain someone out of a prison cell."

"And what, you're throwing a festival to cover your tracks?"

He only winked.

I will clarify now, reader, my brother was living on the wrong side of the law. Now, I myself had been (and I suppose still am) a member of the Thieves Guild, back in my adolescence and days of poverty and struggle; Destiny of course had other plans for me. My brother on the other hand was one of the most talented and daring thieves and agents I'd ever come across. You wouldn't think it by the way he acted, but that was perhaps his trick; I'd been his sister long enough to know one only ever sees what Tristane lets them see.

Where I bore my troubles openly and frankly, he concealed his under laughter and jokes.

"You cannot stay mad at me Ellie-Belly," he teased, pulling something from his satchel, "I have a present."

I snorted a laugh, taking the soft parcel wrapped in brown wax paper. I gently uncovered it, giving a soft smile at the contents, deep purple and lavender fabric.

"It's not enchanted; since you can do that better than anyone it seemed stupid to."

"I can't remember the last proper gown I owned," I said smilingly, then reached over to peck his cheek. "Thank you Triss, it's lovely."

He chuckled, "You haven't even tried it on yet. Best you wear it tonight."

They certainly started early.

By the time I made it down to the Bannered Mare, Vex was still at the wine, and the tavern was surprisingly crowded, many out-of-towners visiting. I'd learned later it was thanks to Tristane putting the word out about celebrations and gatherings in Whiterun; his bard friends, mead merchants, jugglers… The Khajit from the travelling caravans were permitted, for once, to come into the city too, laughing with the bards and teaching them exotic songs, dancing their sinuous dances.

For the most part I sat tucked into a corner table, enjoying my wine, the dances, and the roguish and bawdy jokes my brother insisted on telling anyone who'd listen. The Companions filtered in too, and it was not long before the Bards barraged them to retell their stories.

As the crowd became rowdy, laughing about the Flower Day tradition, my hair began collecting more stray blossoms and soon every woman in the tavern was starting to sprout gardens from their heads. The noise and joy and madness only began to grow with the evening, people getting drunker, and crowds getting thicker as merchants closed up shop and came to see the commotion. And almost every Breton in the place was starting to get a little mad…

That was when Vex clambered up onto a bench after much pestering from Tristane, swinging her goblet around, and the bard strummed out a tune for her to sing to:

"Well, Johnny be fine and Johnny be fair he wants me for to wed,
And I would marry Johnny, but my father up and said,
"I'm sorry to tell you daughter what your mother never knew
But Johnny he's a son of mine, so he's kin to you!"

I blurted a laugh into my wine as the crowd cheered and laughed; next to me Torvar and Aela yelled and hammered their tankards onto the table. Vex rallied and continued on-

"Well, Willie be fine and Willie be fair he wants me for to wed
And I would marry Willie, but my father up and said,
I'm sorry to tell you daughter what your mother never knew
But Willie he's a son of mine, so he's kin to you.

Well, Jimmy be fine and Jimmy be fair he wants me for to wed
And I would marry Jimmy, but my father up and said,
I'm sorry to tell you daughter what your mother never knew
But Jimmy he's a son of mine, so he's kin to you.

Well, never was there a girl so sad and sorry as I was
The boys in town, they're all my kin and my father is the cause!
I will not be contented for to die a single miss
I think I'll go to mother and complain to her of this."

I was laughing too much at the old song not to join in, raising my goblet at the end-

"Well, daughter, haven't I taught you to forgive and to forget?
So, your father sowed his oats, oh still you should not fret.
Your father may be the cause of all the boys in town, but still…
He's not the one who sired you so marry who you will."

The crowd roared with laughter, and a few burly men came and hoisted Vex onto their shoulders. A few began cheering for a more familiar tune than the cheeky Breton song, all bellowing along when a Bard struck out his next tune:

"Ohhh…. The once was a hero named Ragnar the Red
Who came riding to Whiterun from ol' Rorikstead-"

Night fell thickly, and the round of the marketplace was being lit with lanterns as the noise and party spilled out of the front of the Bannered Mare when it was too crowded for dancing; though the night air was crisp, fires burned from braziers and warmed the night around us. On the covered well in the centre of the markets, two bards were drumming their drums and singing their songs to the sound of raucous, drunken laughter.

Flower Day may not have been a Nord holiday, or even a prominent Breton one, but it was good to see the city waking up, dancing, laughing, shaking off years of hardship even for just the one night. Many of the young ladies danced around the well to the music, little girls with daisies in their hair holding hands and running about their skirts, squealing.

And in the thick of it all, Tristane was dancing with the girls, singing with the bards and joking with Jon Battle-Born, who was relishing every moment. He had the heart of a true romantic, that man, secretly pinning a red flower into Olfina Grey-Mane's silvery hair. Belethor was cheekily grabbing at the girls - he was deep in his cups with Torvar. Aela was drinking away and laughing with Adrianne, and Farkas was sitting with two pretty maids, one on each knee who were unashamedly fawning over him. It astounded me how easily they would be won over by big muscles and a few impressive scars, that he was the twin they'd prefer. Not that Vilkas' brooding manner, or lack of civility, or his arrogance was particularly endearing… But he was thoughtful; he had a powerful mind and where I came from that was prized higher than being built like a bear.

It was then I spied the man himself; he sat on the steps to the Bannered Mare, watching the dancers with some amusement. Vilkas at a festival; it didn't seem very fitting. Though out of his armour for once and in a dark blue tunic he still wore his warpaint. Ludicrous man.

Ysloda spun by him then in the middle of a dance. She smiled her pretty smile at him, swishing her skirts and beckoning him to dance with her and I felt my stomach bubble hotly. Vilkas smiled and quickly shook his head, no. She beckoned him a second time, even trying for his hand - my guess however, was that Vilkas hadn't ever learned to dance.

Eventually she waltzed off, disappointed. I could not deny the relief that trickled through me, another of those sensations I worried over and tried to crush. When Vilkas and I had first known each other we were different; I was unsure, young, and he was… well, a bully. Of course, the years have a way of changing people. Or perhaps we simply understood each other better. It took time, becoming the close friends that we were… especially after our history. It wasn't worth jeopardising that friendship.

So I carried over a bottle of mead, offering a smile.

"Enjoying the display?" I asked lightly; he glanced up as I approached, eyebrows lifting when he looked me over. I halted. "…What?"

"Nothing, nothing…" he said quickly, actually standing, "…I can't remember the last time I saw you in a dress."

"I- oh…" I glanced down at my garb, having to give a small chuckle. "Well, don't get used to it. It's pretty enough but I'll go mad washing hems and petticoats day in and out."

Privately, I enjoyed the feeling of my dress swish about my ankles; certainly not something I'd put up with every day. But for tonight… I could indulge a little. And it had been made for me after all, a gift; surely it would be rude to let it moulder away in the bottom of a chest. The underdress and petticoats were a soft lavender cotton, the overdress, warmer and sturdier wool, but dyed (rather expensively I imagine) to purple and laced up tightly at the front, a little silver embroidery around the hems and sleeves. Yes, this was the first fine gown I deigned to wear, since the usual high fashions in the courts of Skyrim looked dreadful on my petite frame.

Vilkas actually stood to the side a little and offered for me to sit, the action causing me to snort out a laugh at him. He frowned.

"What?"

"The effect of skirts on the minds of men," I chuckled, taking my seat, "You're actually treating me like a lady."

As if to prove a point, he slouched back down next to me and took the mead bottle from my fingers, taking a mouthful for himself.

"Never thought you one for festivals," he commented, pausing when he looked me up and down again. I nodded, watching the dancers laugh and trip their way over the cobblestones. With the flowering gardens around the buildings, warm firelight with torch bugs floating about them, an old childhood memory itched in the back of my mind.

"I like the Moon Festival better, it's closer to my Name Day," I said with a smile, then added, "It's nice to be reminded of Highrock sometimes. Not that I can remember much at all, but… so much darkness in the world these past few years, it's good just to see people smiling."

I felt Vilkas nodding, "There has been turmoil… but I suppose I should thank your brother for bringing this festival here. The city needed it."

I narrowed my eyes. "He's up to no good."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he always is. That man goes off and finds trouble wherever he can."

Vilkas chuckled then, "So do you."

"No. Trouble finds me," I corrected with a wry smile. We sat in silence for a moment watching the dancers when I felt Vilkas brush a lock of hair behind my ear, and the stem of a flower brushing my scalp. I couldn't hide the surprised smile, fingertips coming up and touching the nightshade blossom he'd tucked in my hair.

"Thankyou," I said quietly, glad the darkness could hide the colour coming to my cheeks.

"…I didn't just threaten to kill you did I?" Vilkas asked after a moment and I blurted out with a laugh.

"I'm fairly sure that's only if you're in the Dark Brotherhood."

My fingers brushed the flower again, before I quickly pulled my hands away in case I wilted it. That was unlike him, to be sure, a generous concession for the festival…

Tension grew between us as the silence began to stretch; it felt warm sitting by him, and I recognised the urge to shift closer still… he, of course, remained stoic and unreadable as ever.

"…Are you as lively a dancer as your brother?" he eventually asked when a rather drunken Tristane went by, twirling a laughing girl around him, hands a little too low on her back. I snorted and shook my head.

"On the rare occasion? I'm too worried about where my feet are going to be lively about it." The sudden thought of my hand in his, of being held close and turned about the square made me shift and sway a little.

"…Why? Do you dance?"

"No."

Another short silence, then he nudged me and added, "But, I'd be glad to watch you."

"…It's this damned skirt, isn't it?" I asked him, starting to shake my head, "First you'd give up your seat, then have me dancing to a flute, before you know it you'll be sending me out into the fields to sing at the butterflies."

Then to prove my point, I drank deeply from the bottle of mead, but when I looked back at him, he was chuckling and smiling at me, one I couldn't help but return.

"Well," he said, reaching out and adjusting the flower in my hair, "You're not making it easy on me."

I stilled when I felt his fingertips lingering on my cheek, my heart picking up pace. The moment hung in the air when I finally caught his eyes, strange and silvery-blue like Secunda.

"…Vil-"

A loud bell suddenly chimed from one of the guard towers, his attention snapped away, and then mine. He was frowning, as another bell from another tower began ringing, and Whiterun guards began moving down the steps from the Wind District, pushing their way into the oblivious, drunken dancers.

"Everyone! Back to your homes! Move along! Now! Everyone get moving!"

"Come on now, join the celebrations!" Tristane jeered at one of them, swinging a mug of ale in his direction when the guard suddenly smacked it out of his hands. Vilkas abruptly stood, grabbing my wrist and I got to my feet, hairs prickling on the back of my neck. I reached out to try and speak with an Imperial soldier who was pushing through the crowds but he rebuffed me-

"Get back to your home miss!"

"What's happening?" I pressed but more angry people were being broken up and a drunken dancer stumbled into me, Vilkas pulling me back and out of the way.

"They may not think it's right, so soon after the Emperors death?" he voiced, but even then he shook his head. There was a frenetic edge to them all, panicked, rushed.

"No, something's not right… Tristane!" I shouted over the crowd that was starting to get violent at their party being spoiled; Tristane was up on the well still swinging a bottle around, shouting a guard and I began shoving my way through the inebriated dancers, Vilkas still holding my wrist tightly and helping move people from my path.

"Triss!" I shouted, "Tristane come on-"

Someone in the crowd gave a sudden shriek - the moment I turned the giant, burning stone dropped from the sky and crashed down into Belethor's shop, obliterating the building and engulfing it in flames.

The market square exploded into screams and chaos.