Song of the Dragon and the Bear

Chapter 13

A/N I'm so sorry this is late! I was super busy this weekend, although that's no excuse. Anyway, I apologize for my tardiness as well as any errors and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

"If you hate it so much you shouldn't have gotten yourself hurt," Wuunferth said with an irritated huff, tightening the bandage over her stab wound.

Vara picked at the bandage as soon as Wuunferth moved and murmured something under her breath. The mage leveled a glare at her, and she rolled her eyes. "Well, excuse me for almost getting assassinated by a Thalmor pet! It's not my fault that some people can't accept that I'm a half-elf."

It was Wuunferth's turn to roll his eyes. "You're a terrible patient," he said, but his voice was more exasperated than angry now. Vara smiled slightly. She had been having this argument with Wuunferth for almost two days, and it looked like she was finally getting somewhere. "Stop smirking, Vara," he grumbled, which only made her smirk widen. "Fine, you can go out, but I expect to see you back in this room by dark."

Vara jumped from the bed excitedly. "Thank you, Wuunferth!"

The mage only huffed and said, "Don't make me regret this. If I find that your wound has reopened even slightly I will make sure that you don't leave this room for the next week."

Vara nodded; she knew Wuunferth was being serious. "I promise I'll be fine, Wuunferth. Besides, if someone tries to kill me you can improve your Restoration skills some more." The mage didn't even bother to respond to that, only gesturing to the door and Vara took her leave happily.

She left the Palace as quickly as possible, startling the guards as she ran past them. She had been stuck in that tiny room for an entire week. She had felt better after a day, but Wuunferth had insisted that she stay so that he could make sure the poison was completely out of her system. She appreciated his concern, she really did, but she was a creature of the woods at heart, and being away from fresh air and sunlight for so long had started to drive her crazy.

The courtyard was empty for once, something Vara was incredibly thankful for. She didn't want to be around people right now. She stepped into an empty space in the courtyard and began to pool her magika into her hands. Carefully, she allowed some to leak into the ground forming an electric circle that surrounded her like a dueling ring. Then she let her eyes slide closed and muscle memory took over as she called on the countless hours she had spent doing this very thing. Her eyes snapped open, as two rods of electricity formed in her hands, their weight familiar and comforting. She spun the one in her right hand slowly, allowing her fingers to remember the movements as she spun the electric quarterstaff faster and faster. Slowly her other hand joined, the two rods of electricity spinning between her fingers at an almost blinding speed.

Then she began to move, and her eyes slid closed once more. She stepped carefully and lightly, and in her mind the stone beneath her booted feet became dried leaves that crackled with every step. She swept one staff in front of her slowly, her moves controlled and precise before snapping it up behind her, the electricity less than an inch from her tunic. Magic was a strange thing, and she knew from experience that if the electricity touched her anywhere other than where she held the staves, it would feel like she had been struck by a jolt of lightning. Yet the magic didn't arc towards her like normal electricity would. Carefully, she began to go through the movements that her father had taught her years before. She could almost hear his voice guiding each step. She smiled and breathed in deeply before allowing everything else to fall away.

Ulfric sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. The sun had only just cast its noon shadow, and he was already exhausted. He had been in meetings for most of the week trying to deal with the aftermath of the attempted assassination. The people were no longer afraid, which meant they were talking now. Everyone had a different theory about why someone wanted to kill him, this had led to dozens of letters warning him about plots and schemes from concerned citizens who believed the Thalmor, the Empire, or some crazed deadra lurked in every shadowed corner. As irritating and ridiculous as many of the missives were, he had to read them and present them to his council on the off chance that a few of them might say something important. It was enough to almost make him regret telling the people the knife had been meant for him. Almost.