Lydia left Breezehome that very evening without so much as a "Goodbye." She merely reminded Leif that she was sworn to him for life and, should the need arise, she would return. Leif looked rather sad; though utterly delighted myself, I dared not grin, and instead, I whispered inwardly: 'May that need never arise.'

  Courtney moved in the next morning, yet she disliked the place from the start, and, worst of all, she was lazy, just like me, and no better at cooking. Soon, my daddy's house—once neat and pretty—was full of dust and even nasty insects, and we began to dine at the Drunken Huntsman or buy our food from there. Leif suffered for it, poor man, for he disliked the fare, and to my astonishment, I found myself truly worried.

  Courtney, meanwhile, began to fray my nerves, just as she had back in Bravil's municipal penitentiary. Relentless, noisy, and cheeky, she tormented the old man, who could scarcely find quiet for his studies. For Leif, whom the townsfolk called the Sage, was a most learned Dunmer—an encyclopedist of our age—laboring upon a great tome titled The Chronicles of Tamriel. He let me rummage freely through his study, and I marveled at the new truths within: how differently the great events of Tamriel's recent history shone in his accounts compared to the tomes from my mother Alisanne's great library in the Dark Brotherhood headquarters in Bravil. My dear daddy was even glad to explain, answering all my foolish questions without hesitation. Thus, in those days of confinement, I came to learn much of Skyrim's economic and social matters, though I never ceased to feel a stranger in that northern province of the Empire.

  Still, I dared not walk the streets of Whiterun; Courtney, like Leif before her, warned me that Irileth still sought a "small, thin, golden-haired woman—one with unnaturally long hair." My beloved friend, however, struck soon upon a brilliant—and wickedly funny—idea. She convinced the girls of the Huntsman, and even a few townsfolk besides, to present themselves at Dragonsreach, each claiming either to be that woman or to have vital information about her.

  Ah, how I laugh even now, remembering it! Irileth and the earl's steward soon found themselves drowning in dossiers, filling them until the city's parchment stores ran dry. At last, it was that sharp and wary wizard Farengar who put a stop to their foolish zeal.

  In the end, they went before Earl Balgruuf and declared that the mysterious woman might well be dead, or perhaps never existed at all, or maybe had fled into another hold. The wiser course, they said, would be to send emissaries to the other earls and inquire.

  Then my daddy, in his old wisdom, suggested another stratagem: wigs, and—gods save me—shoes with towering heels, to make me taller. But before all that, he entered my name into the great register of evidence at Dragonsreach. As Balgruuf's Thane—oh yes, my daddy was a Thane—he had both the right and the means to do so. Thus, I became, in ink and parchment, Elsie Leifsdotter: his long-lost, just-found daughter.

  So, a new Elsie was born right then under the care of my daddy and my friend Courtney. True, there were witnesses—Danica, Claire, and the other girls from the Huntsman—but none ratted me to Irileth. And so I was free to wander the streets of Whiterun at last.

  What a city it was! Broad streets winding between timbered houses, merchants hawking their wares in the market square, the clang of hammers from the Skyforge above, and all the people so proud and serious. I saw much, learned more, and soon made acquaintances with folk whose ways differed greatly from mine.

  Ah, what a shock it was for me, walking Whiterun's markets! First thing I learned: here, merchants were nothing like those southern rats I knew so well. They named a price once, firm as stone, and that was that. No haggling, no sly winks, no sweet lies.

  I recall with a smile: one misty morning, I strolled the marketplace, light of heart and lighter of purse as always, and there I saw a plump farmer's wife selling cabbages. I remembered that my daddy enjoyed meals made from cabbage and pork meat, so I went to buy some. 'It's haggling time!' I thought, full of joy, because I really like to quarrel with the peddlers and merchants!

  So I smiled sweetly and said:

  "Four septims for ten cabbages? Come now, fair lady, surely you can do better. One, and we shake hands."

  Her eyes narrowed like a wolf's. "Four," she said.

  Hm, that was a warning; any trader from the south would say three and a half, or three and a quarter, or something like that. But, cheeky as always, I didn't take it seriously, and I dropped a gleaming septim and a few coppers on the counter while saying: "One and a half, and that's that! And I'll tell all the lads around your cabbages are the sweetest in Whiterun."

  I started to choose the vegetables and kept mumbling: "Or, mayhap... that they are all rotten..."

  Her hand shot out faster than an adder and caught mine! "Four!" she roared, and the whole market froze to watch. I think it's needless to say that the woman nearly drew her little dagger...

  Bewildered, I tried another smile. "Two?" I whispered, thinking charm might yet save me.

  By all the gods, know and unknown! She seized a cabbage and thrust it under my nose. "Four—or I'll make you eat it raw, stalk and all!"

  The crowd burst into laughter, and I—oh, I wanted to vanish into the ground! Never before had I been beaten in the noble art of bargaining, but that Nord matron crushed me as if I were a fly. I paid her four septims, head bowed, cheeks burning, and I learned a valuable lesson: Nords do not bargain!

  And the women—gods above, they baffled me most! They strode through the streets with shoulders squared, shouted prices louder than the men, carried hammers, and some even bore swords at their hips. Not soft nor silken, but proud and upright, like warriors even when selling onions. Strange, yes, but I liked it. There was no simpering nor false modesty here.

  Then came the drink. Nords drink like fish, all day and all night—but not as southerners do. For though they quaff tankard after tankard, they almost never fall in the mud or quarrel in the gutter. Somehow, they hold their liquor in check, as if drunkenness itself had learned fear of them. And heaven help the fool who starts a brawl in the market while drunk—that one will wake the next day naked in the snow outside the walls, if lucky!

  And above all, I saw that their nobles were not arrogant, distant idols. Balgruuf himself could be found in the market, speaking with the folk, listening to their gripes as though he were no more than their neighbor. No velvet curtains, no golden walls—just a man in a cloak, standing among his people. It was... unsettling, for one raised where lords hid behind high gates and spied on the world from gilded cages.

  One of the most intriguing souls I met was Ysolda—a clever and determined woman, who at first glance seemed gentle, even naive, but who ruled with an iron hand in Whiterun's shadowed corners. She trafficked in untaxed drink and, as I later learned, smuggled skooma into town, working in secret with the Khajiit caravans that roamed Skyrim's roads but were never allowed through its gates. Ah, Ysolda—she was no true Nord, at least not in mind! She respected the cat people as the sons of Skyrim never would, and she loved to trade, to haggle, to weigh every margin. That, I thought, made her almost one of my own.

  And through her, I was reunited at last with my beloved chosen kin. Ri'saad, Atahbah, Khayla, Ma'randru-jo—how their eyes widened when the so melodious syllables of Ta'agra spilled from my lips! They circled me at once, their tails flicking in disbelief, shy paws brushing my sleeves before they embraced me in earnest. The air around them was thick with spice and incense, with the faint musk of faraway deserts scorched by the sun. Their voices purred, their laughter rang like bells, and for the first time since leaving Cyrodiil, I felt at home.

  Ysolda watched, delighted, her shrewd mind already spinning at the opportunities this strange friendship might bring. But for me, there was no bargain, no coin. Only joy! My heart beat in unison with theirs, and I was no longer a stranger in Skyrim—I was sister to the Khajiit once more.

  I couldn't resist—I stayed with them that night. I asked Ysolda to tell Leif of my absence, and I gladly accepted the cats' invitation to share their modest, spice-laden meal. We sat in a circle by the campfire, and they spoke long into the night about their perilous twice-yearly journey to Bravil and back. Their voices trembled when they recalled the barren sands and their radiant cities of glass and light, which Ri'saad confessed he had not seen for more than ten years.

  Then Khayla, with a sly smile, drew forth a small bag of moon sugar, its glitter pale in the firelight. They asked me, gently but firmly, about my belonging—my love for the Khajiit people. But first they watched, silent and intent, as I performed the communion ritual. I behaved as any other sapient feline would, with grace and reverence, giving thanks to the Mother Cat for the sweet gift She bestowed upon her children.

  I felt Nocturnal chuckling maliciously deep into my mind, and whispering: "Ah, you worm! Once an animal, always an animal!" But I grinned, shut Her out, and reminded Her that She was the one who gave me this right. I love my Mistress with all my heart, but oh, how insufferable She can be at times!

  The Khajiit, though, were overjoyed. Ma'randru-jo even struck me playfully with his strong tail. They teased me for lacking one myself, until I bared my long, sharp, terrible claws—then their laughter froze, and their eyes grew wide, like Secunda in her fullest phase.

  To their questions, I answered with lies. I told the old tale of rich merchant parents in Leyawiin—ah, that Leyawiin story! How many times have I told it, I who have never set foot in that southern city? A Khajiit maid, a Khajiit groom... I spun it with a smile, knowing well that while the cats are adorable and kind, they are not entirely trustworthy.

  In the end, we were all intoxicated with moon sugar. Tangled together like kittens, purring and laughing, we finally drifted into sleep in one warm heap. Alas!

  The next morning, after parting with my new friends, who complained loudly that their bones ached from the cold and foggy dawn (truth be told, it was the moon sugar, for mine ached as well), I returned home, only to find a spectacle worth remembering.

  The common room was a battlefield: carpets rolled up, chairs overturned, and empty flagons and jars strewn everywhere. The hearth fire was dead, leaving the whole room chill and damp. Furious, I stormed into Courtney's chamber, and there they all were—Violet, Claire, Elanneh, even sweet Celestine—sprawled across beds and floor, sleeping wherever they had fallen.

  I shook them awake one by one, shouting a string of sweet words I had once learned on Bravil's docks from sailors loud and drunk. Bleary-eyed and hungover, they stirred and winced, while I scolded them mercilessly. After they woke up, I shoved them off the door ruthlessly, while swearing hard. At last, I seized Courtney's hand, and, glaring, demanded:

  "What's this? Are you mad?"

  She only laughed—her crystalline laughter like chimes mocking my fury. She embraced me and said:

  "You know, Elsie? I'm bored—utterly bored! With all of it: this pretty house, the old, kind-hearted bloke, even you!" She laughed harder, adding, "Even this quiet little city gnaws at my nerves. So I'm off to wander a bit! Perhaps northward, toward the icy lands you'll surely crave one day, after your precious Keeper!"

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  I stared at her, then answered coldly: "No... better try the road to Riften. I must go there first."

  Courtney grinned, bowing mockingly. "As you command, Your Highness! Consider it done. I'll be gone for some weeks, darling—so don't fret if I tarry."

  She slung her bow across her back, tore a crust of bread, washed it with ale, and with her long cloak snapping in the wind, she was gone—chuckling, wild, and radiant.

  "The wilderness calls her," I murmured, smiling despite myself.

  Then I went to check on Leif, but my poor daddy was dozing in his chair, weary from the night's clamor. I let him rest. And so, off I went—straight to the earl's barracks, to see Lydia, our dismissed housecarl.

  There, I found Lydia polishing her sword with the same grim devotion a priestess might give her altar. She looked up when I entered, and her dark brows arched ever so slightly.

  "Howdy, my dear Lydia! Look who the cat dragged into the lioness's den," I said, folding my arms.

  "Not lions, lady. Wolves," she answered dryly. "And you should be grateful they keep the streets clean."

  We stared at each other a moment, like cats circling, tails twitching, ready to pounce. Then Lydia sighed, sheathed her blade, and said: "You sent me away."

  I smiled sweetly. "Correction: I bargained you away. And Leif agreed, didn't he?"

  Her jaw tightened. "My duty is to him. Not to you. Not to your whims."

  I tapped my lips with a finger. "Ah, but now I live under his roof. And a daughter must be allowed to choose who watches her bedchamber door, no?"

  Her eyes flashed, but she kept her voice steady. "And yet the earl gave me to him, not to you. When trouble comes—and it always comes—I will be there. Whether you pout or not."

  "Oh, spare me your heroics, my dear housecarl!" I laughed. "You'd make a fine nanny with that face."

  That hit a nerve; her cheeks reddened. But instead of snapping, she leaned forward and whispered: "You may trick Leif now and then, and you may prance about like a big, golden cat, but remember this—if harm comes to him, I will not ask who caused it. I will act."

  For a heartbeat, the air between us was sharp as drawn steel. Then, unable to help myself, I grinned. "So serious! Very well, Lydia. Crawl back to Breezehome now. The need has arisen, and Leif is waiting for you. But remember—if you snore too loudly, I'll send you packing again."

  She muttered something very un-housecarl-like under her breath, and that was that. Our truce was sealed, not with a handshake, but with mutual irritation.

  And so, peace and quiet returned to my daddy's mansion. The house was once again clean and orderly, the nasty little bugs vanished overnight, and the meals became proper and nourishing for Leif's delicate health. When I look back now, with a mind somewhat more tempered, I know I was wrong to treat Lydia so harshly. She was brave, tireless, and faithful—above all, a great warrior, strong and unshaken, as true to her Nordic blood as the snows on peaks of the Velothi mountains. She only feared the Stranger she sensed within me and acted solely to guard my daddy, as she thought best.

  Over time, she came to see that I did, in truth, care for him, and she grew less cold toward me, even somewhat content with our life together under the same roof. Yet, friends we never were, and I regret that.

  In the following days, I plied Ysolda with questions about the Companions of Jorrvaskr—the Wild Warriors of Whiterun, as the townsfolk liked to call them. I longed to gain their friendship, for they were held in high respect throughout the city, and I was especially curious about Aela, whose fiery spirit and mane had struck me from the very first glance. Yet I did not dare barge into their mead hall unbidden or skulk about like a thief in the shadows, for I knew well enough that some among them bore the instincts and senses of wild beasts. I had felt it myself when I first met Farkas and Aela: skin-changers, shape-shifters—werewolves, in plain truth.

  So, after I had gathered what knowledge I could, I finally set my steps toward Jorrvaskr. And what happened that day was deemed worthy enough to find its way into the official writings of Dragonsreach itself. Please allow me to quote, my dear readers:

  "Yes, I remember very well the day Elsie, my friend and dear sister, first entered Jorrvaskr. When she asked where Kodlak might be found, Njada laughed and told her the ring dance was held elsewhere. Our little sibling was not entirely wrong in her jest, for Elsie had once been a dancer in another land, and she came dressed most finely that day. The others laughed like the fools they were, but I, feeling sympathy toward Elsie, took her to Kodlak.

  There, she asked our respected Harbinger if she might train in swordplay, even offering coin for lessons. But the old man, wise as ever, discerned a spark in her and proposed she be enlisted instead. Yet Vilkas and Skjor invoked the ancient tradition and demanded that she be put to the battle test first.

  So it was that she faced Vilkas in the courtyard: he in full armor, with sword and shield; she in her fine dress and high-heeled shoes, holding but a dagger in her left hand. The bout lasted longer than any expected. Elsie danced nimbly, dodging his strikes, changing her dagger from hand to hand with a swiftness hard to believe, and even landing a few telling blows. Yet in the end, Vilkas and Skjor declared she lacked the proper strength, that her fighting was unfair, and pressed Kodlak to refuse her entry.

  She departed in frustration, nearly in tears, muttering words I can still recall: 'Ah, men... they are such mutts!'"

  Conversations with Aela, the last Harbinger by Proventus Avenicci, steward.

  Yes, so I did. I wept and whispered on the streets, looking for all the world like a little golden-haired girl—or mayhap like a madwoman, depending on who was watching—for I was certain that a grave injustice had been done to me. In my opinion, I had won the duel with Vilkas; more, had he not been wearing armor, or had I truly wished it so, he would have been dead at my first strike. Or at least groaning on the ground, gravely wounded.

  I went home heavy with sorrow and told the whole tale to Leif, trying hard not to mind Lydia, who was smirking in a corner, barely containing her laughter. First, my daddy patted me on the head, then very politely asked our housecarl to 'go see why those children are shouting outside.' Once the harpy left, he went to the little kitchen shelf and brought back two croissants dipped in honey. Ah, how I loved them! He always kept some hidden away just for me.

  Then, while I busied myself with sticky fingers and a cup of milk, he said with quiet gravity: "You did not win, Elsie. In truth, you cheated. That is not how these brave people fight." He studied me in silence for a while, while I licked honey from my lips and pretended not to hear.

  At last, he asked, "And why would you wish to be a Companion, Elsie?"

  With my mouth full, I mumbled that I only wanted to be respected by the people of Whiterun.

  Leif laughed gently. "Respect, my darling, is a fleeting and unworthy coin. Today they will praise you, tomorrow they will curse you—often depending only on what they had for dinner." Then he told me at length about that famous order of northern warriors, their honor and their burdens.

  In the end, he nearly convinced me that I could never truly be one of them: too small, too light, unable to wield the heavy swords and armor that weighed even on their archers. Yet he smiled and added, "Still, perhaps there is a way to grant this wish of yours..."

  But there was no need for the costly solution my daddy had in mind. For the very next morning, Aela arrived—oddly radiant for her usual demeanor. Under the stunned gaze of Lydia, who could scarcely believe her eyes, Aela seized my hand in a firm shake and declared:

  "I convinced Skjor—I always do! You have the Circle's vote, since Farkas is fond of you." She grinned, paused, and added with a spark in her wolfish eyes: "But there is a catch. You must solve a task for us—the Bleak Falls Barrow matter."

  At this, my daddy started as though a wasp had stung him. "Aela, do you mean to kill her? You know full well that no sane soul in this realm dares set foot in that death-trap!"

  Aela's lips curled. "Leif, you are a cautious, even cowardly old man—and I don't hold that against you. You are wise and learned, and perhaps that counts for something in this city of strong but reckless oafs. But you have no right to keep Elsie from joining us. Above all, I believe she can do it. And I'll go with her."

  "You will go with her? What a sweet relief!" my daddy mocked, though his voice shook with anger. "No, girl, it is no relief at all! On the contrary! You could march with the whole of Jorrvaskr into that barrow and still not return. Heroes or not, you cannot fight what lurks there—it is neither dead nor living, and your bright steel will do little against it. And as for cowardice... mind your tongue! I saw more than my share of fierce battles, long ago, on the fiery slopes of Red Mountain."

  Aela's eyes narrowed. "The draugr... You mean the draugr, Leif!" She fell silent for a moment, then added with forced calm: "Still, we have no proof the ones who scared Riverwood came from Bleak Falls Barrow..."

  "No... they came from Sovngarde!" my daddy said with malice, and Aela's eyes lit up with fury.

  "Whoa—hold your horses! Wait and think, Aela," Leif continued, raising a hand. "That greedy fool, Lucan, stirred something dark and old inside that ancient tomb. Or whatever are those catacombs carved deep into the mountain... Or do you think the cutthroat he hired went there for archaeology, to study the ancient runes and burial rites? Their goal was plunder, plain and simple! And tell me, Aela—how many Nords in their right mind dare search the barrows for riches?"

  "None!" she shot back instantly. Then, with a sly smile, she added: "You are wise, Leif, I'll grant you that. Still, this is the only way for Elsie to join us..."

  "No! There is another way. I'll pay Kodlak well, and he will surely agree."

  "That won't work, old man!" Aela's grin widened. "Our Harbinger does need the coin—he dreams of repairing Jorrvaskr, of new arms and armor for all of us. And even Vilkas might find your offer acceptable. But when word spreads, do you know what Njada will do? She'll laugh and taunt Elsie day and night, and sooner or later, steel will be drawn. If Elsie kills her, she'll be cast out forever. No Companion survives the stain of slaying a shield-sibling."

  She paused, thoughtful for a heartbeat, then straightened. "Anyway, I cannot linger. I have duties. Elsie—think well, and come to me later with your choice. My offer stands: I'll walk beside you, even into that cursed barrow."

  With that, she left in haste, and my daddy began telling me of the draugr and the Bleak Falls Barrow affair, which he indeed knew a great deal about.

  Leif beckoned me into his library, and oh, how I love that place! The fire was already crackling in the hearth, Lydia clattered with pots in the kitchen, and I followed him like a child tracking the smell of sweets. The shelves groaned under the weight of ancient tomes, cracked scrolls, and jars of dust that might once have been herbs—or perhaps people, who knows?

  Leif pulled out a heavy volume bound in dark, old, and cracked leather. He wiped the cover with a reverent hand and muttered: "The sagas of Atmora. Listen carefully, Elsie."

  So I did, perched in his old chair with my knees pulled under me, like a kitten pretending to be studious.

  "Draugr," he said at last, "are not dead, not truly. They are oath-bound guardians of the tombs, cursed to linger because their greed, hatred, or pride was too great for Sovngarde to claim them. Unlike shades, their flesh remains... and so does their will."

  He showed me a yellowed page, with runes drawn like scratches of a drunk monk. The words underneath—an old translation— read: 'The draugr feeds on the fear of the living and their life essence. It remembers the treasures it swore to keep, and the blood it swore to spill.'

  I shivered, but I tried to look unimpressed.

  Leif went on: 'No common steel will end them. Strike as you wish, your blade will pass like wind over stone. Only silver, fire, or the enchantments of the old can make them fall still. Otherwise, they rise again. Always.'

  Now, this was very inconvenient news, because I only had my sturdy knife—and even that one I sometimes used more for slicing apples than enemies. Still, I nodded wisely, as if I carried a sack full of enchanted silver in my skirts.

  But then something odd stirred in me. As Leif spoke of the barrows—of their treasures buried deep with kings and sorcerers of old, of jeweled swords clasped in skeletal hands, of crowns dulled by dust but not by time—oh, my fingers began to itch! Badly, like when you smell roasted chestnuts and your mouth waters without your consent. And not only that! Nocturnal purred inside my mind: 'The Lucky Dagger, you fool! That exquisite tool can even send a Daedroth to rest for a while, a long one!' Ah, my eyes shone with joy and greed!

  My daddy noticed, because he stopped, narrowed his eyes, and tapped the book with his finger. "Elsie. The barrows are not bazaars. They are not your Bravil docks, where you can snatch a trinket from a drunk sailor. The draugr are death itself—even worse than that. Do you hear me?"

  I nodded, but all I could picture was the flicker of candlelight on golden rings, on old necklaces, on coins piled in urns. My heart beat faster, and—gods forgive me—I smiled.

  "Remember," my daddy added, voice dropping lower, "when you laugh in the presence of draugr, they may laugh back. And you will not like that!"

  I swallowed my grin, but the itch in my fingers did not fade. In fact, I think it grew stronger. So I told him, plain and cold, that I would go deep inside Bleak Falls Barrow itself.

  Leif shuddered and began to beg me to be wise, not dare disturb that ancient terror. It was already late, and I felt the night thick and listening. I told him to wait a moment and went to see if Lydia was asleep. She was snoring like a good watchdog, so I bolted her door from the outside and returned.

  "Sit," I said, and made him take the chair by the hearth. I spoke then—briefly, but without lies—of much I had kept folded away. I told him of the years I'd lived in the filthy dark of the Imperial City's sewers, of the Khajiit family who raised me, and of my long, reckless nights in Bravil. I spared him some things—most painfully and disturbing ones, the truth of Mephala and the Dark Brotherhood—but he had probably already guessed more than I admitted; he must have seen the spider inked under my arm when I lay sick.

  Leif listened, eyes wide and wary, and in the end, Nocturnal prodded me in her old, irreverent way: "Now, dove...if you have such a big mouth, tell him all. Tell Leif about Me. He is a discreet soul, and he loves you... deeply."

  So I took my daddy's hand and told him of my Mistress, and that I loved Her beyond reason.

  He sighed, that long, weary sound of a man who has read too many bad endings, and then, with the small, fierce tenderness of a father, he said, "So—then you must go. I wish you good luck, my daughter."

  It was decided: I would walk into the dark. But darkness has never been a stranger to me, and in the shadow of Nocturnal I would step, as always, towards mystery, towards danger, towards myself.