Two Yuletides have passed since Alicia and Vilkas met under the Gildergreen and put old ghosts to rest. But new challenges create more ghosts, and now Alicia and Vilkas must face their greatest challenge yet. What use has Skyrim for its heroes now that dragons have fled and armies disbanded? When Alicia looks in the mirror these days, all she sees is Alicia, not the Dragonborn. Question is, can that be enough?
They stood at the gate, snow falling silent on wood and tree and roof. Vilkas pushed a lock of hair behind Alicia’s ear. “Do you miss it?”
He watched lights flickering in the distance, on the great porch of Dragonsreach. Alicia’s hands gripped gaily bedecked wooden slats, and hints of crushed snowberries and pine drifted up to mix with the honey scent of her hair. Vilkas waited for her answer, and knew what it would be.
“If I said no…”
“I’d know you were lying.” Vilkas looked down at Alicia this time, and grinned. Just like the night they’d found each other two Yuletides ago, they once again avoided a party. This one at Dragonsreach, by invitation of Balgruuf himself. Regrets had been sent by courier.
“Of course you would,” Alicia said, her nose wrinkling above her own grin, this one wry and a more than a little sad. “You know everything. But…”
“But?”
“Well. Three years ago, I was the Dragonborn.” Alicia threw an open hand toward the giant mountain to the south of their meadery. “I went to Sovngarde and killed Alduin. Banished him, anyway.”
“I vaguely remember that.”
“And last year, I was the shadow warrior who sneaked into Ulfric’s camp. I was the one who stopped the war.”
“That one’s not so vague,” Vilkas said, and absently scratched at a scar just below the neck of his tunic.
She bent at the waist and leaned on her elbows against the gate. “But now…”
So that was it. He should have known. Everyday mead wasn’t enough for this sort of talk, not even their celebrated Reserve. Vilkas tapped Alicia on the shoulder and motioned behind his own as he trotted to the door. A minute later, he was back at Alicia’s side with a shapely amber-glass bottle.
Alicia smiled and reached for the wine, but Vilkas held it back. “You were saying?”
Alicia wiggled her fingers and a misty purple spell formed between them. Vilkas sighed and handed it over.
“But now...I’m Vilkas’s wife,” she said, taking a long swallow. “I’m Selene’s mother. I’m not me. Not anymore, and I-“
“Do you really think they don’t remember?”
She pouted and stared into the dark. “They don’t act like it.”
“What, are they supposed to talk about it every time you buy fruit from the market? Or deliver a shipment to the Mare? Do you even want that?”
“Well,” Alicia said, rolling her eyes and taking another long drink. “Maybe.”
“No, you don’t.”
“How do you know?”
“When it was all over, Alduin and Ulfric and all, you didn’t accept Tullius’s offer of Eastmarch. You didn’t accept Elisif’s counteroffer – councilor, thane, and that big house in town. Bigger than Bryling’s and Erikur’s put together, from what I remember.”
Alicia chewed a green ribbon on the end of one of her braids. “Well, that one was hard to resist. The look on Erikur’s face alone might have made courtly life bearable.”
“You did what no one expected.” Vilkas touched his lips to the nape of her neck. His heart lightened at the way she leaned into his kiss. “You came back to Whiterun and bought – we bought – the meadery. Your idea, in fact.”
“It was.”
“And…you miss it. You miss it all.”
“But it was horrible. Horrible and ghastly and…how can I-“
Alicia took a deep breath and let out a tiny sob.
Vilkas took the wine and drank. “It was horrible. But I’ll let you in on a secret. Sometimes I think back. For years, I couldn’t even look at you without my wolf clamoring to tear us both to shreds, and I miss those days.” He passed the bottle. “I miss feeling my heart dropping to my feet at a strong wind, and looking up to see dragons.”
Alicia brought the wine to her lips, but her mouth fell open instead. “You do?”
“Yes.”
A bonfire erupted somewhere in the city – Jorrvaskr, probably – its flames and ash and smoke spiraling up to meet misty, star-studded skies. Alicia took that drink. “I miss it. I was lonely and hopeless and terrified and lost. And I miss it. I miss it all.”
“Doesn’t mean you don’t love me, being my wife. Or Selene, being her mom.”
“You know that, don’t you? You have to know, I-“
Vilkas wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “You have snow in your hair again. Flurries,” he said, looking over his shoulder to the south. Green and gold flashed above the clouds surrounding Monahven.
“I do know.” Vilkas tipped Alicia’s chin so her shining, bronze eyes met his. “I know. You love me. You love Selene.”
“I do.”
“Everything else is a work in progress.”
Alicia blinked back tears and nodded, throwing her arms around Vilkas and hiding her face against his chest.
“A work in progress,” she said, her voice deep and husky. “A long, dramatic journey down a dark, winding road.”
Vilkas’s mouth quirked up at one corner. He watched Alicia’s cheeks slowly plump and turn pink with suppressed laughter. Had it really been two years since he’d watched her play under the Gildergreen, snowflakes in her hair and that sweet blush painting her cheeks?
Two years. A lifetime.
He waited for her laughter to bubble over, and joined her. He loved their life together – their business, their daughter. Every minute of every day was a joy, thanks to her. At least it was, looking back.
One day, Vilkas knew, he’d think back on times like this – stolen moments and missed parties – and feel that pull, that yearning for the past. Another time, another life – one that might only have existed in the hazy, rosy light of his own memory.
But for now, he stood in the snow with Alicia. He loved the silence of the night that surrounded them, and he loved the way their laughter broke it and split it apart.
Love.
Alicia might laugh, but it was no less true. It was, as everything else, a work in progress.
I hope everyone has a great holiday, however you celebrate. Or don't. Alicia and Vilkas, of course, avoid it as much as possible.
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