AUTHOR'S NOTE: Back from hiatus...for good this time :)! Special thanks to MirwenAnareth, my wonderful beta, who looked over this chapter!

It was early morning in Jorrvaskr, and Amina could barely contain a yawn. However, sleep had to leave way for more important things, and so she was standing in the entrance hall in her shift, a blanket over her shoulders to preserve her modesty, and a dagger strapped to her thigh – so to say, in her usual night attire. Vilkas looked at her disapprovingly when she entered, muttering something about "reckless" and "what if things go awry?" but Amina smiled at him and ignored him. After this, she was going to return to bed, and she wasn't going to bother strapping in her armour again, not over her still healing bruises.

Vilkas cut the ropes binding Brenton's hands in one swift movement and lodged the knife in the nearby table. Brenton rubbed his wrists and grimaced, trying to soothe the tender flesh where the ropes cut in. Farkas wasn't paying them any mind, just staring intently at the door as if the gods themselves might start walking through it.

"Where is my sister?"

"Coming any minute now. We sent word through Danica Pure-Spring, and she told us that she would come with the dawn," Vilkas answered, eyeing Brenton warily, one hand on the hilt of his sword.

Brenton took a deep breath. "Listen, before she comes, I feel like I… erm, owe you."

"Owe us? If it weren't for Windborn over there I would've wrung your neck with my own hands, kid," Vilkas growled. Farkas chuckled from the corner he was sitting in.

Brenton put his hands up placatingly. "I know, so… I want to make things right. I have some information you might want."

"Kid, you didn't know your own folks were butchers. As far as I'm concerned, you're unreliable and don't know information from your own ass."

Brenton grit his teeth and clenched his fists to his sides, but pressed on: "I know where the rest of the shards are. Or, well, the ones that aren't with the Silver Hand anymore."

"Oh?" Vilkas asked, one eyebrow raised.

"They're in Riften with a friend of mine. She…" he looked away and blushed a bright scarlet "…stole them for the fun of it. She never told me why she stole them and left, but after seeing what happened to your friend, I can guess why. You want your Wuuthrad restored? Talking with her is the only way."

"Even if we believe you, will she give them to us?" Farkas asked, interest piqued.

Brenton rubbed the back of his head, blushing even harder. "She owes me a favour." He took out a ring from his front pocket, a tiny, delicate trinket with sparkling gems and a patina of dirt on it. "If you give her this, she'll know I'm cashing in the favour she promised. You wouldn't believe it when you first saw her, but she keeps her promises."

Amina took the ring and looked at it, gingerly fingering it. "This is a very expensive ring…"

He shrugged, still blushing furiously. "Ask for Tuiwen in Riften. Wood elf, tiny, dark skinned with short hair and a very big mouth." He chuckled. "You'll probably find her either brawling in a bar or trying to steal your coin. Maybe both at once."

"It's worth a try, I think. Kodlak would definitely want to hear about this," Amina said.

"Agreed."

Vilkas groaned. "We'll speak to Kodlak first before we go on a wild goose chase across Skyrim."

"Wuuthrad is much slower than geese," Farkas quipped, and Amina stifled a laugh under Vilkas's withering glare.

The creak of wood on wood.

Everyone turned their heads to the doors when they opened, slowly, steadily. Amina turned to look at Farkas and she saw him look at the silhouette of the girl in the doorway as if he was seeing Dibella herself, wide-eyed and awestruck, the blue in his eyes shining in the dawn light, his fingers fussing with each other, mouth ajar. And then the moment passed, his face closed off again, mouth in a line, gaze steady, arms crossed over his chest. But for a moment Amina thought she saw him as he really was, and she felt sorry for him.

Bree ran to her brother, almost skidding on the floor, and jumped into his arms, half-sobbing. She kissed his cheeks and his brow and held his face in her hands, giving him a once-over for scratches and injuries.

"I'm fine, sister." He smiled at her, and she smiled back… and then slapped him. Farkas cringed. Brenton smiled and hugged his sister again.

"You big oaf! You had me worried sick, you traitorous little cockroach!" she yelled into his chest, pounding him with fists and slaps as she struggled into his arms, and then collapsing into a fit of sobs against him. Brenton gently stroked her hair, shushing her gently, asking for her forgiveness in her ear.

'Ohhhh, no, no…" she said, wiggling out of his arms. "Don't you think you are forgiven! We will talk later… I promise you."

-xxxx-

"Mother, stop fussing, I beg of you," Amina pleaded, trying to extract herself from her mother's clutches, who tutted at her knotted hair and generally disheveled appearance. The older woman shushed her and wiped the grime off her face with a wet rag, rubbing particularly hard on Amina's cheeks until they were as ruddy as a ripe apple.

"So, that lad you brought with you – you're setting him up in poor ol' Lund's hut?"

Amina shrugged. "The thing's been abandoned for a couple of years now, might as well. Besides, seeing Bree living in such squalor broke Farkas' heart twice over."

"So you've reunited the lass with her brother and then… what?"

"Don't know, really. Brenton said he already found work at the farms nearby, so he'll make a living, and I've already spoken with Mralki and asked him—"

"More like begged and pleaded." Her mother rolled her eyes.

"Fine, begged and pleaded, to get Bree to be a serving girl. And he needed one too. Ever since I've been gone, the table's been gathering dust for lack of someone to wipe them. And the dishes! Ugh, Mralki does a horrible job at them, I could half-weep. To think I spent so much time wiping on them only to have them end up like this."

Amina's mother twisted her nose a bit "True, Frostfruit's in dire need of a feminine touch ever since you left. But you have to admit all that hard work did you good, and Erik as well. Instilled discipline."

Amina nodded. "I would've never admitted it when I left, but yeah. Ever since training with Vilkas, I've started to appreciate repetition and menial tasks. He always says that if you put one small movement next to another, and then another, then you have a move, and the move becomes a strike, a dance in battle…"

"My, my, girl, your eyes practically shine with hero worship for the man. Are you sure you're not in love?" she teased.

"He won't have me. He's too stubborn. And I'm sick of our will they, won't they, so I've told him to either quit it or make good on his thoughts towards me." She shrugged, and broke eye contact. "I guess he chose not to bother."

Her mother took her chin in her hand, and made her look in her eyes. "Now, you listen to me. Men are stupid. They don't know what they want, and even if they do, they'll torture themselves over it because they think suffering is noble and manly. So we women have to spell it out for them. I saw the way he looks at you, and I'm telling you: he's a dumbass." Amina giggled. "And so you have to press on, or else he'll miss out on the best thing he'll ever have because of his stupidity. Just like your father almost did." She sniffled. "Ah, to be young and dumb again…"

"Eh, I'll just give it time." Amina shrugged.

"But you won't give up?"

Amina gave her a rogueish smile. "Only if he wants me to."

They both fell into fits of giggles.

-xxxx-

Bree made her way through the field, her skirt catching on wheat, and she ran into her brother's arms. Only when he returned the embrace did she realize he was there, real, alive, not on some mad quest for revenge that had caused such a wedge between them over the years. With a soft sight, Brenton laid his cheek on the top her head, bending over to make up for the difference in height, and held her tight. She smelled like home, and she was safe, and that was all that mattered.

"So this is home, huh?"

She smiled at him. "It's lovely, isn't it? And we'll make it our own very soon."

Brenton closed his eyes and felt at peace. He and Bree now had honest jobs, and he could leave his past behind…

He opened his eyes and looked up to see the glare of one of the werewolf brothers that carted him through the countryside to the small village – Farkas? He couldn't quite remember his name, but then again, he rarely could remember names in general.

"Oh, I forgot something!" Amina exclaimed, and bounced back to the hut before Vilkas could do anything more than arch an eyebrow. However, Vilkas who saw her fidgeting and how she touched her coin purse, the widening of her eyes, the cogs turning in her head, knew fully well what she wanted to do.

She opened the door and slid inside, Brenton and Bree looking at her curiously.

"Bree, a word? I forgot to tell you something."

However, few words were passed, and in the corner of the hut Amina slid into Bree's warm hands a heaving pouch filled with coin—" to start your new life with."

"Oh, I couldn't…"

"Please, Bree. I am a coin hoarder. I steal from the dead, loot from my enemies and if it's not stuck to the wall or the floor of a dungeon and it's shiny, I will take it for myself. It's about time I started giving some of my stash away."

"But you don't—"

"Look particularly rich? True, but do I need to? I already have everything I want. My horde is just for, y'know, rainy days, random acts of charity, helping people…"

Bree's eyes filled with tears and she hugged Amina tightly. Amina settled her head on the girl's shoulder and smiled.

All was well in the world. Second chances worked. People were intrinsically good. Redemption was possible for everyone. And Amina felt like all that, and more – as if, when she opened the door and left the siblings with their new futures, Skyrim unfolded before her like a map, and snaked across it was a sea of possibilities.

She smiled and settled her arms in the crooks of the wolf brothers' elbows.

-xx-

"Dear Farkas,

I would first like to apologize for my reaction at finding out what you and the rest of the Companions… are. You have to understand, given my upbringing, that it was quite a shock to me. Not to say my visceral reaction was graceful, or even warranted, but I'd like to think that it was at least understandable.

I'd like to have a fresh start. Get back to having talks over a block of cheese during the moonlit nights, making you flower crowns and having you sing those warrior songs of yours. But of course that can't happen, as now… well.

But I would still love to talk to you, perhaps… I don't know. I just hope you'll write back. I don't know how to apologize very well, despite me saying 'sorry' all the time for lesser offences than the one I gave you and your shield-brothers and sisters. But it seems saying sorry for the small things doesn't train you for saying sorry for the important ones.

I was wrong to have judged you so and tried to get away from you. You all were like family, and I shunned you.

Please write back, and send Tilma my regards. Tell her I'll bring her a kitten yet, as I promised once. And for sure a handful of Tundra Cotton when I visit next time.

Your friend,

Bree

PS: My brother sends you his regards, and also reminds you to visit his friend in Riften. He won't tell me what for, of course, but he said you and your brother will understand.

PPS: I have half a mind this friend was not just a friend, but he won't tell me anything. Could you please find out?"

-xxxx-

The corset of the dress cut the air off from her lungs, and she was tripping over the skirts of her outfit every couple of minutes. Her scalp itched from the complicated braiding of her hair-do, and her face felt caked with whatever powder Delphine covered it with. Her scar had been deftly covered, and when she looked in the hand mirror Delphine offered to her, she couldn't quite recognize herself. She was very uncomfortable. But it was all worth it if only to see Farkas and Vilkas dressed to the nines and posing as her "personal guard". She stifled a giggle and hid her face in the fluffy fur of her overcoat's collar.

She gave the high elf guard at the door her invitation, and he regaled her with a small inclination of his head and a motion to enter. After stepping over the threshold, with the huge engraved doors closing behind her, she felt as if she was caught in a pocket of summer, as if she stepped in another place entirely, beyond Skyrim and everything it meant.

The ceiling was tall and gilded and from it hung jeweled candelabra whose reflections bathed the whole room in sparks and shimmers. The light from the tall windows caught on them and created a kaleidoscope of colours whose pattern changed with the movement of the guests and the shadows from the trees outside. The walls seemed to move, all blinding white with a wallpaper with vines and leaves snaking around like a sea of foliage – as you moved your eyes, so did the shine of the golden foil they were decorated with, and the whole room seemed to breathe, alive with the movements of the people within. The carpeting was so lush that she felt as if she was stepping on grass, not fabric, stretched thin across the wooden floors, which shone like precious metal themselves, polished to perfection. In the corners, potted plants the likes she'd never seen filled the room with a heavy scent that seemed to cling to her skin and fill her lungs until she would think that it was the only smell she'd ever known in her life. She looked around in wonder at the room, as Farkas did the same, not hiding the awe on his face, while Vilkas started straight ahead, perfectly in character, when—

"I don't believe we've met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador in Skyrim; but of course I am sure you already know that."

Amina curtsied while Vilkas and Farkas bent stiffly at the waist. "I am Haermina of Solitude, pleased to make your acquaintance."

"But your accent is southern, is it not?"

Amina could feel a bead of nervous sweat slide down the back of her neck. "I'm afraid my accent betrays my status, my lady. My clan is yet very new in its wealth, and we are still acquiring ourselves with all which that entails. Unfortunately, as you can see, tongues do not care much for changes of scenery and fortune."

Elenwen regaled her with a subtle smirk, amusement playing in her eyes. "How quaint. Delightful, really. And what brings you to this party?"

All or nothing, Amina thought. "Permission to betray my humble origins once more, milady?"

"By all means."

"Then I will allow myself some honesty, if only to amuse you – it's a visit of interest, milady. As you well know, Skyrim's power struggles are at an all time high, which means that families newly-found in import, as mine, must cultivate as many ties as possible, which includes going to more parties than I'd care to and honeying my tongue as much as possible."

Elenwen laughed. "My, there's very few people who afford to be so honest with me. You may not have the manners yet, Haermina, but might just fit with the nobles here yet."

Amina was not quite sure if that was a compliment or not.

"Please, enjoy the hospitalities of the Embassy. We'll have to get better acquainted later, but alas, duty calls. I am afraid your brethren is not as honest as you are, but nonetheless just as amusing. Please, enjoy yourself." Elenwen tipped her glass to Amina and glided to the other side of the room, towards some Altmer nobles and their Northern counterparts. And Amina still did not know whether the woman was insulting her or complimenting her.

Vilkas smirked and whispered in her ear: "You're a very good actress."

"I am pissing my pants in fear at being discovered. Spare me the compliments until we're out of here and unharmed."

"Out? Sure. Unharmed? I doubt it, knowing you."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she hissed, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Shut up and mingle."

And so Amina did. She finally settled in a nicely paced conversation with a Nord noble woman from Solitude, who she learned was named Valka, and who was supposed to be soon betrothed to an Altmer noble as part of some sort of an alliance. She seemed particularly enamored with her prospective husband, and Amina found her obvious femininity and naiveté a little disconcerting. She looked over at the young woman, at her ivory skin and red hair and blue eyes, and wondered if perhaps she would have been quite the same had she been born noble and with responsibilities other than play at the farm fields.

Amina followed Vilkas with her gaze, from the center of the hall towards Malborn, who was serving wine and fine liquors from Alinor. He bent over and whispered something in the elf's ear, and Malborn smirked and handed him a bottle of solid Northern mead.

"My, my…" the noble lady she was chatting with whispered, having caught her gaze, "Your guard? How naughty of you. But he is a very fine… specimen. Still, how utterly scandalous!"

"I – well, I – that's not—" Amina stammered, but the lady put a hand on her arm and smiled conspiratorially at her. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me. But myself? I prefer the guardsmen…" she nodded towards a tall Altmer in the corner, then continued, "…they always rise up to attention when needed."

Amina blushed, and then both women erupted in furious giggles. ***

A man in furs and lots of jewelry passed them, and Valka curled her lip in disgust.

"Ugh, Erikur. You stay far away from that one if you want your modesty intact and your unmentionables untouched. That man is an incredible sleaze, and has wandering hands. Not to mention that since you're so new here you won't be able to cause a fuss without Erikur dragging your family's name through dirt. I hate that man."

"You've had to deal with him?"

Valka bristled. "No, not me, my family's too important, and my brother is a general in the Imperial Army. He's brave only with women who can't fight back, politically or otherwise… like that poor serving girl over there," she said, and motioned with her head to a Bosmeri woman serving drinks, whom Erikur had been following around.

The serving girl was trying to avoid Erikur, but he kept stalking her, cornering her, ignoring her excuses that she had to go back to work. Amina could see the cower in the woman's eyes, the fear. She clenched her fists.

"What scum."

Valka nodded and took a sip of her wine. "Unfortunately, there's nothing we can do about it. Not at this party, at least. And he's the thane of Solitude too, might I add, so there's no getting rid of him… believe me, I tried. I pulled strings, spoke with my father, cozied up to Elisif, to Elenwen, but there's no taking this worm out the apple and I've exhausted all of my options." She sighed and put the wine down. "Excuse me while I go save that poor girl," she whispered, and strut towards Erikur. She smiled gently at him, and Amina could see no sign of her former disdain for him. Valka's whole body language changed, and Amina thought that it was as if she was seeing another person. Valka gently steered Erikur away from the serving girl, and Amina could hear her whisper something about politics.

'So these are the games the nobility play among themselves…' she told herself.

She saw Vilkas leaning against a pillar and a wicked idea sprung into her head. If they were going to eventually have to create a distraction, why not create it in style? She walked towards him, and beckoned him to bend over so she could whisper in his ear. The moment her breath brushed his earlobe, she noticed his skin rising up in goosebumps.

"See that guy over there?" Amina smirked. "Big furry coat, even bigger mouth? Trailing the serving girl?"

Vilkas hummed as a yes, so Amina continued: "He's trouble, and if we could stir up shit and create a diversion which leaves him with a bruised eye, I'd be deeply grateful."

Vilkas arched an eyebrow, but proper to his fake station, only answered: "Of course, my lady."

Amina answered louder. "Excellent. Now do bring me a glass of wine, servant." She saw Vilkas' eyes narrow subtly at her, the incognito equivalent of a glare, and she had to stifle a giggle. He was so easy to rile up. Farkas just arched an eyebrow and sighed.

"This whole thing. The coming and going? It's getting boring."

"What?"

"My brother won't do it. You won't do it. Yet you do, and then dance around each other. It's frustrating. If I wanted to feel angry while watching people flirt I'd look more at the nobles."

Amina blushed. "Shut it, please. And keep your voice -down-."

"As you say, my lady."

Meanwhile, Vilkas was thinking on how he could make the scene he was supposed to cause more genuine. Should he trip and spill wine on the man's face while "accidentally" letting the goblet fall and bruise him? Nah, too simple. Should he cause a brawl in the middle of the party? Nah, might get him in chains and Amina one less bodyguard, endangering their mission. He saw the serving girl and – aha!

He pushed his hair out of his eyes, smoothing it back, and sauntered towards her. If he read the noble's character well, it would piss him right off to have someone he perceived of a lesser stature encroach on 'his' territory… and Vilkas could exploit that.

He made the serving girl laugh, her eyes twinkle. He joked and flirted and flattered and made her blush, and pushed back a strand of hair from her face – and then, exactly as predicted, Erikur's face turned as red as a tomato.

"Excuse me," Erikur said, and Vilkas ignored him, just to add a bit more spice to the drama they were about to cause. The serving girl looked nervous and shifty-eyed.

"Excuse me," Eirkur repeated.

"You are excused," Vilkas quipped.

"H-how dare you?!"

A few smart aleck remarks later had Erikur calling for the guards, the guards scoffing at Erikur for wanting to throw someone out for "being rude to his betters", as if they had nothing better to do, they were proud soldiers of Thalmor, this party was downright ridiculous, they should be out fighting smelly nords and wrestling cat-men into submission, and if he ever called on them again for such petty trifles, they were going to tell him where to stick it… Of course, every noble at the party was eavesdropping more or less subtly.

However, all came to a standstill when Elenwen noticed the commotion and marched from one end of the room to the other, her face pinched and lips drawn tight. This gave Amina a couple of moments to herself, so she quickly made her way towards the bar and signaled Malborn.

"This is your distraction? It's pathetic!"

"Shut up and let's sneak out, pointy-ears. We don't have much time until Elenwen gets everyone in line."

They made their way behind the bar and out into a small hallway filled with the scent of food. Amina's stomach grumbled, and Malborn raised an eyebrow.

"Your damn fault for not putting out some cookies or something."

"Altmer custom, they think it's disgraceful to eat before the main meal at a soirée. Only wine for those bastards, would explain why they're so cranky all the time."

They finally entered the kitchen, where a khajiit was busy making soup.

"Malborn! You're not supposed to bring guests into the kitchen!" she half-hissed.

"And you're not supposed to snort moon sugar to keep yourself on your toes when you're tired, but I won't tell if you won't."

The khajiit frowned. "Very well, go. But if you mess up my pots and pans…"

"Yeah, yeah, just mind your own business and we'll be fine," he muttered, and waved his hand dismissively at her. Amina and he made their way through yet another passage which lead to a heavy wooden door. Only his eyes visible in the dark, he stopped her and handed her a sword, a cloak and some servant's clothes.

"You'll have to be stealthy, as bloodshed will immediately cause a ruckus, and then game over. Pull the cloak over your face, don't let anyone see your hair," he arched an eyebrow, "since most elven women are not so dark, and most importantly, appear meek and everyone will assume you're just another serving girl. Elenwen goes through too many of them in fits of rage for the guards to remember them all." A pause, and then he muttered: "Impossible woman and her high standards, can't wait to see her fall from her damn high horse…"

Amina dressed quickly while he turned her back to her, trying to make as little noise as possible and not bump into any walls, pots, pans, or jars of mysterious ingredients that glowed in the dark in their translucent juices. She strapped the short sword to her thigh, parallel to the leg, concealed by the apron she was now wearing.

"Good luck," Malborn whispered. "Y'ffre knows you'll need it, else it'll be my head on a pike…" Then he continued: "In Elenwen's office there should be a trapdoor that will lead you out, it's her 'escape route' in case things go wrong. Don't know where the key is, so you'll have to ransack her office for it. I'll have your boys wait for you by the exit with horses."

"Anything else?"

Malborn handed her a small vial of Magnus's Blindness, more commonly known as "invisibility potion".

"This will last you only two minutes, so take it just near her office, get in, get out, and get far away from here before it wears off."

She nodded and set out to the door and into the brightly lit hallways of the elven embassy.

The hallway she passed through was tall, with large windows letting the sun through, and to her despair, no place with shadow to hide in. If a ray of light so much as hit her right and made her sword flicker in the sun, she'd be done for. She had the urge to hurry and half run past the placid guards who didn't as much as look at her, but she knew that doing so would give her away. To her luck, the guards seemed no different from any others she'd encountered in Whiterun or Riften or small towns – lulled into a sense of complacency and utterly inattentive, focused on their own bickering and with their hope of something interesting happening long since gone. She still held her apron firmly in her hands to keep it from moving too much.

Eventually she reached the other side of the embassy according to the small map she'd consulted earlier.

She took a gulp of the invisibility potion, and it fell like lead into the pit of her stomach. She extended her hands in front of her in awe and saw the skin ripple and shimmer, turning translucent, then transparent. If she tried hard, she could see the faint outline of her body.

She went out into a garden that seemed stuck in spring, with blooming flowers and snaking vines uncharacteristic of the season. The atemporality of that little corner of Skyrim made her shudder, and she felt that as beautiful as it was, it was also entirely unnatural. She could feel magic prickling at her skin, making the hair on her arms stand on end – she was sure it wasn't just to keep the roses blooming and the grass green; considering by the number of guards posted, she was close to Elenwen's office, and to her dismay, the place was probably riddled with magical traps.

And then she walked right into one.

As she walked past the threshold of the first stairway she felt the air around her ripple and shift, and her invisibility dropped from her like water.

"Get her!" one of the guards screamed, and then it was a flurry of golden armour and magic rushing towards her all at once.

"Fuck!" she cursed as she ran, unfastening her cloak as she went and tossing it in their faces. The guards stopped for a second, trying to disentangle themselves from the fabric, which ended in Amina having just the time she needed to take out her sword to deal with the rest.

"Ring the alarm!" another yelled, and his companion disappeared through the doorway and into the hallway Amina just emerged from.

"Fuck."

Amina quickly ran to the other door, the one leading to Elenwen's office, and tried to devise a plan on the run while the three remaining guards chased her, hurtling lightning at her heels and curses at her back.

And then the three of them fell.

"Aela!"

"Who else?" asked the figure perched on the embassy walls.

"How did you get here?"

"Kodlak figured you'd need a backup."

"Are you a sight for sore eyes, shield-sister!"

"Yes, yes, now go ransack that office before the other guards return. I can only delay them so much before they figure out their shields will save them from becoming pincushions."

Amina stormed into the office and looked quickly around. Light furniture, archways, more plants, gold, gold everywhere… aha! A desk.

She shuffled through official documents bearing Alinor's seal and Elenwen's signature until she reached a locked drawer.

"I don't have time for this!" she muttered, and hit the thin wooden drawer with the butt of her sword hilt, causing it to cave in on itself. She picked apart the wood pieces and started rifling through its contents until she finally reached what she was searching for: leather-bound folders, some in the common tongue and some in what seemed to be elvish, and they seemed to speak of the return of the dragons. Then some others on Delphine, Ulfric Stormcloak and some man named Esbern. And a key that would presumably lead downstairs into the dungeon and unlock that trapdoor Malborn mentioned… surely Elenwen wouldn't keep tortured prisoners there while she hosted a party?

Amina's theory on Elenwen's social graces was soon dismissed when she quietly made her way downstairs. She barely stopped herself from rounding the corner and being discovered when she heard voices:

"But, Rulindil, I need the money! I gave you enough information, I earned it! Etienne told you where that old man you're looking for is, he told me so himself."

"Silence! Do not presume, Gissur. You are most useful, but do not presume. We have other informants who are less... bothersome. You'll get the rest of your money when we confirm his story. As agreed."

"So he did talk! I knew it!"

"Everyone talks, in the end. Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it, if you ever want to see the rest of your payment."

"Can I... I could help you. He'd talk to me. He trusts me."

"You'd like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur? Shall we loosen his bonds and put you in a cell together? You can ask him anything you like, and see how he answers."

"No, no. I'll... I'll wait outside."

"Wise choice. Now do get out."

Amina held her breath while the informant walked out towards another exit, and the Thalmor agent got up from the desk he had been seated at and made his way downstairs, deeper into the dungeons, muttering something about insufferable fools and promises of bloodshed.

Amina took a small gulp of invisibility potion, enough to last her half a minute, and sneaked behind him. He suddenly stilled, but Amina gave him no time to think and impaled him on her short sword, right into his back and out from his chest. Blood gushed on the wall. Amina felt a bit queasy, but pulled the sword from his chest still and let him fall to the floor, gurgling.

She ran down the stairs, trying not to slide on the blood slowly making its way down, and came into the interrogation room, where an unconscious man was lying, bruised and battered.

"Oh for Oblivion's sake, Elenwen. This is just too storybook evil," she muttered, and grabbed the man and slung him around her shoulders like a sack of potatoes. Which was easier than it looked, because he was as thin as a rail and as light as a feather.

Amina found the trapdoor, settled the man down for a moment, and opened it. Unfortunately, stairs.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The man grunted in response. Amina put a hand on his forehead and felt that he was burning up.

"I know, I'm sorry, just a bit more and we're out. I promise."

He looked at her, barely able to open his eyes, his lids so swollen and bruised that they looked like two ripe plums. Amina squeezed his hand.

"Hi."

"Hello," he croaked.

"Think you can bear with me a moment while I get us out of here?"

He nodded weakly. Amina nodded back and hauled him again over her shoulders, taking great care as she went down the stairs so they wouldn't come barreling down. Luckily, there were no more guards for the whole length of the escape tunnel.

She felt as if she'd entered heaven itself when she exited the tunnel and came face to face with daylight. She gently let the man down, and he struggled on his two feet, still clinging to her, but more awake. He looked at the sun and started to tremble.

"Gods, I thought I'd never see the sky again. Thank you…"

Aela, Vilkas, Farkas and Malborn were waiting for her at the gate. Malborn looked worse for wear, with a black eye, various scrapes, and bruises in the shape of hands starting to form on his throat and arms.

"Shor's blood, Malborn, what happened to you?"

"Your damned lack of stealth skills did! Dragonborn my arse!"

"Get on a horse and shut it, elf," Aela quipped. "You knew what you signed up for when you started this."

Amina gingerly grabbed the elf's face, and he looked at her wide-eyed. "Let me have a look at you..."

"I'm so sorry…" she whispered. "I'll make good by you, I promise."

He smacked her hands away. "I'm not a damsel in distress. As your friend here said, I knew what I got into. Now less talk, more running away please. By the commotion inside the gates, we're nigh being discovered, and I'd rather not add to my impressive catalogue of bruises. Who's your new pal?"

"Elenwen's prisoner. We need to get him somewhere safe."

"By 'we' I assume you. I've had enough for one day, thank you very much."

Vilkas snorted and took the man from Amina's arms, helping him sit in the saddle, then getting up himself.

"I'll take care of him. Farkas, with Amina. Aela, take the elf. We'll meet back at Jorrvaskr. Take different paths, together we'll be more suspicious."

"Suggestions?" Aela asked.

"I'll go north; you take the poor man up to Solitude. The apothecary there owes me a favour for some rare ingredients I brought her once, she'll nurse him back to health. Aela, you go north-east. Get Malborn to Windhelm. Big elven population there, he won't even be noticed among the immigrants. And Farkas and Amina, you go home. Take care of each other."

-xx-

"Dear Bree,

you're forgiven. Sorry for the bad writing. Don't really write much. Prefer to talk, words are easier that way.

How is life in Rorikstead? Amina's mother is nice, you can ask her for help. Her father, not so. Threatened to cut Vilkas's manhood off. Like any other father, I guess. Understandable though.

Please don't tell Amina I've told you this.

Jorrvaskr's not as nice without you. Too quiet, food doesn't taste as good if it's not served by you. And Tilma gets lonely. I'll tell her about the kitten. Don't think the cat would like it much here, but maybe you'll find one weird enough.

Why Tundra Cotton? To stuff pillows?

I'll have Vilkas ask your brother's friend. He's better at finding out things than I am. I mostly listen, but that works only so much.

When are you coming to visit?

Yours,

Farkas"