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Chapter Text

Note to all of the aspiring adventurers out there:

Titles are absolute bullshit. But you cannot avoid them. I learned that the hard way. 

Of course, there is a reason for the titles. It lets you get a glance at the person who wears it. The biggest issue is that glance is only skin deep, and they’re more like facets of a person than their whole identity. There are those who know me as ‘Listener’ and see an assassin, those who would call me ‘Legate’ and see a soldier. They say ‘Archmage’ and see a scholar, those who say ‘Guildmaster’ and see a thief.

And that’s the issue I’ve always had. Because I am not an assassin or soldier or scholar or thief. I am simply me. Tallulah. Tallu, if that’s too much of a mouthful.

I will say, perhaps the only good thing about titles is the sense of anonymity. I can keep them seperate, changing them out like I would change clothes. Like a mask over my face, putting on the facade of a noble warrior or a master thief. 

A man may look at me and see a Khajiit and open his mouth to shout some obscenity, but the second I tell him I’m the Harbinger of the Companions, he changes his tune awfully quick.

But those are largely ‘small’ titles. And I know, I know, Harbinger of the Companions and Thane are a pretty damn big titles, what ever could top it?

Try Dragonborn. Or Dovahkiin, for those of Akatosh’s children.

I know what you’re thinking. A Khajiit woman can’t be the Dragonborn, only a true-blooded Nord could! Well, quit getting your loincloths in a knot and put aside your prejudice for a second, you drunkard, and I’ll tell you.

Well, I’ll tell you later. But I’m not done with the whole ‘title’ thing yet.

The ‘Dragonborn’ title is certainly the biggest of them, and unlike the others… well, it is me. The Dragonborn is quite literally who I am. Akatosh made me that way, and there’s no arguing about it. 

And unlike the other titles, it’s not exactly something I can avoid. I can carefully avoid Delvin to not hear him pestering me to take on jobs, or I can take the long way around to avoid the Night Mother’s grating voice in my ears, but being the Dragonborn? Nope. Not so simple. It follows me everywhere, like some lost puppy. Except the lost puppy also tends to drag in things for me to kill and/or fix.

It’s the kind of thing that affects my daily life, and affects those around me. I sometimes wonder, what would be different if I wasn’t the Dragonborn? Who would live where they had died otherwise? I’ve changed the tides of war, brought down emperors and revived dwindling guilds, for better or worse. Would the world be a better place if I had never intervened? 

Well, probably not. I kept it from getting destroyed about four times over, after all.

Bah, I’m rambling now and I can practically hear Vilkas telling me to ‘get on with the damn point already and quite blabbering’. I suppose he has a point. He’s had to listen to far too many of my drunken tales of adventure. But before we begin this story in earnest, I will say a handful of things.

Firstly, a very wise and very old dragon once told me that I may be a mortal, but I have the same instincts as other Dov. To conquer, to kill, and to destroy. Keep that in mind as you read about some of my more… questionable exploits.

Secondly, know that I feel guilt for many of these actions. With some, I am still working to atone.

Thirdly, the concept of the Dragonborn being some great Nordic warrior? Through that out the window and to Oblivion, because that is very, very wrong.

Now, let’s start at the beginning. It involves lots of stealing and lots of death.

Chapter Text

I really, really tried to be good this time around.

I had my fair share of trouble with the law. I wasn’t a stranger to having to bribe guards or talk my way out of situations. Lockpicks were a familiar tool, and I was far too used to skulking in the shadows.

I was a thief, alright?

Well, a thief, among other things. I had sold my sword arm when I needed to, I could craft a few potions, I had even performed on a number of occasions (though sadly my lute didn’t make the journey). I spent most of my childhood hopping around from city to city, crossing borders when I needed to and stowing away on ships. But as I set foot into Windhelm, greeting the cold air, relishing the steady ground beneath me, I swore on both of the moons that I would not steal.

That lasted until the moment I set foot in Riften.

This requires context. I had been bullied out of my last few septims by several obnoxious guards, and I decided I would rather pick up and move elsewhere than try to carve out a living in those frozen stones. So, I took what money I had and picked up the next ride to Riften, the closest city.

Pickpocketing had been my trade, and I always had a good ‘sense’ for it. And nearly the moment I stepped through the gates, my hands were itching. The city was fairly crowded, lots of little avenues to hide in, a canal with a walkway - perfect for quick escapes-

I was stopped short by a man bumping into me.

I nearly hissed. “Hey, watch-” But when I saw the man, I had to double-take.

He was dressed nicely, certainly nicer than what I was wearing - the scuffed up hide gear I could barely afford. His hair was a dark, almost rusty color, and a bit of scruff grew along his chin.

He smiled at me, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Running a little light on coin, eh, lass?”

I blinked a few times, before shaking my head and coming to my senses. “My wealth is none of your business.”

“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong, lass.” He leaned up against a nearby railing, taking a coin and rolling it between his fingers. “Wealth is my business.” There was a glint in his eye. “Perhaps… you’d like a taste?”

Every single instinct told me no. This man was shady, no good, and probably a thief. No, definitely a thief. I knew that roguish smile anywhere. He would cause me nothing but trouble.

Then I felt the last two dozen septims in my coin purse. What would a little stealing hurt?

Trying to match his thief’s confidence, I lifted my chin. “What do you have in mind?”

He tried to feign thinking hard about it for a moment, pocketing the septim again. “I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform, but I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid.” 

I could already feel my heart quicken. Oh, this oozed something sketchy, but the thrill was enough to keep me hooked like a fish to a line.

I tried not to seem too eager. “What do I have to do?”

“Simple. I’m going to cause a distraction and you’re going to steal Madesi’s silver ring from the strongbox under his stand.” He gave the slightest nod towards an Argonian man, barking out something about gemstones and jewelry. “Once you have it, I want you to place it in Brand-Shei’s pocket without him noticing.” Another, slight nod towards a Dark Elf man. 

Pickpocketing? Lockpicking? By the Nine, it was everything I was good at! And then, of course, my conscience had to pipe up.

You said you weren’t gonna steal! This is very obviously stealing! This is how you ruin people’s lives! Do you wanna ruin lives?

I pursed my lips. No, but… 

The man stood in front of me, as if he could see my strife, a slightly amused smirk on his face. I narrowed my eyes, determination flaring inside of me.

I crossed my arms, putting on my best poker face. “Why plant the ring on Brand-Shei?”

“There’s someone that wants to see him put out of business permanently. That’s all you need to know.” His tone went flat and sharp like a knife, before back to almost affable. “Now, tell me when you’re ready and we can get started.”

Every single bit of me knew this was wrong. I shouldn’t be stealing. There are a dozen legitimate ways I could earn just as much coin. But still, the promise of thrill, the lockpick in my hand, trying to avoid the peering eyes of guards…

I gave him my best toothy grin. “I’m ready. Let’s get started.”

He gave a wink, and a nod, and he was off. I watched as he strut over to his own stall with all the confidence of the world, picked up a bright red bottle, and cleared his throat.

“Everyone, everyone!” He barked, his voice carrying across the market place. Several people looked up from their purchases with slight interest. 

“Gather round!” He continued. “I have something amazing to show you that demands your attention! No pushing, no shoving!”

The crowd slowly moved his way and I began to meander over to Madesi’s stall. I leaned against one of the posts, pretending to watch as I dug around for my spare lockpicks. Where on earth were they? And why did I have so many pockets?

“C’mon, Brynjolf,” Brand-Shei said, perched on a set of crates. “What is it this time?”

Brynjolf, eh? I thought. Interesting name.

Brynjolf said something about patience as I dipped down next to the sliding door in the stall, aligning the lockpick and twisting a few times until I found the right position, sliding the door open with ease.

“-but this item is the real thing!” I heard Brynjolf say. “Lads and lasses, I give you… Falmerblood Elixir!”

I nearly dropped my lockpick, and covered up my laugh with a scoff. What was he going on about?

“Oh come on, are you talking about the Snow Elves?” Brand-Shei said as I began working on the lock to the strongbox itself. 

“The one and only!” Brynjolf said, with all the confidence and bravado of a ringleader to a circus. “Mystical beings who live in legends and were masters of great magic. Imagine the power that coursed through their veins!”

I popped open the strongbox and pocketed the ring, being careful to be as unsuspicious as possible. It took lots of willpower to leave the amethyst and the one hundred septims in there, but by some of Akatosh’s grace, I did it.

“How did you get that then?” Madasi said as I snuck over to near where BarndShei was. “No one’s seem them in years!”

“My sources must remain secret-” Brynjolf went on about something or other as I got closer and closer to Brand-Shei. My fingertips ran across the ring’s surface, ready to move at the slightest chance.

“How much does it cost?” Brand-Shei asked.

I felt myself pause. This guy was falling for it?

Then, I let myself think for a second. This city was a slum from what I had seen. Was it truly worth it? To ruin this man’s life over... what? Some dispute I didn’t know about?

No! My conscience hollered. It’s not! This man could have a wife and kids for all you know!

Stupid, stupid conscience. Being as subtle as possible, I took the ring and dropped it. Maybe that would count for something, I could play my cards right and-

Then I heard a plunk as it landed in the canal.

Which was not part of the plan.

Moving as subtle as possible, I walked up to Brynjolf, at first pretending to barter about one of the potions. As the attention turned off us, I lowered my head just a little.

“I lost the ring,” I mutter. Hey, I’m not technically lying.

No longer under the scrutiny of the crowd, I expect harsh anger or fury. I don’t get that. Instead, just a resigned sigh as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

I can’t help but think of my own father, disappointed but not surprised. I flinch.

“The way things have been going around here, I can’t say I surprised,” He mutters, half under his breath.

I raise an eyebrow. “‘The way things have been going’? What’s been going on?”

“Bah, my organization’s been having a run of bad luck,” He swats away the comment like a fly, any trace of disappointment gone in an instant. “But never mind that.” There’s that glint in his eyes again. “There’s more where that come from, if you’re interested.”

Once again, every instinct says to back away. Sadly, I’ve gotten very good at tuning out my instinct.

I try to suppress my smile. “I can handle it.”

An approving nod. “Alright then, let’s put that to the test.” He levels me with a firm, business look, a far cry from the ‘I’m a sketchy character and we’re gonna steal stuff’ look. “The group I represent has it’s home in the Ratway beneath Riften… the Ragged Flagon. Get there in one piece and we’ll see if you really got what it takes.”

I barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. “The… Ratway? And you expect me to find that-”

“It’s right under your feet, lass. Just follow the smell.” With that, he claps me on the shoulder and is gone in the blink of an eye.

And as much as I want to follow Brynjolf, my stomach is louder.

I find my way to the nearby inn, the ‘Bee and Barb’ judging by the faded sign being battered by the wind. The inside was fairly busy, reeking of ale. A white-scaled Argonian stood behind the counter, conversing with a Dark Elf in fancy clothing, and a green-scaled Argonian went from table to table.

I was once again reminded of my light pockets as I considered what to get. Looked like no mead for tonight - just bare essentials.

As I approached the bar, the white-scaled Argonian narrowed her eyes, giving a slight nod. “Here for a room or something to drink? Show me some coin, first.”

I flashed my dwindling coin purse, dropping a dozen septims on the counter. “Some bread and a pheasant roast, please.” And with that, I had just 3 septims left. Oh, what I would give for my lute right about now. I could perform, get a drink, get some food, and still have money left over. Plus, I found innkeepers liked to give out free rooms to bards.

And that was another matter. Where would I stay?

Well, stables were always a last resort. Either that, or I’d be forced to sleep on the stones outside. 

Shaking the thought out of my head, I decided to do something more productive with my time. I leaned on the counter, and the Argonian glanced at me.

“Yes?” She hissed. 

“What can you tell me about the Ratway?”

She almost snorted. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but stay away from them. The Ratway is a disgusting, skeever-ridden cesspool.” She bared her teeth in part of a grimace. “Not to mention, it’s the home of the Thieves Guild.”

I hope my ears quite literally perking up wasn’t too noticeable. “Thieves Guild?”

She gives a dismissive grunt. “A bunch of bullies and braggarts. Used to practically rule the city years back. Now they’re stuck to living down in the sewers.”

The green-scaled Argonian came by and swiped up a plate loaded with food. “Appropriate for them to live down there with the rest of the trash.” He muttered.

But I wasn’t listening to their insults or disgust. But Thieves Guild? As in, a guild of thieves? Where I get to steal things? I could feel my tail twitching with the mere thought of being able to dig my hands into some good ol’ fashion theft again.

But of course, say it with me now - my conscience decided to pipe up.

Stealing is illegal! You came to Skyrim specifically because you didn’t have a several thousand septim bounty on your head! It hollered. Do you want one now? Right when you have a chance at a fresh start?

I hated the fact that my conscience was right. I had a fresh start. An entire country out here, and a thousand things to do. Did I really want to fall back into old habits?

Well if I wasn’t a thief, what was I?

“Hey,” The white-scaled Argonian nudged me. “Moping around costs extra unless you get yourself a room.”

I pushed off from the bar without a second word, going outside and letting the hazy afternoon air greet me. I tried to think about what I could sell and what I needed to keep when I finally stamped my foot and kicked at the railing, alerting several of the townsfolk. I didn’t care. I was pissed, pissed at everything and everyone - the Divines, those stupid racist Windhelm guards, Brynjolf for dragging me into all of this to begin with-

I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Getting my fur all ruffled up over nothing wouldn’t help.

What were my options again? Oh right, either slip back into the old life I swore I would leave behind, or live out the rest of my days as a beggar and wanderer.

I didn't stop cursing out the gods until I found the Ratway’s entrance. Did they like doing this? Did they convene at their big godly table and go ‘You know what’d be great? If we really fucked with this one poor woman, that’d be great’.

As soon as entered the Ratway, I wanted to gag. The stench was awful. I knew that I had a sensitive nose - even for a Khajiit - and normally that worked to my advantage. Suddenly I wished I could cut it off.

Several homicidal lowlifes and a lot more Skeevers later, I found myself greeted with what I could only guess to be the previously mentioned ‘Ragged Flagon’ - though the sign was so faded I couldn’t be sure.

I approached slowly and casually, being sure to hold my head up high, showing my confidence just like I had practiced for years. 

“Give it up, Brynjolf,” A male voice said. “Those days are over.”

I paused. I never liked giving up an opportunity for some good ol’ eavesdropping.

“I’m telling you,” I recognized Brynjolf’s voice easily. “This one is different.”

“We’ve all heard that one before, Bryn!” A second, gruffer male voice said, followed by the sound of a tankard slamming on wood. “Quit kidding yourself.”

“It’s time to face the truth, old friend,” The first voice said. “You, Vex, Mercer… you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing.”

As I edged forward, the board under my foot creaked. I suddenly felt every set of eyes in the tavern on me. And Brynjolf - no longer dressed in fancy clothes, but dark leather, with belts and pockets everywhere. It felt like an eternity before Brynjolf broke into a smile.

“Dying breed, eh?” He turned to the man behind the counter, a slim middle-aged Nord with the barely-trimmed fuzz of a beard. Brynjolf turned his attention back towards me, gesturing to me like I was some grand treasure to behold. “What do you call this, then?”

He came over and clapped me on the shoulder like I was an old friend. “Well, color me impressed, lass! I wasn’t certain I’d ever see you again?”

I looked around between the slick stones, the near-rotten floorboards, and the constant smell of Skeever. “I don’t know why I bothered. This place is a mess.”

He gave a sort of half-shrug. “If you were expecting a palace, then maybe you’re not cut out for this line of work. Our methods involve secrecy and discretion. Now, if you’re done bellyaching like a child, how about you come and see what the rest of the outfit is about?”

I bit the inside of my lip,. “Before that, I have to ask…”

Brynjolf cocked one eyebrow, almost amused. “What’s on your mind?”

“Word is…” I paced my words out, trying to figure out how to phrase it. “Your outfit isn’t doing so well.” I met Brynjolf’s eyes. “True?”

His face went as emotionless as stone for a second, something else lurking behind his gaze. Then, it was gone, replaced with that affable smile. “We’ve run into a bit of a rough patch lately, but it’s nothing to be concerned about.” He smirked at me. “Tell you what; you keep making us coin and I’ll worry about everything else. Fair enough?”

I mulled it over for a second, then decided I couldn’t really care less. “Fair enough.”

He nodded. “Now if there are no more questions, how about following me, and I’ll show you what we’re all about.”

I followed him as he moved towards the back of the tavern, near what looked like a storage closet - before he opened it up and pushed back a false panel, leading to an entire other hallway.

Oh, that is so cool.

He turned to me, giving half a smirk. “Keep following. It isn’t far.”

And I did. And I realized I was a little too quick to judge this book by its ale-stained cover.

The room Brynjolf lead me to was massive. Light poured in from a massive installation in the ceiling, clearly leading up to somewhere in the city - the well, maybe? Beds lined the various edges, with a circular platform in the center. There was a cooking pot, an alchemy table, and-

“A lute!” I gasped. I swept the instrument up in my arms. Its paint was peeling, but the strings were all intact. I plucked each of them one by one - almost perfectly in tune.

Then I felt Bynjolf’s eyes on me. I gently set the lute back down before he chuckled under his breath.

“You’re welcome to it,” He said. “No one uses the old thing anymore. I think Thrynn had picked it up a few months ago to keep himself occupied.”

A high elf brushed by Brynjolf’s shoulder, most of his face shrouded by a hood. “Yeah, and he sounded like a dying horker when he sang.”

Brynjolf swatted him away with a smirk as he lead me to the center platform. There was one other man there - a Breton, maybe, with silvery-gray hair and a stern look. There was a minuscule change in his expression as Brynjolf approached. His dark leather uniform was almost identical to Brynjolf, save for one small badge - Mercer Frey, Guildmaster.

Brynjolf lifted his chin, his voice suddenly all business. “Mercer? This is the one I was talking about.” He gestured slightly to me. “Our new recruit.”

Mercer made a face that looked somewhere between a sneer and a frown. “This better not be another waste of the Guild’s resources, Brynjolf.” He turned to me, the full weight of his gaze on my shoulder. I straightened.

“Before we continue, I want to make one thing perfectly clear,” He said, his voice almost a low growl. “If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, not discussion… you do what we say when we say.” His gaze turned ice cold. “Do I make myself clear?”

Don’t say something dumb, don’t get in trouble with the authority figure, don’t-

I tilted my head. “I don’t know, do you?”

Brynjolf coughed, and I really hope he was covering up a laugh.

Mercer exhaled slowly through his nose, his voice dropping even lower. “If you’re not sure, maybe you don’t belong here. I’ll say it again. Do I make myself clear.”

I dropped my sarcasm, nodding. “Yes, I understand.”

“Good. Then I think it’s time we put your expertise to the test.” He took a step back. I hadn’t realized we were practically nose to nose.

Confusion passed over Brynjolf’s features. “Wait, you’re not talking about Goldenglow, are ya? Even our little Vex couldn’t get in.”

Mercer leveled him with a firm stare. “You say this recruit possessed an aptitude for our line of work, if so, let her prove it.” He turned back to me. “Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson. Brynjolf will provide you with the details.” He turned on his heel before Brynjolf stopped him.

“Ah, Mercer?” That roguish gleam in his eyes was back. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Mercer rolled his eyes. “Oh, right,” He sounded mildly inconvenienced by the whole thing. “Since Brynjolf assures me you’ll be nothing but a benefit to us, you’re in.” 

The frost in his gaze warmed up by a few degrees. “Welcome to the Thieves Guild.”

Chapter Text

How to ruin your life in 8 simple steps:

1. Get caught on a job in Solitude
2. Run to Morthal to escape charges
3. Pick up what seems to be a harmless job and stumble across a vampire’s plot to take over the town
4. Get turned into a vampire (details may vary)
5. Go to Windhelm
6. Get mistaken for a Dark Brotherhood assassin by a child, thus accidentally kicking off a life of assassinating people and also getting betrayed
7. Get betrayed by the Guild Master
8. Profit!

Bonus tip: Never deal with vampires. Unless said vampire happens to be very pretty and very friendly but that is a story for far, far later (and here’s to hoping that Serana doesn’t find this diary).

Now I… I joke, because I suppose if you take a look back, this is where it all started to go downhill. I made a great long series of mistakes that led me down the wrong path, including Daedra (technically only one, but if we squint, two). And we need to talk about the elephant in the room, don’t we?

My vampirism.

(Well I suppose there are multiple elephants, but I’m focusing on the one with fangs.)

I’ll be very honest, I… I don’t quite remember how it happened. I was taking care of Morthal’s little vampire problem, mostly for the coin. I had cleared out the cave, I reeked of blood and vampire dust, and I was quite sweaty. I was scrounging around for any coin purses when I heard something behind me.

Had one of the bastards escaped?

And then a semi-familiar face. Alva. The bitch that started the whole thing.

I already felt myself growling, but Alva moved before I could think, her dagger surging towards me. I dodged, just barely, before she hissed. She played dirty, grabbing my hair and yanking my head back. I snarled, swinging my claws wildly, trying to hit her-

A searing pain in my neck.

I think I screamed, I wasn’t quite sure. Spots danced in my vision, threatening to drag me to unconsciousness, but all I could focus on was the cold numbness spreading through my body. 

Everything went black.

I wasn’t sure how long I was out for, but both moons were high overhead. Reeds brushed against my cheek, the sounds of the marsh all around me.

And a dog, licking my face and whining.

Not just any dog, either. I think I saw him just outside the marshes after I escaped from Solitude. His fur was matted and his ribs were visible, the poor thing. My hands were still numb but I reached up, scratching behind his ear, and his tail wagged. He laid down, putting his head on my chest.

Slowly, I reached up, running my fingertips along my canines. They were sharper, and longer, threatening to pierce my tongue and lips.

My vision had changed too. As I looked up at the night sky, it was as clear as day.

There was no denying it. I was a vampire.

Did I immediately go into a power-hungry frenzy? No, shockingly, and I’m rather proud of myself for that. Did I abruptly begin an existential crisis? No, that would come later.

Nope. I sat up, brushed the dust off my pants, and began hiking to Whiterun.

Now like I said earlier, I joke, because that’s what I do. I learned a long time ago that being unnecessarily cynical doesn’t help anyone. My life had changed before, and this was just another one of those. Another big change. Life had thrown curveballs at me before.

I ran my tongue along my new fangs. I would have to drink blood, wouldn’t I? The thought made me a bit queasy.

Okay, maybe this was easier said than done.

Chapter Text

Bounty

By order of Jarl Elisif the Fair:

To all able bodied men and women of Haafingar. A Khajiit woman with brown fur and gray eyes is wanted for theft, trespassing, and assault. May have ties to the Thieves Guild. Proceed with caution. A handsome reward will be offered to any who capture/kill her. Was last seen fleeing towards Morthal. 

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Tallulah grunted, crumping up the piece of paper. “My eyes are blue, for gods' sake.”

“You shouldn’t have gotten caught either way,” Brynjolf said, arms crossed.

Tallulah flashed him a look. “Brynjolf, I may be a damn good thief, but I’m not a master. The damn place was swarming with guards. I’m lucky I got in there in the first place, and got out with my life.”

“And then you took a little detour in Morthal, didn’t ya?” Brynjolf said. “Took your sweet time coming back with that news about Karliah.”

Tallulah jabbed a finger at him. “It’s complicated, Bryn! Complicated!”

“Oh yeah?” He said, leaning forwards. “What sort of complications, eh?”

Tallulah was nose-to-nose with him now. Her fangs dug into her tongue, her mouth tasted like blood, her eyes strained at the sunlight that came in through the top of the Cistern. Even her own heartbeat was silent. All reminders that she was not the same person anymore.

And she couldn’t risk having the Guild find that out.

Slowly, Tallulah recoiled, not meeting Brynjolf’s gaze. “Look, I… I didn’t mean to, alright? I thought I would be back sooner.”

Brynjolf’s features softened. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice, lass. Truth be told, we were all worried about you. Honestly, I was sure Gulum-Ei was in too deep, and he was gonna drag you in too.”

That made Tallulah’s mouth twitch in a smile. He still cared. At least for now. Tallulah nodded. “Thanks, Bryn.”

He gave her that classic affable smile. “Aye, now get some rest, lass. Mercer wants to talk to you first thing in the morning.”

Ugh, morning. Every quickly becoming Tallulah’s least favorite time of day. Everything was always too bright. She was trying to stick to a mortal’s sleep schedule, but that was becoming more and more difficult as the days went on. 

Nonetheless, she nodded. “Right. Will do.”

Chapter Text

Do you know how terrifying it is to not be able to breathe?

It’s like all the air is stolen out of your lungs, and no matter how hard you try, your body won’t let any back it. It feels like something is stuck in your throat, choking you and dragging you under. It’s terrifying. 

The only thing more terrifying is someone smiling as they kill you.

I tried calling for Mercer. My vocal chords wouldn’t work. I think I heard another voice - Karliah, probably - and something about Nightingales and murder. My thoughts were too muddied to make sense of any of it. Spots swam in my vision, my own heartbeat pounded in my ears. 

Mercer came over to me. I couldn’t make out the details on his face. I tried to talk, but the only sound I could make was a wheeze. My mouth tasted like blood. Mercer said something, but he sounded like he was speaking underwater.

“-and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place,” His words faded back in, and it took a moment for my sluggish brain to process that. What? What?

Panic set in among the poisonous haze. He kept talking, but I didn’t get any of it. Was he going to leave me here? To die? 

“This was all possible because of you.” I think he smiled - everything kept getting darker and darker. He knelt down, just close enough where I could see a sinister smirk on his face.

“Farewell,” He said, his voice getting fainter. “I’ll give Brynjolf your regards.”

All I felt was the cool metal of his blade on my throat.

Hot tears welled up in my eyes. I wasn’t even angry, or shocked - I was scared. I didn’t want to die here! I still had a whole life, I still had a chance-

Except I really didn’t. Was this punishment? Did the gods have enough of their entertainment, and simply casted me away? Like a child does an old toy?

The last noise I made before my vision went dark was a soft sob.

I could still feel my pulse in my ears, slowing, slowing, before my vision suddenly cleared. I was still in the Sanctum - several rooms back, in front of the strange glowing wall that had called to me earlier. Mercer had pushed me past it.

My feet carried me towards it, and slowly I reached out my hand. My fingertips brushed against the stone - it was cool to the touch. Soft chanting filled my ears as I ran my hands along one of the marks carved into the stone.

My pulse returned. It felt like entering a warm inn after a cold night, the blood pushing through my veins. My eyes fluttered shut. A wave of energy passed through me, not like magic or life or anything I had ever felt-

Though my eyes were still closed, I could feel the marking beneath my hand spring to life. A thousand words poured through my mind in a flurry, like floodgates open to let in rushing water. The words swam in my vision, not in any language I knew - but I still knew what they meant. The fog in my own mind finally cleared.

ZUN.

WEAPON.

AN IMPLEMENT OF BATTLE.

AN INSTRUMENT OF WAR.

I opened my eyes, and breathed.

The sun immediately blinded me. I still felt so cold, and that was enough reason to panic. I tried to sit up, making sure I wasn’t dead-

“Easy, easy,” A female voice said, echoing in my still ringing ears. “Don’t get up so quickly.”

I managed to open my eyes, trying to adjust to the sunlight. I think I hissed - my vampirism flared up for a split second, tinting my vision red. The woman said something else, but it completely missed me.

Still breathing heavily, though very much alive, I tried to speak - all that came out was a hoarse whisper. I could still taste blood in the back of my throat.

Then my senses full kicked back in - the woman was a Dunmer with violet eyes, dressed in… Guild armor?

All the pieces clicked into place. I bolted up. “You shot me!” I managed to hiss.

“No, I saved your life,” Karliah said, perfectly calm. She sat cross-legged opposite from me. “My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

She had saved me? A memory tried to resurface, muddled and drowned in the unknown. It felt more like a passing dream than anything. I shook the thought away. My knees buckled under me, and I sat against a small rock.

“Why save me?” I croaked. 

“My original intention was to use the arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split-second decision to get you out to the way, and it prevented your death.” She said it like one would recount their weekend.

My brain slowly began to recalibrate itself. Mercer had tried to kill me. Karliah had saved me. It felt like a complete reversal of what I had known as true.

I shook my head, ignoring the burning in my throat. “Why-” I coughed, blood splattering the snow. “Why should I believe you?”

“Without the antidote I administered, you’d be as still as a statue. I treated your wounds and didn’t leave you defenseless.” She sighed, breaking my gaze for a moment. “The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect… I only had enough for a single shot.” She met my eyes again. “And I used it on you.”

The silence lingered between us for a second. Her gaze went distant. “All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive.”

“A-Alive?” I echoed.

“Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he’s done.” She said, her hands balling into fists. “He needs to pay for Gallus’s murder.”

The emotion in her voice was raw. I recalled Mercer saying something about her and Gallus being lovers - my heart constricted. I wanted to find Mercer right now and kick him off the Throat of the World.

“How will you prove it now?” I asked.

“My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn’t simply for irony’s sake.” I think I detected a hint of a wry tone. “Before you both arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus’s remains. I suspect the information we need is inside.”

“Well?” I dropped my voice down to a whisper - my throat was burning. “What’s it say?”

“I wish I knew,” She scoffed. “The journal is written in some sort of language I’ve never seen before.”

I put my chin in my hands. “Perhaps it could be translated.”

“Enthir!” Karliah said, bolting upright. “Gallus’s friend at the College of Winterhold… of course. It’s the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity.”

I closed my eyes for a second. “There’s that word again, Nightingale,” I muttered. I think I had seen a book around the Cistern about it - some sort of… secret group of Thieves that served one of the Daedra.

I didn’t even realize I had spoken aloud until Karliah piped up. “There were three of us. Myself, Gallus, and Mercer. We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften. Perhaps I’ll tell you more about it later. Right now, you need to head to Winterhold with the journal and get the translation.” She pushed an old, worn leather-bound journal into my arms. “Here, take these as well. They might prove useful in your journey.” She gave me a handful of small vials. 

She met my eyes, her face as hard as stone. “Rember, speak only to Enthir. Trust no one else.”

As I stood and began to make my way northward, I thought of Mercer’s face as he slit my throat, of how easily he tricked me, manipulated me. I trusted him with my life. He was the Guildmaster, and though I had only known him for a short time, I had felt like I was beginning to know him.

Karliah’s words echoed in my ears. Trust no one else.

After what Mercer did, I’m not sure I can.

Chapter Text

Helpful adventurer’s tip: Do not deal with Daedra. I have a safety net in the form that I technically belong to Akatosh before anyone else, and thus my soul is safe. You do not. Do not deal with Daedra.

Now, with that out of the way, time to tell you about the Nightingales.

Now yes, yes, I’m sworn to secrecy and all of that, but frankly, I don’t really care. Because in all honesty, the sacred Nightingale Trinity is Brynjolf, Karliah and I. We’re thieves. Sometimes we would hang out and drink mead in Nightingale Hall. One time we came back to Riften after one of those little ‘meetings’, Brynjolf was so drunk he fell into the Cistern.

Yup, three mighty agents of Nocturnal. We’re fearsome.

Now maybe I’m a bit jaded. I’ve dealt with lots of Daedra - probably more than any person reasonably should. I participated in some blood hunt for Hircine (long story), went drinking with Sanguine (longer story), and even gave Clavicus Vile back his dog (not a very long story, but a humorous one nonetheless). I have a particular hatred towards Hermaeus Mora, who seems to keep insisting he controls my fate, and it’s… concerning, to say the least.

My point is, Daedra are a… fairly common part of my life. But it wasn’t always that way.

The first time I met Nocturnal, I was terrified.

For a long time, I wasn’t really religious or superstitious. I didn’t quite believe Karliah when she said we were going to transact an oath with Nocturnal. Sure, neat, burn some incense or whatever and we’re on our way.

No. Not at all.

I stood on the Nightingale glyph. The armor was just a tad bit small, though maybe it was form-fitting on purpose. Karliah spread her hands out.

“I call upon you Lady Nocturnal, Queen of Murk and Empress of Shadows… hear my voice!” Her declaration echoed, bouncing of the stone, when… something appeared. A pure swirling vortex of energy, filling the entire room with howling wind. Waves of power surged out from it, like how tides batter the cliffs. My knees suddenly felt weak, like the world was swaying.

“ Ah, Karliah,” A female voice echoed all around us, sounding like she was everywhere, all at once. “ I was wondering when I’d hear from you again. Lose something, did we?” She sounded almost condescending.

Karliah stiffened, before kneeling. “My Lady, I’ve come before you to throw myself upon your mercy and accept responsibility for my failure.”

“ You’re already mine, Karliah,” Nocturnal said, her voice now possessing just a hint of aggression. “ Your terms were struck long ago. What could you possibly offer me now?”

“I have two others that wish to transact the Oath,” Karliah said. “To serve you in both life and in death.”

My heart started racing in double time. Right, me, that was me. About to throw my soul to a Daedra. My mouth felt like it was glued shut. Was that Nocturnal’s influence, or my own fear? Did she know how afraid I was right now? Another worry fluttered around my mind - would she accept a vampire as a Nightingale?

I felt a sudden weight on my shoulders, a gaze focused on me. My breathing hitched.

“ You surprise me, Karliah,” Nocturnal said. “This offer is definitely weighted in my favor.”

“My appetite for Mercer’s demise exceeds my craving for wealth, your Grace.”

“Revenge, is it?” A hint of curiosity in her tone. “ How interesting… very well. The conditions are acceptable. You may proceed.”

Karliah stood as straight as an arrow, her chin jut out slightly. “Lady Nocturnal, we accept your terms. We dedicate ourselves to you as both your avengers and your sentinels. We will honor our agreement in this life, and the next, until your conditions have been met.”

My throat closed up. This life and the next. I would die, and still be under this Daedra’s thumb. Nocturnal’s voice would probably be the last thing I heard as the light faded from my eyes. I tried to remind myself why I was doing this. Because of Mercer. I needed to bring him down. And this was the only way.

Suddenly, standing before Nocturnal herself, that didn’t seem like a good reason anymore.

“ Very well,” Nocturnal said, a tight feeling growing in my chest. “ I name your initiates Nightingales, and I restore your status to the same, Karliah.” Her tone went sharp, and a shiver went down my spine, her displeasure palpable. “ And in the future, I suggest you refrain from disappointing me again.”

The power faded. I felt like a puppet with its’ strings cut, buckling under my own weight. I managed to stay upright, slowly walking down from the glyph on shaking legs.

We all met in the middle. Brynjolf’s face was unreadable, but he was noticeably paler than usual. Karliah brushed some dust off of her pants, like nothing had happened. 

“Now that you’ve transacted the Oath,” Karliah said. “It’s time to reveal the final piece of the puzzle to you - Mercer’s true crime.”

That was enough to shake me out of my stupor. I held up my hands. “He’s done more?”

Karliah nodded solemnly. “Mercer was able to unlock the Guild’s vault without two keys because of what he stole from the Twilight Sepulcher -  the Skeleton Key. By doing this, he’s compromised our ties to Nocturnal and, in essence, caused our luck to run dry.”

I blinked a few times. “So… the key unlocks any door?”

Karliah clicked her tongue, shifting her weight. “Well, yes. But the key isn’t only restricted to physical barriers. All of us possessed untapped abilities; the potential to wield great power, securely sealed within our minds. Once you realize the key can access these traits, the potential becomes limitless.”

Every alarm bell in my head went off. I had read enough books with enough cursed artifacts to know where this was going. 

“It sounds like no one should keep it,” I said.

Karliah nodded. “Good, then you see why this is about more than just Mercer’s lust for power. If the key isn’t returned to its lock in the Twilight Sepulcher, things will never be the same for the Guild. As time passed, our luck would diminish to the point of nonexistence. And whether you know it or not, our uncanny luck defines our trade.”

Despite the still-persistent wobble in my knees, I managed a hoarse chuckle. “First time I ever set out to return something.”

Karliah returned with a half-laugh of her own. “Very true. In our line of work, it’s quite rare we set out to return a stolen item to its rightful owner.”

I put on my brave face, placing both hands on my hips. “Let’s go.”

“Before we depart, Brynjolf has some business to discuss. I suggest you listen to him.” With that, she left, leaving just the two of us.

We stood in awkward silence for a second. Brynjolf sighed, taking off his hood and face cover, running his hand through his hair. His face was slick with sweat.

“Listen, lass,” He said with a huff. “There’s one last piece of business we need to discuss before we go after Mercer… the leadership of the Guild.”

Any fear I had was quickly replaced with confusion. “And… why tell this to me?”

“Karliah and I had a long discussion before you arrived here. Thanks to your efforts, Mercer’s treachery has been exposed. After we deal with him, all that remains is restoring the Guild to its full strength. As a result, we both feel that you have the potential of replacing Mercer as leader of the Thieves Guild.”

I blinked a few times, at a complete loss for words. I sputtered for a second before finding my tongue. “Me? what about you?

Brynjolf chuckled under his breath. “I’ve been at this game a long time, my friend. A long time. I’ve stolen trinkets from nobles and framed priests for murder. I’m good at what I do, maybe even one of the best. But it’s all I know. I’ve never been one to lead. Never desired it, never cared for it, don’t want it.” With each phrase, he shook his head.

A thousand different emotions bubbled up in my chest, all of them struggling to speak. Instead, I continued with utter disbelief. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

Brynjolf shot me a smirk. “Well, we have a bit of an errand to run before your coronation, so don’t get sentimental on me now.”

His easy-going humor was enough to draw a laugh out of me. “I accept.”

He clapped me on the shoulder. “Then it’s decided. When this is all over and Delvin’s contacts assure me we’ve regained our footing in Skyrim, we’ll handle the details. Until then, we have quite the task ahead.”

I nodded, shooting him back a smirk of my own under my mask. “Then let’s get to it.”

His tone suddenly went all business. “I’ve been pouring over the plans you brought us, and I’m convinced the Eyes of the Falmer are in the dwarven ruins at Irkngthand. Karliah and I will meet you there.” There was a roguish gleam in his eyes. “Prepare yourself, lass. This will be a fight to remember!”

Brynjolf’s footsteps echoed as he left, and I was left with the soft trickle of water and whistling of wind. I ran my hands along my face. Guildmaster. Guildmaster. That in and of itself was thrilling, enough to take the edge off the fact that I had sold my soul to a Daedra a few minutes prior. Then, of course, a little voice in the back of my mind piped up.

Would they still give you that position if they knew you were a vampire?

I shushed my little inner voice. It didn’t matter. They would never find out. If Mercer can hide his heinous crimes for twenty-five years, I can hide my vampirism for… however long I end up living to.

Nausea made its home in my gut. They would notice a Khajiit that never aged. They would notice how I only slept during the day, how the sunlight seemed to drain me. They would notice the fact I never ate. They might not notice right now, or right away, but someday, someone would.

There was a sour taste in my mouth, like blood mixed with bad ale. 

Maybe it was for the better I made a deal with Nocturnal. The gods didn’t seem that fond of me anyway.

Chapter Text

I had realized I actually didn’t need to breathe.

Karliah, Brynjolf, and I were sneaking past several automatons as we went to find Mercer. I was holding my breath, trying not to be heard - when I realized I never let that breath out. I simply… didn’t have to.

I guess I should’ve realized that after I stopped hearing my heartbeat.

It was there, for a while, just a soft flutter. Occasionally I became acutely aware of its absence. Then, eventually, I realized I didn’t hear it at all. If I focused and took deep breaths, I could still hear it, but it was becoming… harder to.

I wondered when it would be gone for good.

Behind me, Karliah stiffened. There was a massive door in front of us, the dread in the air palpable.

“He’s close,” She said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m certain of it. We must prepare ourselves.”

“Then this is it,” Brynjolf muttered. He stared at us both hard in the eyes. “We do this for Gallus, and the Guild.”

“For Gallus and the Guild,” I echoed, before gently nudging the door open.

The room itself was massive, the statue taking up most of it - elven, definitely, with a staff in one hand and a book in the other, sitting cross-legged. Stairs went up either side of it. Mercer was just finished prying the right eye out - the gems glittered even from our little precipice. A few dead Falmer were scattered around, their blood splattered across the statue.

“He hasn’t seen us yet,” Karliah said, nearly silent. “Brynjolf, watch the door.”

“Aye, lass. Nothing’s getting by me.”

She gently tapped my shoulder. “Climb down that ledge, see if you can-”

“Karliah,” Mercer barked, turning around, his voice so loud it made me jump. A smug smile was plastered on his face. “When will you learn that you can’t get the drop on me?”

The world shook - the floor went out from under me, and I just barely managed to land on my feet. Karliah and Brynjolf were still on the remains of the ledge. Mercer jumped down - I readied my sword and gathered flames in my other hand.

He seemed more amused than anything. “When Brynjolf brought you before me, I could feel a sudden… shift in the wind,” He said, a bite to his last few words. “And at that moment, I knew it would end with one of us at the end of a blade.”

I didn’t have time to talk in circles with him. My blood was boiling. “Give me the Key, Mercer.” I said, trying to keep my voice even.

He narrowed his eyes. “What’s Karliah been filling your head with? Tales of thieves with honor? Oaths rife with falsehoods and broken promises?” Fury flared in his eyes. “Nocturnal doesn’t care about you, the Key, or anything having to do with the Guild.”

“Nocturnal?” I said, a laugh bubbling up inside me despite the fear. “ This isn’t about Nocturnal! This is personal!”

“Revenge, is it?” He asked, almost a little bit surprised. “Have you learned nothing from your time with us? Both of us lie, cheat, and steal to further our own ends.”

My tongue was a weight in my mouth for a second, though it passed like an eternity. My grip tightened on my sword, and I felt a growl build up in my throat.

“The difference is,” I said, readying myself in a defensive position. “I still have honor. And I don’t betray the ones that have my back.”

Mercer just rolled his eyes. “It’s clear you’ll never see the Skeleton Key as I do, as an instrument of limitless wealth. Instead, you’ve chosen to fall over your own foolish code.” He spit those last three words out, and I snarled in response.

“If anyone falls,” I said. “It will be you.”

“Then the die is cast!” Mercer said, drawing his sword. “And once again, my blade will taste Nightingale blood!”

“Karliah, I’ll deal with you after I rid myself of your irksome companions. In the meantime, perhaps you and Brynjolf should get better acquainted.” His eyes narrowed the slightest bit and I felt a hum of magic in the air, before I heard the clash of steel against steel.

“What’s… what’s happening?” Brynjolf, in the blink of an eye, swung his sword, and Karliah dodged. “I-I can’t stop myself!” He said.

“Damn you, Mercer!” Karliah cried. She grabbed one of Brynjolf’s wrists. “Fight it, Brynjolf, he’s taken control of you!”

He broke out of her hold, clocking her in the temple before readying his sword. Despair was written along every line of his face. “I-I’m sorry, lass, I can’t-”

Pain burned along my right shoulder, and I whirled around to face Mercer. On instinct, I swung my sword, and he dodged it effortlessly. I threw myself at him, and he used my momentum to hurl me across the room. My vision was swimming, but the second I saw the glint of Dwarven metal, I ducked.

Thinking quick, I drove my blade into his side and he jerked back, giving me enough time to make distance between us. When he met my eyes again, they were filled with rage. Overhead, the ground shook - pipes burst, spraying us all with water.

Something inside me snapped. Fury roared upside of me like a wild animal, fire ran through my veins. Enough. Mercer Frey would not hurt another soul as long as I was still here. I ran at him, claws out and teeth bared, and for a split second, I saw fear.

My vision was tinted red. I tasted blood in my mouth, vampiric power surging through me. I wanted to kill him, to rip his body to shreds, to make sure he felt his life draining from his body, like when he almost killed me in the Sanctum. I wanted him to feel every last bit of pain and sorrow and regret.

Was that wrong of me? Probably. 

I felt like a whirlwind, dodging and slashing and cutting at him. He was able to almost match me blow for blow - almost. I could feel my own power waning, but at the same time, he was too. More pipes were splitting open - more water rushed into the room.

He got in a lucky hit, backing me in against the wall. I ducked, but he was quicker, kicking in the back of my knee and sending me sprawling to the ground. He raised his sword overhead - triumphant, confident, and fear paralyzed me.

For a split second, I was back in Snow Veil Sanctum. The wall was in front of me.

Zun. Weapon. An implement of battle. An instrument of war.

I don’t even know what I was thinking. Maybe it was the blind panic. Maybe it was a last-ditch effort. But I was out of options, and out of ideas.

“ ZUN!”

Mercer’s sword flung out of his grasp, clanking on the hard stone floor. For a second, we were both silent - before my instincts kicked in and I drove my blade across his throat.

He doubled over, succumbing to his wounds as blood began to pool on the floor. He said something - his voice was too raspy and hoarse to hear. I looked to Brynjolf and Karliah - they had stopped fighting with Mercer’s death, and Brynjolf was breathing heavily. The room trembled, and the water rose.

“Damn, the place is coming down!” Karliah said, breathless. “Quick, get the Skeleton Key and the Eyes, and let's get out of here!” 

Mercer’s body was in about two inches of water right now, staining the water red. I grabbed both of the eyes - bigger than my head - and the Key. It was ornate and copper-like, humming with power. The water was up to my knees, now, and I was near the shoulders of the statue.

“No luck there, lass,” Brynjolf said, trying to budge open the door. “Something must have fallen on the other side of the door because it isn’t moving!”

“We have to find another way out of here before this place fills with water!”

I felt like my bones were liquid. The room kept spinning. I ran to the highest ground I could - even that wasn’t enough, the water was at my ankles. The next few minutes were a blur. In all the shaking, a few rocks above the statue were pried loose - Brynjolf, Karliah, and I managed to get into a small cave. Just as we were out of the water, I doubled over, my whole body shaking.

It suddenly struck me what was wrong. I hadn’t fed. I hadn’t bothered too before I came here. My bloodlust, my weakness - it was all because I hadn’t fed.

I felt like I might split apart. I tried to reach for my bag, fumbling blindly, when Brynjolf knelt down next to me.

“What is it, lass?” He said, brow furrowed in concern. His voice was echoing. “What do you need?”

I could barely manage the words out. “G-Grey vial,” I said. “Bl…”

Brynjolf started frantically searching, the whole world becoming dimmer as he did so. Eventually, I felt cool glass on my lips, followed by the metallic tang of blood. 

Hands shaking, I took the vial, downing it as quickly as I could. With each drop, my strength returned, my vision cleared. I licked my lips - it wasn’t nearly enough blood, but it was enough to keep me satisfied.

I glanced up. Brynjolf and Karliah’s faces were unreadable. The guilt and shame hit me like a blow to the chest. My throat burned, and I felt my eyes fill with tears. I turned away, shutting my eyes tightly.

Brynjolf spoke quietly. “When were you gonna tell us, lass?”

I laughed weakly, shrugging. “I… I wasn’t.”

There was silence.

“When?” Brynjolf said.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Morthal. That’s… that’s what took me so long to get back from Solitude.”

Another beat of silence. I scoffed, tossing the Skeleton Key to Brynjolf before hurrying out of the cave, gravel crunching under my feet.

“Woah, woah, lass-” Brynjolf put one firm hand on my shoulder. “Where exactly are you off to?”

“I’m leaving,” I said, trying to keep the tremor out of my voice.

“Then who the hell is gonna run the Guild?”

I turned, blinking a few times, trying to make sure I heard him right. “Wh… what?”

“Did you forget our little talk in the Sepulcher?” He said. “ You’re the Guildmaster. We need you, lass, back at the Flagon.”

I was speechless. “You… you still want me to be the Guildmaster?”

Brynjolf looked more concerned than anything. “Of course, lass. Why wouldn’t we?”

“I-I’m a vampire,” I stuttered. “A literal vampire, as in, I have to drink blood. That’s not- that isn’t a concern to you?”

“I mean, a little bit,” Brynjolf said. “But you’re also one of the best thieves we’ve had in ages. You have real promise, true potential. You exposed Mercer’s betrayal, and you’re the one dragging the Guild back to its feet.” His lips twitched in a smile. “Besides, us Nightingales have to stick together, don’t we?”

My eyes darted to Karliah, who was silent the whole time. “Karliah, are you...okay with this?”

“Of course,” She said, putting her hand on my other shoulder. “As Brynjolf said, Nightingales stick together. And quite frankly, I don’t think the Guild would really care all that much.”

It felt like a massive weight was off my shoulders. A grin spread across my face, barely enough to contain. “Th-Thank you both.”

Brynjolf didn’t even respond. He just hugged me.

I laughed at myself. I had been so concerned about what would happen if it wasn’t okay, that I didn't consider the possibility that it was .

Chapter Text

Now, many people who know me and my various adventures ( all of them) might call me amoral. Rightfully so, too. I’ll admit, I’m not above lying and stealing, but I always know when to draw a line. Killing is one of them.

Wait, actually, no it isn't. Murder is one of them.

Wait, no, that’s not right either. Murder was one of them.

Gods dammit, I’m blundering around the point. This isn’t an easy thing for me to say, because this when it all started to go downhill. When my life go so thoroughly fucked up that I had to take several days just to emerge from my cave of self-loathing and interact with humanity again.

I was an assassin. A damn good one, too.

Does anyone remember a few chapters back when I mentioned I was mistaken for a Dark Brotherhood assassin? If you do, good for you. If you don’t, well, I was. A child - Aventus Aretino - was doing the Black Sacrament, I stumbled in looking for something to steal, and the rest is history.

So, ah, I did kill. This kid told me some sob story of Grelod the Kind, down in Riften. At first, I expected it to be some exaggerations. A kid who was being all pissy. Then I went down there… and then I actually saw the kid was right.

I tolerate a lot. Assholes are not on that list.

So… I killed her. I was in the neighborhood, nobody saw me, hell, I think the kids were actually happy the old crone was dead. So I shrugged it off, went about my business. This was actually just before the debacle with Mercer - so after all of that, I finally got back to the Cistern, and was ready to reward myself with a nice long nap.

I woke up in an abandoned cabin in the swamps. Not just that - an abandoned cabin with an assassin and three victims.

You see, in killing Grelod, I made a mistake. Because I was not a Dark Brotherhood assassin, yet I took a Dark Brotherhood contract. The Brotherhood was not too happy at having a kill stolen, so they had a proposition for me - kill someone else. Repay the kill I stole, in Astrid’s words.

So… I did. 

Shush, shush, okay? Not my proudest moment. But then you try waking up in an unfamiliar place with an assassin.

I thought it would all end there. I thought this would be a strange little incident that I could tell stories about over a mug of ale. ‘Oh, I got kidnapped by assassins! What a whacky day’.

It wasn’t.

In fact, they wanted me to join.

Now at the moment, I had other things to worry about - namely, the Skeleton Key, and returning it to the Twilight Sepulcher. So I said ‘sure, whatever, I’ll get their eventually’. Now, does anyone here know the phrase ‘curiosity killed the cat’?

That applies here. Curiosity didn’t kill me, per se, but it definitely butchered my morals.

I’ll skip over the details, because this story does start out rather boring. I met up with the rest of the Dark Brotherhood - Arnbjorn, Astrid’s husband and werewolf by the scent of him, Festus Krex, a self-described ‘cranky old uncle that nobody talks to’, Gabriella, who has a pet frostbite spider for reasons I can’t fathom, Veezara, former Shadowscale. 

Nazir is also worth mentioning, as is Babette. Nazir is a Redguard, very fluent in the language of sarcasm, and actually gave me my first contract - to kill a paranoid man outside Windhelm. Yes, very glamorous indeed.

Babette is also a special one. You see, she’s a child. Or at least, that’s what I thought. Turns out she’s also a vampire - and didn’t even bat an eye at me. Instead, she smiled, told me I’ll love it here, and handed me a vial of blood. I don’t think I’ll even understand that girl.

I had just finished my first contract - a mine boss in Dawnstar. Nothing glamorous. Just a simple kill. I was heading back into the Sanctuary when I heard… commotion, to say the least.

“But the Night Mother is mother to all!” A shrill said, so high I almost thought it was female. “It is her voice we follow, her will!” The man continued. “Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely… punishment?”

Oh, I really hated the way he said that last word. But why on earth did I feel like I knew him?

I entered the main part of the Sanctuary, with the rest of the Brotherhood gathered around a massive crate and who I could only assume to be a jester standing in front of it.

Arnbjorn audibly growled. “Keep talking, little man, and we’ll see who gets punished.”

“Oh be quiet, you great lumbering lapdog,” Festus said, smacking Arnbjorn’s shoulder, earning another growl from the beast of a man. “The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil.” He turned back to the jester. “Mister Cicero, I, for one, am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition.”

Cicero, Cicero… where on earth had I heard that name?
The jester - Cicero, apparently, gasped with glee, putting one hand on his chest. “Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady’s favor!”

“You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero,” Astrid said, using that honey-sweet tone she used on me back at our first meeting, when I was about ready to kill her rather than one of the captives. The same tone she used to ease down tensions. “And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper.” She shot a hard glare at Arnbjorn. “Understood… husband?”

Arnbjorn grumbled some obscenity even I’m not comfortable translating.

“Oh, yes yes yes!” Cicero said. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

“But make no mistake,” Astrid said, her voice taking on a firm tone. “I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?”

“Oh yes, Mistress, perfectly!” Cicero said. “You’re the boss!”

The rest of the Brotherhood dispersed, and Astrid came towards me, looking more tired than I had seen her.

“Ah, there you are,” She sighed. “Good, I was done speaking with that muttering fool anyway. We’ve got some business to discuss.”

“Do you have a contract for me?” I asked, still keeping my eyes on the jester and trying to figure out where I knew him from.

“I do indeed,” Astrid said. “You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary’s assistant. You’ll probably find her in the Hag’s Cure, when the shop is open. The girl’s been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed,” Astrid said it so casually, as if this was a normal affair. Who knows, maybe it was. 

“She apparently performed the Black Sacrament,” Astrid continued. “Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out.”

“Anything else?” I asked.

Astrid shook her head, waving the question away. “Just do whatever the contact wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done.” There was a gleam in her eyes. “Since it’s your first contract, I’ll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She’ll be generous, I’m sure. They always are.” 

There was a clamor behind us, as Cicero said something to Arnbjorn that made him just about ready to tear the jester to shreds right then and there. Astrid sighed.

“You go speak to Muiri,” She said. “I’ve got to deal with the Night Mother and her little… clown.”

I made my way to the back of the Sanctuary, where Nazir was picking at his nails with a dagger. I approached, and he raised an eyebrow.

“I see you’re back from Dawnstar,” He said. “Beitild lies dead, I hope?”

I nodded. “Beitild is dead.”

He began digging around for a coin purse. “Of course she is. I hear the mining business is extremely… cutthroat.” He chuckled at his own pun. “And those hours… they’re murder.”

I groaned. 

He laughed. “I can do this all day. Here’s your payment.”

I pocketed the coins, leaning against the table. “Nazir, I also have to ask… your opinion on Cicero and the Night Mother?”

Nazir sighed. “I don’t like mimes, minstrels, thespians, acrobats, jugglers, troubadours, or tumblers.” He half-sneered. “Flutists give me a headache. I particularly hate jesters. As a rule, I’m also not crazy about the corpses of old women. For the Night Mother, I’ll make an exception. But Astrid is the mistress I serve.”

I nodded. “Huh. That seems to be everyone’s general consensus.”

Nazir nodded. “Oh, and a hint on your current contract - don’t get yourself killed.”

I snickered, leaving the dining area and heading back to the main Sanctuary, and suddenly I found myself nose to nose with Cicero.

His eyes widened. “Wait, oh wait,” He said, examining me closely. He gasped. “I know you! Yes, yes… from the road!” He grinned just a little too wide for comfort. “Cicero never forgets a face!”

It suddenly clicked in my brain. The jester, the voice, the oddity of referring to himself in the third person. I snapped my fingers.

“You’re the man with the wagon!” I said. My eyes drifted up to the crate. “Transporting his… mother…” Too many things suddenly made sense.

“I am, I am!” He said proudly. “But not just my mother, our mother, hmm?” He nudged me with his elbow like we were in one some secret joke. “The Night Mother, yes!”

He clapped his hands together. “And you helped me! You helped poor Cicero! You talked to Loreius, got him to fix my wheel!” He was practically dancing around me now. “Oh, you may have pleased me, but you have surely pleased the Night Mother.”

He got in close, far too close for comfort, practically whispering in my ear. “And our mother, she will never forget.”

I edged away before I got too claustrophobic from the closeness. “Well, lovely to meet you Cicero, but I must be going. Ah…” I waved awkwardly. “Take care.”

He grinned again, waving fanatically. “Farewell, farewell!”

I don’t think I’ve ever hurried out of the Sanctuary so fast. Little did I know that Cicero’s arrival sparked a snowball of events… that would eventually end with the death of an Emperor at my own hands.

Chapter Text

Some of you may have noticed that me making mistakes is something of a… theme. And lucky for you, that theme continues, with arguably one of the dumbest things I’ve ever done. Not necessarily bad, or evil, just… downright stupid.

It started as I came back from my contract for Muiri. Great, great, killed some bandits and got some coin. The… excitement started when I came back from that mission.

“Ah, so you’re back?” Astrid said, in her normal spot, hovering over a map of Skyrim. She raised an eyebrow. “So, how went your first real contract? A bit more exciting than what Nazir’s been offering, I’d wager.”

I shrugged awkwardly. I didn’t mind killing, but it felt strange to be so nonchalant about it, and so… open. “I did what had to be done. Nothing more.”

“Of course, dear, of course,” Astrid said, as if she didn’t believe me. “And from what my little ravens tell me, you handled yourself quite well. Now, I need your assistance with a matter of more... personal nature.”

My mind immediately went to the gutter before I dragged it back out. “Is… something wrong?” I asked.

“It’s Cicero,” Astrid hissed. “Ever since he’s arrived, his behavior’s been… well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he’s truly mad.” She shook her head with a sigh. “But it’s worse than that. He’s taken to locking himself in the Night Mother’s chamber, and talking. To someone, in hushed but frantic tones. Who is he talking to? What are they planning? I fear treachery.” She was full-on pacing now, eyes distant but intense.

I tried to think of a way to say this nicely. “Astrid, you’re being a bit… paranoid.”

“Maybe so,” She said, stopping her pacing. “But healthy paranoia has saved this Sanctuary before, and my gut’s telling me that demented little fool is up to something.” 

I bit my lip. To be fair, I was a bit paranoid about Cicero too - he seemed harmless, but he was an assassin at heart, too. Dangerous.

Just like you are, now. My conscious hissed.

I brushed aside that stray thought. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.

“Dear sister, I need you to steal into that chamber, and eavesdrop on their meeting.” She paused, putting one hand on the hilt of the dagger on her hips, running her hands along the pommel. “It’ll be no use clinging to the shadows. They’ll see you for sure. No, you need a hiding place. Somewhere they’d never think to look.” 

A slow grin spread across her face, an idea dawning. “Like… inside the Night Mother’s coffin.”

My stomach squirmed. 

“No objections, then? Good.” Astrid said, barely waiting for me to reply. “Go now, before they meet. And report back to me with whatever you learn.”

Astrid was not someone I wanted to get on the bad side of. Besides, despite the inherent ickiness of hiding in a goddamn coffin… I was curious, too. I wanted to know what Cicero was up to.

So I went into the Night Mother’s chamber. The great big stained glass portrait gleamed, macabre but beautiful. I fiddled with the lock - disappointingly simple, really - and pried open the doors.

I paused. I don’t know what I was expecting the Night Mother’s corpse to be like. I guess a skeleton. This… was not. It was mummified, the skin paper-thin and almost translucent, the eyes hollow and empty. Her head was cocked to one side, the jaw hanging open. She was wrapped in ancient, dusty cloths. 

I felt myself gag. Ew, ew, ew, EW-

Nonetheless, I gingerly stepped inside, edging as far away from the Night Mother as possible. Not like the coffin was very big. As I closed the doors, everything went dark. As my eyes adjusted, I could make out the skeletal outline of the Night Mother’s body. I heard the doors in the chamber creak open, and I went rigid.

“Are we alone?” Cicero whispered. “Yes, yes… alone. Sweet solitude!” I heard him begin pacing the room. “No one will hear us, disturb us. Everything is going according to plan.”

I tried to keep my composure. It was getting harder and harder with Cicero just outside and the Night Mother’s body uncomfortably close to mine.

“The others, I’ve spoken to them…” Cicero continued. “And they’re coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex… perhaps even the Argonian, and the un-child.”

He paused just outside the door, and I unconsciously sucked in a breath. 

“What about you? Have you… spoken to anyone?” He hissed. “No… no, of course not,” He said, his voice growing louder and fiercer. “I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and the saying!” 

There was an odd, nervous little chuckle from the jester. “Not… not that I’m angry! No, never! Cicero understands.” Another little laugh. “Cicero always understands! And obeys! You will talk when you’re ready, won’t you?” 

He was right outside the coffin now, I could smell him. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing myself to stay still despite every instinct telling me to run.

“Won’t you…” Cicero mused. “Sweet Night Mother.”

I paused. He… Cicero… he was talking to the Night Mother’s corpse. I wanted to laugh from the sheer relief. That seemed about right, the lunatic raving the Night Mother’s corpse. Looks like Astrid was being paranoid.

Then I heard another voice. One that chilled me to my bones and made me stiffen.

“ Poor Cicero,” The voice rasped. “Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he is not the Listener.”

I was frozen in place, rooted to the spot. The voice sounded so close, like it was everywhere, enveloping me.

“Oh, but how can I defend you?” Cicero said, but I barely processed the words. “How can I exert your will? If you will not speak… to anyone!”

“ Oh, but I will speak,” The voice said again, and I had a dreadful feeling settle in my stomach. “ I will speak to you. For you are the one.”

I shut my eyes tightly, as if that would make the voice go away. Please don’t be talking about me, please don’t be talking about me-

“Yes, you,” The voice said as if reading my thoughts. “You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task - journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. My entire body felt paralyzed. I’m not sure if it was from fear or the Night Mother’s influence.

“Poor Cicero has failed you!” Cicero cried, though he sounded muffled and distant, even though I could still smell him just outside the coffin. “Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet mother. I’ve tried, so very hard… but I just can’t find the Listener!”

“Tell Cicero the time has come,” The Night Mother said. “Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: darkness rises when silence dies.”

The coffin doors swung open.

I fell out of it, my knees practically giving out from under me now that I was away from the Night Mother. Her presence felt suffocating. The light was blinding, the world spinning… but Cicero’s shrill voice cut above all else.

“What?” He shrieked. “What treachery! Defiler! Debaser and defiler!” He picked me up by my shoulders, his face contorted in rage. “You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother’s coffin! Explain yourself!” He produced a dagger from his sheath, pressing the cool metal against my throat.

Panic overtook me. I was back in Snow Veil Sanctum, the blood draining from my body, everything darkening and ringing and feeling hopeless and lost and Mercer laughing as he walked away, his blade across my throat-

It was Cicero’s voice that yanked me back to the present. “ Speak, worm!” 

“Th-The Night Mother! She spoke to me!” I had to practically force the words out of my mouth, manually making my vocal cords work. Why was I shaking? Why did my throat burn like I was about to cry? “Sh-She said I am the one.”

Cicero paused for a moment. “She… she spoke to you?” Confusion gave way to pure rage once more. “More treachery! More trickery and deceit! You lie!” His eyes narrowed, and I suddenly felt the full force of his anger. “The Night Mother only speaks to the Listener! And there is… no… LISTENER!”

I felt the dagger press deeper in my throat, not enough to draw blood but still far too close for comfort. Pressing through rapid panic and fear, I put my hands on Cicero’s wrist.

“Wait!” I said, my own voice going shrill. “She said to tell you-” I blinked a few times, trying to remember the phrase. “ Darkness rises when silence dies.”

Cicero recoiled, his blade no longer at my throat. I felt myself loosen. “She… she said that? She said those words… to you? Darkness rises when silence dies?”

I could only give a weak nod.

“But those are the words,” Cicero said. “The Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I would know.” A smile grew across his face, wider and wider. “The signal so I should know. Mother’s only way of talking to sweet Cicero… then…” A demented little giggle as he clapped his hands. “It is true! She is back! Our Lady is back!”

He began dancing and clapping. “She has chosen a Listener! She has chosen you!” He threw his head back, cackling madly. “All hail the Listener!”

The other set of doors slammed open, and Astrid ran in, fierce. “By Sithis, this ends now!” She drew her dagger, pointing it at Cicero. “Back away, fool! Whatever you’ve been planning is over!”

She glanced to me, dagger still pointed at Cicero but her eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright? I heard the commotion. Who was Cicero talking to? Where’s the accomplice?” 

Her eyes hardened and she glanced around the room. “Reveal yourself, traitor!”

“I spoke only to the Night Mother!” Cicero said, almost offended. “I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn’t speak to me. Oh no, she spoke to her!” He jabbed one finger in my direction. “To the Listener?”

Astrid blinked a few times, dumbfounded. “What? The Listener?” Her gaze hardened, and she took a few steps towards Cicero. “What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?”

“It’s true, it’s true!” Cicero said, bouncing up and down. “The Night Mother has spoken! The Listener has been chosen!”

Ignoring Cicero entirely, Astrid stepped towards me, sheathing her dagger and putting both hands on my shoulders. I must’ve looked like hell, because her brow furrowed in concern, and her lips pursed.

“When I heard Cicero screaming, I knew you had been discovered. I feared the worst. Are you alright?” She asked, keeping her tone quiet and even.

“I…” My voice was hoarse. “I don’t know, it all happened so fast...” I croaked.

“Okay, let’s all take a deep breath,” Astrid said. Even though I didn’t have to breathe, going through the motions still calmed me down a bit. “Cicero said he spoke to the Night Mother, but she spoke to you? Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke.”

I shook my head. “It’s true. The Night Mother spoke to me. She said I was… the one.”

Astrid blinked. “What? So Cicero wasn’t talking to anyone else? Just… the Night Mother’s body? And the Night Mother, who - according to everything we know - will only speak to the person chosen as Listener… just spoke. Right now. To you?”

I nodded.

“By Sithis…” Astrid said, her eyes going distant before she met mine again. “And? What did she say?”

I scrambled to actually remember the awkward one-sided conversation. “She said I-I must speak to someone named Amaund Motierre, in Volunruud.”

“Amaund Motierre?” Astrid said. “I have no idea who that is. But Volunruud… That I have heard of. And I know where that is.”

“W-Well, he’s there.” I said. “Sh-Should I go to Volunruud? Should I talk to this man?”

“Hm?” Astrid said, suddenly shaken out of her own thoughts. “No. No! Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here, but you take orders from me. Are we clear on that?”

She took a few steps back, taking a deep breath and running a hand through her hair. “The Night Mother may have spoken to you, but I am still the leader of this family. I will not have my authority so easily dismissed. I… I need time to think about this.”

She closed her eyes. “Go see Nazir, do some work for him. I’ll find you when I’m ready to discuss this further.”

With that, she left the chamber, her footsteps echoing. Beside me, Cicero clapped.

“You are the Listener, you are the Listener!” He said in a sing-song tone. “I have served Mother well, I have!”

“Ah, Cicero?” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “Will… will the Night Mother speak to me again?”

Cicero barked out a laugh. “Surely you are pulling Cicero’s leg!” He saw the look on my face, growing quiet. “Wait… the Listener is serious? Oh.”

He thought for a moment. “Well, of course the Night Mother will speak to you again! She might speak now, or later, or… I don’t know! But speak she will!” He got up close to me again, too close for comfort. “The Night Mother is a part of you now! You get to hear voices inside your head!” He said that like it was some great reward, or magic ability. Well, I suppose it sort of was. “The rest of us should be so lucky,” Cicero mused.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me. I felt like the world might go out from under me. My fingers twitched - my throat burned, one thin line, right where my scar from Mercer’s blade was.

I stumbled outside, letting the cool night air greet me. I dropped to my knees. What was happening to me? Why was I so panicked?

“And this tomb to be your final resting place.”

I felt like I was choking all over again, slipping into unconsciousness on the stone floors in Snow Veil Sanctum. Every muscle felt tightened, paralyzed, and I could still hear Mercer taunting me. And of course, the metal of his blade at my throat. The split second of pain. The smell of my own blood. The metallic taste in the back of my throat.

“I’ll give Brynjolf your regards.”

I coughed. I felt like I might throw up, like I would pass out any minute. I put both hands over my mouth, trying to stop the scream bubbling up in my throat-

A small whine escaped my throat, more of a mew than anything else. I collapsed in on myself, tears welling up in my eyes, when I felt a muzzle nudged my hand.

Meeko tilted his head, concerned but unsure of what to do. He pressed himself closer to me, his fur course and shaggy but comforting between my fingers. I hadn’t even realized I was trembling until Meeko made sure he was on my lap. I went through the motions of breathing - air in, air out. It scared me a bit of how alien it was, how hard I had to focus to just breathe.

“Thanks, Meeks,” I muttered, my voice hoarse. Meeko just wagged his tail, licking my cheek. Like the good boy he was.

A few more deep breaths. Maybe I needed time to think, too.

Chapter Text

You know those moments where you begin explaining something that seems perfectly normal to you, only to realize by the reactions of others that it is Very Much Not Normal?

I had that recently. You see, my memory has always been horrible - I know things and places and events and people, but it’s all… blurry. Barely there. I know what happened, I just don’t really remember anything about it.

I thought that was a normal thing. To just… forget whole weeks at a time. To have them blur together. To forget what day it is, and what happened the day before. It’s not.

Because you see, in the span of about a week, seven people died by my hand.

Vittoria Vici.

Gaius Maro.

Anton Virane.

The Gourmet.

Commander Maro.

Amaund Motierre.

And the Emperor. Titus Mede II.

The funny thing is I don’t really remember any of them. I can tell you that I snuck aboard the Katariah to kill the Emperor, but I can’t tell you anything about the ship itself or what the Emperor said. I can tell you that I killed Gaius Maro, but I can’t remember which city or how. 

Strangely, the one I have the most memory of is Vittoria. It… It was her wedding day. And she was so damn happy. Someone was singing. And when I killed her, it was just silence. Dead silence for a split second before the screaming started.

And out of everything else? What did I remember most from that chaotic day?

The crown of flowers she wore. Spotless, except for a single drop of blood.

I think that’s part of the reason I spared Cicero. You see, he went crazy - Astrid said something patronizing about the Night Mother and that was the last straw for the jester. I was sent to kill him. He was hidden away in the Dawnstar Sanctuary, bleeding and coughing, when something snapped in me.

I was exhausted. I don’t know why, or of what. Looking back on it, I think that’s when I grew weary of killing. So I left. And I told Astrid the deed had been done, even though my blade had never pierced his skin.

The rest of it is even more of a blur. I have a very vivid memory of staring down to notice blood on my hands - I don’t remember who I had killed, but it had been harsh. Painful.

I remember the Sanctuary burning. I remember Maro’s words ringing in my head - Your Sanctuary’s being put to the sword right now.

I remember the rancid scent of burning flesh.

I thought this was normal. To wake up and be somewhere else for a moment, to have entire weeks forgotten. To panic over something minor, to have memories rush to the forefront of your mind.

I’ve been able to notice what sets me over an edge. Something pressing against my throat. Smoke. Excessive blood or burning flesh. 

It took me a disappointingly long time to realize why it was these specific feelings that made me panic.

The burning and smoke from when the Sanctuary was attacked.

Mercer’s blade slitting my throat when he betrayed me.

Blood from the first time I drained someone when I was a vampire.

Do you know what I do remember, though? What moment truly sticks out to me above everything else, above all the hurt and painful memories?

Choosing to leave it all behind.

And I think that might be the strongest thing I’ve ever had to do.

I made sure to pay Delvin for the Dawnstar Sanctuary to be upgraded. Babette and Nazir deserved a good home. Then, I retrieved all my stuff from the Ratway and sold whatever I could afford to sell. Then, I set out on my journey - to try and do something good.

That was easier said than done.

My first stop was Morthal - ironically enough, the place where most of my issues had started, what with the vampirism and all. There were rumors going around that there was a man there who specialized in the undead - Falion. Considering I was at a loss for anything else, it was as good a lead as any. 

Falion himself was amiable enough, he didn’t berate me for the condition and didn’t ask many questions. He had a ritual he could do, one that required a filled black soul gem. And honestly? That was probably the easiest part.

He told me to meet him at the Summoning Stones out in the marsh at dawn. I had no idea those even existed. I was up most of the night, nervously pacing. What if it didn’t work? What if Falion was wrong? Would I be stuck as a vampire for untold centuries?

Eventually, the skies began to turn a faint pink, and I met Falion at the Stones. He gave a curt nod.

“Good, you’re here,” He said, as if not expecting me to show up at all.

“Well?” I said. “Let’s get this done with.”

“As you wish. Stand in the center of the stones and I will begin the ritual.”

I moved towards the center of the circle, shifting my weight awkwardly. Falion took a deep breath as the sky began to turn yellow.

“I call upon the Oblivion realms, the home of those who are not our ancestors. Answer my plea!” His voice echoed in the desolate marsh, and I felt a ripple go through me. I stiffened, holding my ground.

“As in death, there is new life,” Falion said, tilting his head up towards the sky. “In Oblivion there is a beginning for that which has ended.”

My vision started to go hazy. I blinked a few times, trying to keep my balance as the world began to tilt.

“I call forth that power!” Falion bellowed, his voice growing dimmer and dimmer. “Accept the soul we offer!”

Magic hummed in the air as my vision went dark. I could feel the first rays of sunshine peeking over the mountains, dawn rapidly approaching-

“As the sun ends the night,” Falion continued, his voice practically distant. “End the darkness of this soul, return life to the creature you see before you!”

I dropped to my knees - something was wrong. My chest was pained, strikes of pain going through my heart. I couldn’t talk, couldn’t move, couldn’t-

Through my still dim senses, I felt Falion put both his hands on my shoulders, his voice echoing but still managing to cut through my panic.

“Breathe,” He said. “You need to breathe,”

I gasped in one massive lungful of air after another, almost lightheaded from it. I blinked a few times - my vision was still clearing, but… I could see. There was no more painful glare from the sun or burning sensation from its rays. It felt… warm. Pleasant, almost. 

Falion had stood up, almost smiling. “You are human again. Like the rest of us.” He nodded. “Don’t squander your mortality. If you do, however, and decide to go back on it, I will always be here.”

I was still panting, knelt on the ground, but I managed a smile. “Thank you, Falion.”

This odd period - between when I got cured and before I discovered I was the Dragonborn - is where most of my more bizarre adventures happened. I gave Clavicus Vile back his dog, I got into a drinking contest with Sanguine, I discovered a Forsworn plot at the heart of Markarth. 

And in between chatting with Daedra and putting my nose into places I shouldn’t be, I did what I could for the common people. Delivered packages for them, helped them get precious items. And it felt… good. I felt like maybe, just maybe, I had made a good impact on this person’s life.

But still, I felt like I was drifting. For all the good I was doing, it truthfully wasn’t much. How could I atone for killing dynasties and wives? For murdering innocents?

I couldn’t. Worse, still, I hadn’t set foot in Solitude in all that time. I was still wanted there - they hadn’t seen me kill the Emperor, thank the gods, but Commander Maro’s murder was practically a public execution… not like I remember any of it.

I was terrified to go there and face my crimes. I wasn’t ready to. Not until a very kind Dumner set me on the right path.

His name was Erandur. I was in Dawnstar - still keeping a wide berth from the Black Door - when I had heard rumors of terrible nightmares plaguing the city. Erandur, as a priest of Mara, was trying to help. And as part of my ‘Trying To Make A Difference’ attitude, I offered my services. He accepted, and, well…

Turns out he used to be a follower of Vaermina.

I was… well, I couldn’t even say I was super shocked. I had learned that perfectly ordinary people could be followers of Daedra - or, hell, even Daedra themselves. He apologized for keeping the truth, and we went on about our business, destroying the dark artifact at the heart of the nightmares. Afterwards, we headed back to the city for some food and drink, and found ourselves alone outside the tavern as both moons rose overhead.

“I wanted to thank you once more for your help,” Erandur said. “You provided both courage and an extra set of hands.”

I waved it off. “Really, the pleasure is mine. I’ve been… trying to make a difference.”

“Well then, I say you’ve done a wonderful job.”

It was quiet for a little while. The wind howled. I thought about Erandur’s story - once a follower of Vaermina, turned into a priest of Mara. Working to atone for his sins.

“Erandur,” I said. “Do… do you think anyone can be forgiven?”

He paused. “Well, I suppose it depends on the crime.”

I dug my nails into my hand. “Oh.”

“Is there something you would like to confess? Sins you would like to purge?”

I stared off at the horizon, onto the cold gray seas. “I’m… I’m not sure I can. If I said anything, I’d have to turn myself in.”

Erandur sighed. “Well, judging by the fact you’re asking if you can be forgiven, I think that’s evidence enough you feel regret for whatever you might have done.”

I shut my eyes tight. “What can I even do?”

“Well, who was impacted most by your actions?”

I thought for a second. I had killed an Emperor. The entire Empire was suffering. That, plus those who I had killed family members or loved ones, and those I had stolen from, who I had taken their only money-

“Breathe,” Erandur said, and only then did I realize how frantic and rushed my breathing had gotten. I took a few deep breaths.

“I’ve hurt a lot,” I said, my voice hoarse.

Concern was written in every line of Erandur’s face. “I can see. But you must realize, you need to be able to forgive yourself first, before you begin helping others. It took me an awfully long time to realize that, and find my way into Mara’s benevolence.”

I took a shaky breath, gripping the railing so hard it almost splintered. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

Erandur smiled warmly. Maybe it was the slight divinity around him, but I felt a little bit safer. “I’ll continue to stay here in Dawnstar, and tend to the meager shrine to Mara in Nightcaller Temple, if you need any guidance on your road to forgiveness.”

I felt tears well up in my eyes. “I… thank you, Erandur.”

He clapped me on one shoulder, pulling me in for half a hug.

I realized then what I needed to do. I couldn’t save a whole Empire, but I could at least help them in the civil war.

But that would mean returning to the scene of some of my greatest crimes - Solitude.

Chapter Text

“Ah, General? Sir?” Legate Rikke poked her head into the planning room of Castle Dour.

General Tullius massaged his temples. Between the recent assassination, the civil war, and approximately thirteen other things, he was nearing his limit. 

“Yes, Legate?” He growled.

Rikke noticed the tension in the air almost immediately, stiffening. “If you have more pressing matters right now, sir, I’m sure this can wait.”

“No, no,” Tullius said, stepping away from the map of Skyrim. “Just… tell me what it is.”

Rikke looked uncomfortable for a second. “We… captured the Khajiit who killed Commander Maro.”

Tullius straightened. That damn cat was elusive, evading just about everything they sent at her. Not to mention, she was supposedly implicated in the assassination of the Emperor, and a break-in to the East Empire Company, possible ties to the Thieves Guild-

Then he remembered the tone in her Rikke’s voice. The worry and hesitation. He paused. “What’s the catch?”

Rikke didn’t meet his eyes. “She’s… turned herself in, General.”

Tullius was still for a moment. “She’s been as slippery as a slaughterfish for months, and she just turned herself in? Out of the blue?”

“As far as we can tell, sir.” Rikke nodded. “She’s refusing to speak to anyone else until she speaks to you.”

“Me?” Tullius said. “Did she say why?”

“No, sir.”

Tullius sighed. “Gah, fine, fine. I suppose it’ll only be a few minutes. She’s in the dungeons, I take it?”

“Yes, sir.” Rikke’s jaw hardened. “She’s being more stubborn than anything. She knows she’s only in there for the murder of Commander Maro, and is refusing to say anything else about possible crimes.”

Tullius shook her head. Damn Khajiits were always stubborn.

Making his way down to the dungeons, he got a few curt nods from the various guards, before approaching the cell at the very end of the block. Sure enough, there she was. Just as described in reports - striped black and brown fur, scar on her nose, blue eyes. She was large for a Khajiit too - Tullius suspected that if she stood, she would be taller than him. The standard ragged prison clothing was almost tight for her.

“General,” She said with a small nod. She didn’t have the traditional Elswyer accent, just a faint rasp to her voice. “I’m glad to see you accepted my proposal.”

Tullius gripped one of the bars. “We know what you’ve done, cat.” He spit out the words. “You’re only in here and not on the chopping block because we don’t have enough evidence.”

She was silent for a second, before having the audacity to laugh. She shook her head.

“Tullius-” She paused. “May I call you that? Or do you prefer General?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Truly, I appreciate the attempt, but it will take more than empty threats to get any sort of information out of me.”

“Then what do you want?” Tullius growled.

“I have a proposal,” The Khajiit said, straightening. “A… deal, if you will.”

“I’m a General, not a shopkeeper,” Tullius said, already beginning to turn to leave.

“Wait!” She said, sounding almost desperate. She reached one hand out, and when Tullius turned around, her eyes were full of fear.

“Oh?” Tullius said. “Willing to talk now?”

She hissed, her tail twitching behind her. “Just… please. Hear me out.” She regained her composure, taking in a deep breath. “Listen, please. I join the Legion, you erase my record.” She met Tullius’s eyes, her gaze hard as stone.

Tullius knelt down. “And why would I do that?”

The Khajiit took a deep breath. “Obviously, there is a benefit for me, but I think the benefit for you could be greater,” She said. “You know I killed Maro - a trained Legion soldier, and one of the Penitus Oculatus, at that.” She cast her gaze off to one side. “And if you choose to believe rumors, I also killed an Emperor. I’m well versed in the field of combat.”

Tullius thought for a second. “You can be charged for assault, murder, theft, trespassing, and possibly even regicide if we find enough evidence.” He narrowed his eyes. “You want me to erase all of that, for what? One more able body in the Legion?”

Even as he said it out loud, he knew they were running thin on troops. The recent few weeks had been harder than ever, with everyone trying to clean up after the assassination.

The Khajiit balled her hands into fists. “Fine, then. Let me serve out some of my time. I can serve the other half in the Legion. I’ll take the suicide missions, I don’t care.”

Tullius raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you so desperate to serve, hm?” He narrowed his eyes. “What do you get out of serving the Legion?”

Her gaze remained icy cold, with just a hint of emotion behind it. “My reasons are my own. But at least take my word on this - once you have my trust, you have it. It would take a literal knife in my back to make me turn on you.”

Tullius stood, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. He turned on his heel, not another sound from the Khajiit.

Rikke perked up as Tullius entered Castle Dour. “Sir? How did it go?”

“She wants a full pardon for her crimes. In exchange, she would enroll in the Legion.”

Rikke was quiet, blinking a few times. “But... technically her crimes are only killing Maro. That's the only thing we can really prosecute her for.”

“And she knows that,” Tullius said, pacing the length of the room. “She knows we can’t persecute her without further evidence, and she’s likely the only one that would supply that evidence, unless we feel like doing a manhunt of all of Skyrim.”

Tullius paused, letting out a humorless laugh. “She’s pretty damn smart, I’ll give her that. She knows exactly what to say.”

“So?” Rikke said. “Are you considering her proposal?”

“Frankly? I am,” Tullius said. “Not only are we running low on troops, but… if she can manage to kill an Emperor with barely any more evidence implicating her than ‘she was going that way’... she knows what she’s doing.”

Rikke froze up. “S-Sir, at best, she’s a murderer and a thief. We only have hard evidence for a theft in the East Empire Company and the murder of Commander Maro. But at worst, she’s possibly killed an Emperor, and may even be responsible for half a dozen other killings.” Her eyes darted away. “I mean, Vittoria…”

“She’s made a mockery of the Legion, of the Empire,” Tullius said. “So why in Oblivion would she want to join?”

There was silence for a while. Tullius sighed.

“I want even scrap of information you can get on her,” Tullius said. “Possible connections, aliases, property - anything. There’s got to be something we’re missing her.” 

Rikke gave a curt nod. “On it, sir.”

~ ~ ~

Two days later, Rikke came back with a stack of papers.

Tullius raised an eyebrow. “If this is more Thalmor paperwork I have to sign-”

“It’s not,” Rikke said, setting it down on the table. “It’s all the information on the Khajiit in the dungeons. Turns out her name is Tallulah Moonstep. Arrived in Skyrim via Windhelm a few months ago.”

“Hm,” Tullius said, picking up the first slip of paper, with a list of dates, names, and places. “And this is…?”

“I had a few soldiers do reconnaissance in various holds,” Rikke said. “Seems she went from Windhelm and Riften before her heist on the East Empire company. Then, she fled to Morthal, disappeared for a while, before next being placed in Markarth. After that, various other major holds and a few minor cities, before Maro’s murder and her eventual disappearance.”

“Curious,” Tullius muttered. “And what was she doing?”

“In Morthal, she actually helped out Jarl Idgrod. Cleared out a vampire lair on the outskirts of town, but never came to get her payment. In Markarth, the Court Wizard Calcelmo allegedly spoke to her briefly about his research into the Falmer-” She sighed. “Later that night, several guards reported noises and disturbances, and Calcelmo’s personal lab was in disarray.”

“So she robbed him.”

Rikke clicked her tongue. “We’re unsure, but nothing much was actually stolen. A small coin purse and a bit of paper and charcoal.”

Tullius looked through more papers, scanning all of them intently. “Then what is her angle…?”

“Citizens of Riften report she’s been in contact with a man named Brynjolf, who is almost certainly a member of the Thieves Guild.” Rikke shuffled the papers around. “And while none of this is exactly hard proof, she can be placed in the area for these murders.”

Tullius scanned the list. Grelod the Kind. Narfi of Ivarstead. Beitild of Dawnstar. Anton Virane of Markarth. 

“And, sir?” Rikke grimaced. “Many of them were killed the same way.”

“And how would that be?”

Rikke awkwardly cleared her throat. “Drained of blood, sir.”

Tullius nodded slowly. “So we’re dealing with a murderer, thief, and possibly a vampire or necromancer.” Tullius thought. “Maybe both.”

“There’s more, sir.”

“More?” 

“Recent reports have her aiding citizens in Riften, Falkreath, and Whiterun, as well as aiding the Silver-Bloods in Markarth and allegedly aiding a priest of Mara in helping clear out Daedra worshippers in Dawnstar.”

“So what?” Tullius said. “She changed? Or does she simply have no morals to speak of, doing as she wishes at any given moment?” He looked back down at the papers. “This is erratic. It’s like it’s not even the same person sometimes.”  

“Like I said, sir, we don’t know,” Rikke said, putting her hands up and taking a step back. “I don’t think we have the full story. There’s far more to her than meets the eye.”

Tullius grumbled, stacking the papers back up. “I’ll take… a closer look at these.” 

“So you are considering her proposal?”

“All that I know is that she killed a Penitus Oculatus Commander in broad daylight with not a bit of hesitation. She’s a killer.” Tullius paused. “But that could always work in our favor.” He closed his eyes, letting out a long breath. “Dismissed, Legate. And I want you to continue monitoring our troops in Morthal, Markarth, and Falkreath.” He glanced back down at the papers. “I think I’ll have my hands full with this.”

Rikke nodded. “Understood, sir.”

~ ~ ~

The sound of heavy footsteps jerked Tallulah out of her restless sleep. A guard stood in front of her.

“It’s your lucky day, cat.” He said, unlocking the cell.

Tallulah blinked away. “Wha…?”

The guard hauled her up without a second word, guiding her to the front of the dungeons and directing her to a chest.

“All of your gear is in there,” He said. “I’ll let you get changed.”

I’m being let go? Tallulah thought as the guard left. Did… did Tullius actually listen?

Changing into her Guildmaster’s armor - maybe not the most discrete, but she didn’t exactly have anything else - she followed the guard out into the sunlight, and soon into Castle Dour. General Tullius and a Nord woman Tallulah didn’t recognize - she’s a Legate, right? - stood on either side of the table, staring her down harshly. Tallulah stiffened, lifting her chin and trying her best to look confident.

“I’ve considered your proposal,” Tullius said. 

“I figured,” Tallulah said. “Or else I’d probably be being lead to the block, wouldn’t I?”

Tullius just sighed. “But obviously, you’re not regular Legion material. So Legate Rikke and I provide two ways to prove your worth.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Clear out Fort Hraggstad. We intend to install a garrison there, but a certain group of bandits decided to hole up there instead.”

“And the second test?” Tallulah asked.

“Go to Helgen,” Tullius said. “We have a group of Stormcloak rebels getting executed there, and make sure it’s all going smoothly.”

Tallulah raised an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

Tullius huffed. “Don’t test my patience. You are getting one chance, and one chance only. You better make the best of it.”

To his surprise, Tallulah gave a polite nod. “Consider it done.”

“Do that,” Tullius said, turning back to his map. “And we’ll see about you joining the Legion.”

Chapter Text

I had decided I was going to turn my life around. Shockingly, deciding it in the first place and actually getting the guts to turn myself in was the hard part.

Now that my criminal past was behind me, I was so, so ready to make a true change. To be the hero I had heard about in stories. The next part of my story is twofold - not only is it the story of the Skyrim Civil War, but it’s also my true story, for lack of a better term; the story of me as the Dragonborn. I consider it my true story because, as said at the beginning of this whole damn thing, I am the Dragonborn. No getting around it. I was born that way, it wasn’t a title I earned.

Now, regarding the Civil War, I pledged myself to the Imperial Legion, but don’t let that cloud your judgement. I respect many of the Stormcloaks, and their bravery in fighting for their land. I believe the White-Gold Concordat’s ban of Talos worship to be disgraceful to the whole of Skyrm (and myself, seeing as Talos and I share the sossedov). In addition, I find the Thalmor to be nothing more than racist, stuck-up High Elves who use their power as an excuse for violence.

Now if I agreed with some of the Stormcloak mentality, why not join? You see, I’ve yet to mention the fact that… well, I’m a Khajiit. I can barely walk five feet in Windhelm without someone hurling slurs at me. To join their cause? To aid the men and women who would just as easily toss me aside and deny me basic rights?

I’m going to shut myself up before this turns into more rambling. I respect the Stormcloaks. That does not mean I agree with them.

Now, onto the first time I killed a dragon, eh?

You see, Tullius’s little bit about having to clear out that old fort? That was the easy part. Helgen was difficult.

I’ll gloss over the gory details. The city was already in ruins when I got there.

A whirlwind of a day later, I’m on a mission from Jarl Balgruuf himself - aid his court wizard, Farengar, in getting some old dusty stone thing from some old dusty ruins. Nothing I hadn’t encountered before. 

I went back into Dragonsreach, into Farengar’s quarters, practically dragging myself there. I hadn’t gotten much sleep - after my little excursion in Bleak Falls Barrow, I had gone back to Riverwood… only to find the innkeeper out on ‘business’. So no room for me.

Farengar was toying with a quill as another woman in leather armor leaned over the table, intently reading a book. Her face was obscured by a hood. I lingered in the back of the room - I knew better than to get between two academics engrossed in their work.

“You see?” Farengar said. “The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I’m convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could cross-reference the names with other later texts.”

The woman nodded, and I caught a glimpse of flaxen-blonde hair. “Good. I’m glad you’re making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers.”

“Oh, have no fear,” Farengar said, that classic bravado of his coming through. “The Jarl himself has finally taken interest, so I’m able to devote most of my time to research.” 

The woman stood, her face still obscured by her hood. I couldn’t seem to get a good look at her face, but caught a whiff of… ale? Like the scents of a tavern-

“Time is running, Farengar, don’t forget,” She said firmly. “This isn’t some theoretical questions. Dragons have come back.”

“Yes, yes, don’t worry,” Farengar said. “Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable…” He shook himself out of his own little daydream, rummaging through his drawers. “Now, let me show you something else I found - very intriguing - I think your employers may be interested as well.”

I caught a brief glimpse of blueish gray eyes as the woman turned her focus to me. “You have a visitor.” She said plainly.

“Hm?” Farengar lifted his head, his face lighting up when he saw me. “Ah, yes, the Jarl’s protege!” He closed the drawers. “Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn’t die, it seems.”

I smiled and nodded, hefting up the stone tablet.

Farenger’s eyes widened with all the wonder of a small child. “The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way. My-” He glanced at the woman, watching us both cooly. 

“My associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork.” He said, clearing his throat. “She discovered its location… by means she still so far declined to share with me,” He muttered those last few words as if it still left a bruise on his ego. Knowing him, it probably did.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “So your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it for us.”

Though her face was still shrouded by the hood, I could feel her giving me a quick once-over before she spoke. “You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that?” There was a hint of shock to her voice, before she cleared her throat. “Nice job.”

She walked out, not even casting a glance to Farengar. “Just send me a copy when you’ve deciphered it.”

Heavy, armored footsteps made me jerk my head up.

“Farengar!” Irileth shouted, her tone not too different than a mother who caught the child torturing the local strays. Then again, I think she always sounded like that.

“Farengar!” She said again, bursting into the room. “You must come at once! A dragon’s been sighted nearby!” She glanced over at me. “You should come, too.”

“A dragon!” Farengar said, practically jumping with glee. “How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?”

“I would take this more seriously if I were you,” Irileth growled, guiding both of us up to the second floor of Dragonsreach. “If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I’m not sure we can stop it.”

I remembered the massive beast I had seen flying away from Helgen. I had only really heard it’s roar, caught a glimpse of its wings… but it still managed to send a bolt of fear through me. I had spoken to Daedra, delved through ancient ruins and fought undead by the dozens… but even the brief bit I had seen of that dragon terrified me.

How on earth would you fight one?

I was shaken out of my thoughts as I tuned my ears into the conversation between Balgruuf and one of the Whiterun guards, nearly shaking with fear.

“So, Irileth tells me you came from the western watchtower?” Balgruuf said.

“Y-Yes, my lord,” The guard said.

“Tell him what you told me,” Irileth said, giving him a slight nudge. “About the dragon.”

“Uh, that’s right,” The guard said, shifting his weight. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast… faster than anything I had ever seen.”

“What did it do?” Balgruuf asked. “Is it attacking the watchtower?”

“N-No, my lord,” The guard said. “It was just circling overhead when I left. I never ran so fast in my life-” He shivered. “I thought it would come after me for sure.”

“Good work, son,” Balgruuf said, gently patting the guard’s shoulder. “We’ll take it from here. Head down to the barracks and get some rest. You’ve earned it.” His gaze went from soft to steely as he turned to Irileth. “Irileth, you better gather some guardsmen and get down there.”

Irileth nodded. “I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate.”

“Good. Don’t fail me.” The Jarl of Whiterun turned to me. “There’s no time to stand on ceremony, my friend. I need your help again.” He took a deep, steadying breath, his gaze going distant before focusing back on me.

“I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone here.”

I really just saw a dragon, I wanted to protest. It was big and black and scary. That’s it. I can’t fight one. However, I kept my mouth shut. This was the chance I was waiting for, right? To be a hero?

“But I haven’t forgotten the service you did for me in getting the Dragonstone for Farengar,” Jarl Balgruuf continued. “As a token of my esteem, I instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. And please, accept this gift from my personal armory.”

One of the guards in the room stepped forward, handing me a freshly polished dwarven war axe, gleaming in the light. I tested the grip, felt its weight. It was like a perfectly fitting glove.

“Thank you, my Jarl,” I said, giving a polite nod. 

He gave a nod in return. “Help Irileth kill this dragon before it can attack Whiterun. There’s no time to lose.”

“I should come along!” Farengar piped up. “I would very much like to see this dragon.”

“No,” Balgruuf said, shaking his head. “I can’t afford to risk both of you. I need you working on a way to defend the city against these dragons.”

Farengar almost pouted like a little girl. “As you command.”

“One last thing, Irileth!” Balgruuf barked as Irileth made her way to the stairs. “This isn’t a death or glory mission. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Don’t worry, my lord,” Irileth said, a smirk dancing on her lips. “I’m the very soul of caution.”

I hustled down after her, trying to keep up with her brisk pace.

“I want you out at the watchtower, immediately,” Irileth said, never once breaking stride. “I will rally my troops. Do not approach the watchtower. I want you to keep a healthy distance.” She shot a look at me, narrowing her eyes. “You’re a Legion soldier, aren’t you? I expect you to act and fight like one.”

“C’mon, no trust?” I said. “Yes, I’m a Legion soldier. You focus on getting your men together, I’ll focus on doing my thing.”

I pushed open the gates of Whiterun. Thick fog blanketed the plains, today. Just wonderful for fighting a dragon. I made my way westward, only able to see the faint outline of the watchtower. A few minutes later, Irileth and a handful of soldiers were jogging up behind me.

“No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he’s been here,” Irileth said as we approached. Even through the fog, entire parts of the watchtower were collapsed, smoke billowing into the air. 

She turned to her soldiers. “I know this looks bad, but we’ve got to figure out what happened. And if that dragon is still lurking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors.” She turned her gaze back to the watchtower. “We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

My mind wandered as I trudged towards the watchtower. I had heard legends of dragons, but they were only that. Legends. Mostly things I knew from songs I learned when I briefly practiced as a bard. Something about a great war against dragons and humans, a Nordic legend of this dragon that would eat the world…

A sudden shouting shook me out of my thoughts. A guard, cowered near the entrance of the watchtower.

“No, get back!” He shouted, his voice soaked in fear. “It’s still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!”

Irileth was by my side in an instant. “Guardsman!” She barked. “What happened here? Where’s this dragon? Quickly now!”

“I don’t know!” He shouted. A shrill roar pierced the sky. The guardsman glanced up, trembling. “Kynareth save us, here he comes again…”

A second roar shook the earth, and the sky darkened for a moment, something flying overhead. The fog was too thick, too hard to see. I drew my sword and shield, rapidly spinning, trying to locate the beast.

“Here he comes!” Irileth shouted, somewhere in the mist. “Find cover, and make every arrow count!”

Finally, a silhouette appeared from the mist. Greyish scales, the size of a house, massive wings that stirred the winds, and eyes that felt like they were boring into my soul. He opened his mouth, revealing razor-sharp teeth, and fire poured from his mouth, along with three sounds, three words.

YOL TOOR SHUL!

Fire seared my skin, and I cried out, panic overtaking me. The Sanctuary, corpses, everything’s shaking and I can’t breathe and smoke and fire and oh gods, Veezara is dead, Gabriella is dead-

I fell backward, tripping over a piece of rubble, shaking me out of my thoughts. Trembling, I stood back up, shaking the soot from my fur. 

An arrow whizzed by my head, barely missing me. I breathed heavily. This is not how I die.

The beast landed, shaking the earth with it, and I charged in full force. It reared up for another attack before I bashed his snout in with my shield. He faltered, hissing, before lunging and snapping at me.

“ Krif krin!” He bellowed, and the words rang in my head, like fragments of syllables I kept trying to make sense of, a language I knew but couldn’t remember. “ Pruzah!” 

I slashed at him again, and thank the gods Irileth was there. She and the other guards pelted the beast with arrows from afar or flanked him from the sides, as I was busy dodging blasts of fire and cutting where ever I could find weak spots. The scent of blood lingered in the air, with soot and ash.

The dragon swished his tail from side to side, batting away three guards before cutting a gash across Irileth’s shoulder, sending her stumbling backward. He whipped his head towards me, snarling.

It was now or never. I lunged, leaping into the air and jumping onto the dragon’s head, driving my sword into his skull. He reared up, throwing me off. I landed, just barely, as he writhed.

“Dovahkiin?!” He shouted. I could barely understand the words he was saying, but fear was in his voice nonetheless. 

He threw his head into the sky, howling, as he collapsed onto the ground. He writhed, twitching for a second, before going still. The world seemed to quiet for a moment, before the body began to glow.

Irileth gasped. “Everyone, get back!”

I didn’t. I could feel power humming around me, the flesh burning off the dragon’s corpse, and suddenly I was so hyper-aware of everything. The wind rustling the grass, the birds flying overhead, the faint scent of embers. Seconds slowed down to hours.

I took a few shaky steps forward, placing my hand on the dragon’s head. I felt… charged… like I could do anything, take down any foe. Words, memories, thoughts, and feelings rushed to the forefront of my mind.

I am Mirmulnir, Allegiance-Strong-Hunt-

The breath was stolen out of my lungs. As I breathed back in, it was like inhaling smoke and energy all at once, thousands of years worth of power.

I rule the skies of Taazokaan. I crush my opponents with my Thu’um.

Irileth says something. I can’t hear her. It feels like taking a breath for the first time, like drinking after centuries of thirst, a piece of me I never knew was missing.

My vision blurs. The world is tilting, fading, and yet I’ve never felt more powerful. No one can stop me. I will destroy anyone who opposes me, dominate those lesser than me, for I have the most strength , I am the most powerful thing on Nirn, on Vus .

I am thousands of years old. No joore can destroy me. Only it.

I know what ‘it’ is. It’s me. I don’t even need to think about it, I just know . These words aren’t mine, but I understand them like they are. At this moment there isn’t a difference between ‘mine’ and ‘theirs’. It’s all mine. It’s all dii , because I am the most powerful, pah suleykaar-

As suddenly as it started, it stops. The power is gone, the energy stops humming. At least… at first. I can still feel it there, like fire under my skin, burning and waiting for a release. I take a few shaky steps back. Those thoughts… were they mine? Or were they someone else's? I don’t know. My brain feels too crowded for my own head, now. 

Yet somehow, nothing feels like it’s changed. It’s like… when you light a candle in a dark house. It’s still the same house. But now it’s at its full potential.

“I can’t believe it!” One of the guards said, shaking me out of my thoughts. He was dumbfounded, stunned. “You’re… Dragonborn!”

“Dragonborn?” I echoed. My own voice sounded different now, at least to me. “What do you mean?”

“In the very oldest tales, back when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay them, and steal their power.” His eyes darted to the corpse of the dragon, now nothing but bones. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power?”

I blinked a few times. “I-I don’t know what happened to me.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” The guard said. “Try to Shout. That would prove it. According to the old legends, only the Dragonborn can Shout without training, the way the dragons do.”

My brain kept running too fast for me to keep up with. Thu’um, wuth tey, dovah-

“Dragonborn?” Another guard said. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s right!” A third said. “My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn. Those born with the Dragon Blood in ‘em. Like old Tiber Septim himself.” He stated it like it was an objective fact.

The second guard snorted. “I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons.”

“There weren’t any dragons then, idiot,” The third guard said, smacking the second. “They’re just coming back now for the first time in… well, forever! But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill dragons and steal their power.” He turned to me. “ You must be one!”

“What do you say, Irileth?” The second guard said, nudging the Dark Elf. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

“Come on, Irileth!” The first guard said. “Tell us. Do you believe in this Dragonborn business?”

Irileth scoffed. “Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums over matters you don’t know anything about.” She gestured to the pile of dragon bones. “ Here’s a dead dragon, and that’s definitely something I understand. Now we know we can kill them. We don’t need some mythical Dragonborn. Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.”

The third guard shrugged. “You wouldn’t understand, Housecarl. You ain’t a Nord.”

I paused. “I-I’m not a Nord either…?”

“I’ve been all across Tamriel!” Irileth sputtered. “I’ve seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this. I’d advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over tales and legends.”

The first guard turned back to me. “If you really are Dragonborn, like in the old tales, you ought to be able to Shout. Have you tried?”

My tongue felt like a weight in my mouth. Shout. Thu’um. I knew the word, now. Something clicked in my mind. Those words. I had come across them in my travels, the great big stone walls that hummed with power, that called me towards them- they were dragon words. They were Shouts.

The one I discovered in Bleak Falls Barrow. Fus. Force.

I took a deep breath. “ Fus.”

A small flash of power went off inside me, like a firecracker. The guards all stumbled back, pushed back by an invisible force. They all scrambled back up, looking equal parts bewildered and in awe.

“That was Shouting, what you just did!” The third guard said. “You really are Dragonborn, then…”

As the guards talked among themselves, Irileth pulled me aside.

“That was the hairiest fight I’ve ever been in, and I’ve been in more than a few,” She said. “I don’t know about this ‘Dragonborn’ business, but I’m sure glad you’re with us. You better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here.”

She glanced back to the guards, still quietly whispering among themselves, like school children sharing secrets. “I’m taking command here for the moment. You head back to Whiterun and let the Jarl know what happened.”

Suddenly, the earth shook, almost sending me sprawling to the ground. A sound like thunder rolled across the plains, just three syllables.

Dov! Ah! Kiin!

A small voice hissed in the back of my head. Who dares call my name? I am pah suleykaar, I will crush them-

I mentally shoved that thought back. Woah, woah, I said to myself. Cool it on the domination. But even I couldn’t deny the base instinct to go right up there and accept the challenge of whoever called me.

Irileth sighed hesitantly, opening her mouth to say something before closing it again. “Just… head back to Whiterun.”

I nodded, unable to find the right words to say. Much like my first interaction with the Dark Brotherhood, I thought this would be a neat story to share over ale. More than anything, I thought it was a mistake. Me. A Khajiit assassin and thief. Supposedly a great Nordic hero. Suuuuure. 

Little did I know, my story was just getting started.

Chapter Text

Being both an Imperial soldier and the Dragonborn is… interesting. One moment, I’m hiking to the Throat of the World and speaking to an ancient dragon, the next I’m destroying an enemy fort. I’ll be going to Sky Haven Temple in an effort to find out how to stop the literal end of the world… and after that, I’m reporting back to Solitude.

Normally the two don’t interfere with each other. Notice I say ‘normally’. You see, once I had to negotiate a truce between the Empire and Stormcloaks - remaining neutral in that conflict was difficult, to say the least. And the other issue… well…

Does anyone remember the so-called ‘heist’ on the Thalmor Embassy in Skyrim?

Yeah… take a wild guess who did all of that. Heh.

You know, it’s kinda funny. Later, they would attribute it to the Thieves Guild, since there was that later skirmish in the Ratway. The funny thing is they weren’t completely wrong. Ah, I’m getting away from the story at hand.

Shockingly, getting in was the easiest part. Delphine - ah, former Blades agent and a bit of a hardass, no real time to get into it - got me an invitation. How? I didn’t ask. It was one of Elenwen’s fancy little parties. Bunch of high-class Empire citizens cozying up to the Thalmor. My gear had (hopefully) been smuggled in by a Wood Elf named Malborn; he worked as a servant for Elenwen’s parties. The ride up was far too long and far too cold. 

I got to the Embassy around noon, along with a Redguard man who already seemed a little bit tipsy.

“Ah!” He said. “A fellow latecomer to Elenwen’s little soiree. And arriving by carriage, no less! I salute you, my good lady.” He huffed, the air so cold his breath made a little cloud. “My lateness is more due to getting lost up the way this gods forsaken mountain than any desire to actually arrive late. I prefer to arrive early. Normally the day before to party. So as not to miss out on any of the drinking.” He gave me a wink like I was in on some great secret.

This was going to be a long day.

I showed the guard at the door my invitation, my heart thumping in my chest the whole time. I was not adept in subtlety in conversation. All it took was a single slip-up on my end, one snarky comment, and this mission would be over. 

“Now then,” The Redguard man said, handing over his invitation to the guard. “I don’t have a poisoned dagger strapped to my thigh, et cetera, et cetera.”

The guard stumbled over his words. “I-I’m just doing my duty, sir.”

As I stepped inside, all of it just smelled rich. Like coin purses overflowing with hoarded septims and clothes that were worth twice all the gold I had ever had. A High Elf woman in Thalmor robes approached - my heart was beating so fast I wondered how she couldn’t hear it.

“Welcome,” She said, her voice haughty and airy. “I don’t believe we’ve met. I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are…?”

My heart froze in my chest. Elenwen herself. I managed my most polite smile, trying to put on a traditional Elsweyr accent. People tend to ask fewer questions if I do that.

“You’re Elenwen?” I said, faking surprise and admiration. “Oh, I’ve heard so much about you.”

That did the job, seeming to flatter her. “Have you? All good, I trust,” She waved away the compliment. “But you have me at a disadvantage. I’m afraid I know nothing about you. Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this…” Her nose scrunched up a little bit as her tone went sour. “To Skyrim?” She spat out the name like it was a dirty word.

I blinked a few times. Nothing I would say would adequately cover her questions. I wasn’t an aristocrat or a high ranking citizen - I’m a goddamn Khajiit. I’ve been a thief for most of my life. Luxury is the opposite of my expertise.

“Madame Ambassador,” A familiar voice said. Malborn leaned over the counter. “I’m so sorry to interrupt-”

Elenwen whipped her head around. “What is it, Malborn?” She hissed.

Malborn paled. “It’s just that… we’ve run out of the Alto wine,” He said, and it dawned on me what he was doing - saving my sorry hide. He cleared his throat. “Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia Red-?”

“Of course,” Elenwen scoffed. “I’ve told you not to both me with such trifles.”

“Yes, Madame Ambassador.”

She rolled her eyes. “My apologies. We’ll have to get better acquainted later. Please, enjoy yourself.” Then, she sauntered off to interact with the rest of the party.

I felt myself relax, and I turned back to Malborn, giving him half a smile. “Thank the Divines, friend.”

“You made it in,” He whispered. “Good. As soon as you distract the guards, I’ll open this door and we can get you on your way.”

I gave a slight nod. “I’m ready.”

His eyes darted over my shoulder for a brief moment, before he flashed me a smile. “Of course! Let me see if we have another bottle of that.” He lowered his voice again. “I’ll be waiting by the door for everyone to be distracted.”

I turned around to face the rest of the crowd. Elenwen, obviously... another High Elf I had seen a few times in Markarth, that snobbish male Nord bureaucrat from Solitude, and even a familiar face.

“Maven Black-Briar,” I said, raising an eyebrow at her. I lowered my voice. “Here on Guild business?”

“Don’t even mention the Guild,” She hissed. “Not here.”

I sucked in a breath. “Right. Right. Do you have business with the Thalmor, then?”

“Of course I do,” She scoffed. “What did Razelan used to say?” She imitated the Redguard’s slightly drunken tone. “‘If you want to do business in Skyrim, you have to cozy up to the Thalmor’.”

I nodded. “Ah. I see.”

She shot me a sideways glance. “I don’t know why you’re here and frankly I don’t care, but it would be better if we weren’t seen together.”

“Of course, Lady Maven,” I said, stepping back a healthy distance. I moved to the perimeter of the room, practically feeling Malborn’s impatience. I shoved a sweet roll in my mouth. God, even that tasted too rich for me. A sweet roll. The common person’s food, made for a ‘refined palate’. Ugh.

Another familiar face. One I hadn’t seen in quite some time, either.

I slid next to the Jarl. “Jarl Idgrod. Lovely to see you here.” I tried to keep my tone practiced and neutral.

Idgrod didn’t. “Now here is a face I did not expect to see,” She remarked. “Be mindful, for you walk amongst adders.”

“Ah, Idgrod?” I said, keeping my voice low. “I need your help with something.”

That piqued the old Jarl’s interest. “My ears are always open to a friend’s request.”

“Good. Uh…” I swallowed the lump in my throat, casting a glance back to Malborn. “I need you to cause a scene. Get everyone’s attention for a few minutes.”

She followed my line of sight, seeming to pick up my intentions in a moment. Whether it was something relating to her visions or just straight up wisdom, I still don’t know. 

Nonetheless, she nodded, smiling warmly. “Nothing would please me more. I’ll keep their eyes away while you do what you came here for.”

I let out a relieved sigh. “I promise I will repay you later.”

“Nonsense, my friend,” She said, patting me on the shoulder. “This is my payment for you. You never came back to get your payment from dealing with the vampires.” There was a slight glint in her eyes. “An old woman can get away with anything.”

Ignoring the ever so slight pain in my chest from the reminder of my... detour in Morthal, I moved towards Malborn’s counter, Idgrod walked over to Razelan, who was sitting impatiently. Idgrod pursed her lips.

“No harm is meant to you, happy fool.” She said softly.

Razelan’s brow furrowed. “Wha…?”

“Right here!” Idgrod cried, and every eye in the Embassy was on her. “I see it in your face! The snakes writhe behind your eyes! Get away, get away from me!” She stumbled back as if pushed by an invisible force, knocking into the rich Nord. 

I couldn’t hold back the chuckle under my breath. I have a new respect for that woman.

“Huh?” Razelan said, clearly already with a few more drinks in him. He whipped his head around. “Did you say snakes? Where? I hate them, always slithering around the way they do…” His eyes widened. “What? Are they one me?!” He jumped up, frantically brushing at his clothes.

Behind them, Elenwen rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Razelan, you promise you would behave yourself this time!” She barked.

Malborn dragged me aside as Elenwen continued to scold Razelan.

“Not bad,” He said. “How did you convince her?”

“Uh,” I stuttered a bit, following as quickly and quietly as possible. “She was repaying a favor. Don’t ask.”

We pushed into a kitchen, a dozen heavenly smells all at once, and a dark-furred Khajiit chopping herbs in the corner. As we approached, she lifted her head and bared her teeth. Her eyes were milky white.

“Who comes, Malborn?” She hissed. “You know I don’t like strange smells in my kitchen.” Her nose twitched, and she growled slightly. “And other Khajiit, at that.”

“A guest, feeling ill,” Malborn said. “Leave the poor wretch be.”

“A guest, in the kitchens?” The Khajiit woman said. “You know this is against the rules…”

“Rules, is it, Tsavani?” Malborn said, leaning on the doorway to a small closet. “I didn’t realize eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should as the Ambassador-”

“Tss!” Tsavani hissed. “Get out of here. I saw nothing…” With that, she went back to chopping her herbs as Malborn lead me into a small closet, with a chest in the corner. He sighed, taking a few deep breaths.

“Your gear is in that chest,” He said. “Get it, and go. I need to get back to the party before they notice something is off.”

Quickly, I rummaged through the chest, taking the handful of potions, scrolls, and other things I thought might help. I hadn’t bothered to bring weapons. I wouldn’t need them. Claws were good enough.

Malborn shut the door behind me, and I heard the click of its lock. I took a deep breath. Playing the part of a rich noblewoman, dancing around words… I wasn’t used to any of that. But sneaking through hallways, avoiding guards? I had been doing that since day 1. Just because I left that life behind didn't mean I would never sneak again.

It was strange to have it be so quiet, though. My own heartbeat felt deafening, every footstep and creak felt thundering. My senses felt heightened - maybe it was my own draconic abilities being awakened? I couldn’t tell you. But I knew when a soldier was going to round a corner before I saw them. I could hear conversations happening rooms away.

I was down in the dungeons before I knew it. I could smell the fear and blood heavy in the air. Two Thalmor, one in armor and the other in robes. A man in one of the cages.

“Stop, please,” The man said hoarsely. “I don’t know anything else. Don’t you think I’d have told you already?”

“Silence,” The soldier said, their voice commanding and harsh. “You know the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Master Rulindil will ask the questions.”

The man in the robes, Rulindil, sat up straighter on his desk. “Let’s begin again.”

The prisoner groaned. “No, for pity’s sake… I’ve already told you everything…”

“You know the rules,” Rulindil said, and there was the crack of bones as the soldier swung at the prisoner with a wicked-looking mace. The prisoner cried out.

A hiss escaped my throat. I jumped down - the soldier was dead before they could cry out. Rulindil jumped up, startled, and lightning gathered at his fingertips before I lunged for him, tackling him to the ground. My claws plunged into his chest, and all was silent.

The prisoner breathed heavily as I entered, fear in his eyes. “Y-You…-”

“Don’t worry,” I said, undoing his latches. “I’m not gonna hurt you. We’re getting you out of here.”

I cast a small healing spell, patching up his broken bones as he studied me.

“Wait,” He said. “I recognize you. From the Cistern, the Guild. You’re that new Khajiit.”

I chuckled under my breath. Foggy memories began to surface, of a Breton that was occasionally hanging around. “Uh, yeah. Not so new anymore.” Before he had a chance to object, I helped him up. “No time to talk about that. We gotta go. What were the Thalmor asking about?”

“Some crazy guy in the Ratway,” He said, brushing the dust off his pants. “His name’s Esbern or something. Something about dragons.”

“Huh,” I said, the information stirring in my mind. “So the Thalmor don’t know anything.”

The sound of metal on metal snapped me out of my thoughts. Two Thalmor stood upon the little balcony, Malborn in chains. One stood up tall, the other one with a dagger at Malborn’s throat.

“Khajiit!” One barked. “We-”

I didn’t waste a second. I lunged, jumping up and clawing at the one with the dagger. Malborn stumbled back. I slashed at the other Thalmor, and they tumbled over the edge, landing with a sickening crack. With one swift movement, I clawed at the one with the dagger. I began to undo Malborn’s binds.

“Now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life!” He hissed. “I hope it was worth it!”

“Or I could leave you here to let them find you,” I snarled, hauling him up. “Now let’s go.”

The prisoner - Etienne Rarnis, as I had remembered - lead us out through a cave he had seen the guards dispose of bodies. Once the cold air greeted all of us, Malborn and Etienne went running, leaving me to ponder.

“So the Thalmor aren’t behind it,” I muttered as I hiked my way back to Solitude. “It’s obviously not the Empire, since it interrupted Ulfric’s execution… I don’t think it’s the Stormcloaks, because I doubt a ragtag bunch of mercenaries could do something like that.”

I huffed, leaning on a tree. “So why? Why now?”

Turns out it was a lot more complicated than ‘some political plot’. 

Nope. It was some Nords. As per usual.

Chapter Text

Have you ever tried to climb the Throat of the World? It’s not easy.

If I’m being honest, my memory is fuzzy when it comes to my actions as a Dragonborn. Maybe it was the fact I was trying to end a civil war at the same time. Maybe it’s the fact that my memory is just awful to begin with. Who knows. But this particular moment sticks out in my mind. 

To be fair, it is the moment I got to talk to a dragon for the first time.

I had learned - with Esbern and Delphine’s help - of how the original Nords defeated Alduin. Unfortunately, it was very vague, except for one detail; they used a Shout. That’s all we knew. And with that little piece of knowledge, I had something of an idea of where to go. The Greybeards. The old men sitting on top of the mountain.

Delphine seemed to dislike them, thought Esbern was more neutral. Something about how the Greybeards don’t use their power. It seemed like a stupid reason to me. But who was I to argue?

Well, I am the person to argue, but that’s a story for later.

I opened up the doors to High Hrothgar. It was getting easier and easier to hike up the seven thousand steps. Not a bad way to get in my cardio, either. Lydia volunteered to dog-sit Meeko in the main room - she liked to let me interact with the Greybeards alone. Said she felt like she was ‘intruding’.

“Master Arngeir,” I said with a polite bow. He stood up from his meditation, giving a bow in kind.

“Dragonborn,” He said. “It is good to see you. What brings you here today?”

I squared my jaw. “I need to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin.”

His gaze turned hard, his voice sharp. “Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?”

I crossed my arms. “Does it matter?”

“Yes. For matters of such gravity, we need to know where you stand. Or who you stand with.”

Jutting out my chin, I tried to meet his steel. “I have nothing to hide. The Blades helped me find out about it.”

“The Blades! Of course,” Arngeir spat. “They specialize meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds.” He turned back to me, unwavering. “They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?”

“The Blades are helping me,” I said. “I’m not their puppet, rest assured.”

That seemed to take a bit of wind out of Arngeir’s sails. He sighed. “No, no, of course not. Forgive me, Dragonborn. I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning - the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have.”

Conflict averted, I tried to steer the conversation back on track. “So, can you teach me this Shout?”

“No,” Arngeir said, shaking his head. “I cannot teach it to you because I do not know it. It is called ‘Dragonrend’, but its words of power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice.”

That made me pause. “What’s so bad about Dragonrend?”

Arngeir pondered that for a moment. “It was created by those who lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin’s Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed by hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout.”

Arngeir hummed in thought. “When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become a Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself.”

That made my mouth run dry. I knew what Arngeir meant, despite the vague phrasing he used. It was a strange thing, whenever I used a Shout. I could feel a tremor in my bones. In that split second before I used my Thu’um, I could feel a gathering of power in my chest, the souls of the dragons I had consumed. It was like they were speaking to me. 

Shaking the thought out of my head, I turned back to Arngeir. “If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?”

Arngeir was silent for a moment. “Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question. If he so chooses.”

“Why haven’t I met Paarthurnax yet?” I asked.

“He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.” Arngeir said.

I put my hands on my hips. “I need to speak to Paathurnax then.”

“You weren’t ready,” Arngeir muttered. “You still aren’t ready. But - thanks to the Blades - you have questions that now only Paathurnax can answer.” He started walking, gesturing for me to catch up. “Come. We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paathurnax.”

~ ~ ~

Did you know the Throat of the World is really cold?

I was dressed in my warmest cloak, my best gear, and I was still shivering. My feet and hands were beginning to go numb, the snowy winds pelted my face with ice. Lok Vah Koor. Sky, spring, summer. I repeated the words over and over. 

I tripped over something and I fell like a sack of flour, collapsing into the snow. As I stood, I tried to look for what I had tripped over, when I heard a crack beneath my feet. Ice, maybe?

No. A dragon’s skull.

It was buried deep in the snow, frost coating it. It looked ancient - there were cracks and fissures across the spine, a few of the ribs had been snapped. 

I didn’t have time to think about it much. I could feel the cold spreading in my body. I kept pushing even as my limbs became numb, as snow and frost stuck to my fur. I must be reaching the summit now. I must be close.

I reached what had to be the top. At least, I really hoped it was. The wind stopped howling. I shook the snow from my fur. There was one of those Word Walls. Everything felt calmer here - no snow, no wind. Even though the sun had set and the cold seeped into the marrow of my bones earlier, it almost felt… warm.

The beating of wings shook me out of my thoughts. My hands were still shaky and numb as I fumbled for my bow. I didn’t even have time to nock an arrow when a great white dragon swooped down in front of me. I brace myself for an attack, only to be greeted with a deep voice.

“ Drem yol lok.” The dragon was speaking. I opened my eyes. His scales were as white as the snow, his horns chipped and dented, his wings frayed. 

“Greetings, wunduniik,” He bowed his head in greeting. “I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah … my mountain?”

I fought to scramble some words together, some semblance of a greeting or an introduction. Instead, I coughed. “I… I wasn’t expecting you to be a dragon.”

That seemed to amuse Paathurnax a little bit. “I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you… Dovahkiin.”

That last word sent a shiver through me, making me stand a little bit straighter, like fire inside my veins. It chased the cold away. That’s me. That’s my name.

“Tell me,” Paathurnax continued. “Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?”

A new feeling flowed through me, confidence and determination and arrogance. “I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout. Can you teach me?”

“ Drem,” Paathurnax said. “Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov.”

He reared back. “By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu’um! Match it, if you are Dovakiin!” He turned towards the Word Wall. Yol Toor Shul! A jet of fire escaped his mouth, burning itself into the Word Wall, leaving scorch marks. And within those marks, a word. A character. 

I approached it. This was a familiar sensation now, as if the word was seeping into my body. I breathed it in, breathed it back out. Toor. Inferno. A great raging fire, raw and unbridled power.

“A gift, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax said. “Understand ‘inferno’ as the dov do.”

I had absorbed dragon souls before, and the Greybeards had granted me their knowledge before, but this was… different. More potent. Thousands of years of knowledge and experience focused into me. Inferno. I saw raging wildfires, ripping across countrysides, flames licking at the skies-

It felt like an eternity had passed when I opened my eyes. Paarthurnax lifted his head, sensing the moment was gone.

“Show me what you can do,” He said. “Greet me not as Khajiit, but as dovah!”

That same fire flared up in my chest, my draconic soul urging for an outlet. Heat gathered in my throat like I had swallowed embers, and I shouted flames back at Paarthurnax. Ash coated his scales, and he reared his head back, laughing.

“Ah, yes!” He roared with glee. “ Sossedov los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I have has the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind.”

He dipped his head back down, something resembling a smile on his face. “So, you have made your way here. No easy task for a joor … mortal. Even one of Dovah Sos , dragonblood. What would you ask of me?”

I gathered my thoughts, where were running rampant in my brain. Clearing my throat, I straightened. “Can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout?”

Paarthurnax nodded sagely. “Ah, I have expected you. Prodah. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old Dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin.”

I scoffed a little bit. “The Greybeards didn’t want me to come at all.”

“Hm, yes,” Paarhurnax said. “They are very protective of me. Bahlaan fahdonne.” He shook his head. “But I do not know the Thu’um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me.”

The words he said in draconic automatically registered in my mind, like a second language. Worthy allies, and sorry.

“Your kind, joore , mortals” Paarthurnax continued. “Created it as a weapon against the dov , the dragons. Our hadrimme , our minds cannot even… comprehend its concepts.”

I paused, a shock of fear running through me. “How… how can I learn it, then?”

“ Drem,” Paarthurnax said. “All in good time. First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu’um?”

The answer seemed obvious. “I mean, I kinda like this world. Don’t really want it to end.”

Paarthurnax considered this, focusing his gaze on me. His eyes looked like they had stars inside of them. “ Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, but not all.” He turned his gaze skyward, where the aurora had begun to shine, illuminating the sky alongside Masser and Secunda.

“Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass,” Paarthurnax said. “Perhaps this world is simply an egg for the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?”

I crossed my arms. “I didn’t come here to debate philosophy with you.”

That earned a hearty laugh out of the old dovah. “You have much to learn of the dov, then,” He said, gently batting me with his tail. “There is nothing but philosophy to a dovah. It is no accident we do battle with our Thu’um, our voices. There is no distinction between debate and combat to a dragon. Tinvaak los grah. For us it is one and the same.”

I thought about all the time I had screamed and cursed out someone when I started losing an argument, and briefly wondered how a dragon would see that.

“But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough,” Paarthurnax said, shaking his great white head. “ Korsis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of Monahven… what you name Throat of the World?”

I paused. “Uh… dragons like mountains?”

Paarthurnax thought. “True. But few now remember this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad… perhaps none but me remember how he was defeated.”

“Using the Dragonrend Shout, right?” I asked.

A deep rumble rose in Paarthurnax’s throat, a growl and a hum. “Yes and no. Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you wouldn’t be here, seeking to defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough.” His gaze went distant. “ Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel… the Elder Scroll… they used it to cast him adrift in the currents of Time.”

It took my brain a good long time to process that. “A… a what? Elder Scroll? A-And they-?” I shook my head as if trying to shake the stray thoughts out of my brain. “What’s an Elder Scroll?”

“Hmm,” Paarthurnax thought, his tail swishing in the snow. “How to explain it in your tongue? The dov have words for such things that the joore do not.” He sighed, laying into the snow. I sat down cross-legged near him.

“It is…” Paarthurnax said. “An artifact outside of time. It does not exist, but it has always existed. Rah wahlaan. They are… hm, fragments of creation. The Kelle, the Elder Scrolls as you name them, they have often been used for prophecy. Yes, your prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll.” He gently nudged my arm with his snout, blowing out a puff of smoke. “But that is only a small part of their power. Zofaas suleyk.”

Somehow, that made just enough sense in my brain. “So you’re saying the ancient Nords sent Alduin forward in time?”

“Not intentionally,” Paarthurnax answered. “Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost.” He shook his head. “ Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years, I have waited. I knew where he would emerge, but not when.”

I sighed, unintentionally leaning into Paarthurnax, still laying in the snow. He was warm, almost hot to the touch, but it felt comforting. Another draconic energy. Somehow it… put me at ease.

“How does any of that help me?” I asked.

“ Tiid krent,” Paarthurnax said. “Time was… shattered here, because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll, back here… to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound…” He turned his head to glance at me. “With the Elder Scroll that was used to break time, you may be able to… cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it.”

I let that information sit in my mind, resting my head on Paarthurnax’s back. His heart pounded like a drum, slow and steady. 

“A Kel…” I said. How? How could something like that even exist? On the scale of messing with gods? “ Vonmindoraan morah.” I muttered.

“Indeed, for the joore,” Paarthurnax said. “I’m afraid anything I say will only confuse you further.”

I sighed, sitting up and running my hands down my face. “Do you have any idea of how to even find a Kel?”

“ Krosis,” Paarthurnax said. “No. I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You would likely be better informed than I.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Arngeir might know.”

“Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way.”

I hopped up, bowing to Paarthurnax. “Thank you, onik gein.” 

“A question before you leave, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax said. “When did you learn to speak dovahzul?”

I tilted my head. “What do you mean?”

“You use draconic words,” Paarthurnax said. “You speak as I do.”

I paused. I had been… speaking draconic? And I didn’t even notice it?”

“Perhaps it is simply your sossedov awakening fully,” Paarthurnax said. “Do not trouble yourself. It is an ofan, Dovahkiin.” He nodded in a slight bow. “ Su’um ahrk morah.”

A small conversation with Arngeir later, my sights were set on the College of Winterhold to find an Elder Scroll. Lydia was dozing off in the main room, Meeko in her lap. She perked up when she saw me.

“Thane,” She said, standing at attention. “Have you-?”

“We’re going to get an Elder Scroll,” I said, throwing on my traveling cloak.

Lydia hesitated. “W-We’re what?”

“Getting an Elder Scroll!” I said, already halfway out the door. “I gotta go back in time to learn a Shout!”

All I heard was a heavy sigh, and I reminded myself to thank Lydia profusely when this was all over.

Chapter Text

Pushing past waves of Stormcloaks. So much blood. The city crumbles. There’s more blood. Someone cries out. A Legionnaire? A Stormcloak? A civilian, perhaps, who didn’t get out of the city in time?

Tallulah steps on a body. The bones crack underneath her. She feels sick, nauseous, the world keeps spinning. She doesn’t stop. No, she can’t stop. If she stops, she dies. She can taste blood in her mouth. Distantly, Rikke shouts for reinforcements.

She parries a blow, blocks another, stabs a Stormcloak through the throat. What if they had a family? A child? 

She’s hit with the blunt end of a shield. Her vision goes hazy, her ears start ringing. She can’t stop. Fire pours from her mouth, the scent of burnt flesh wafting through the air. Tallulah feels sick. She’s in the Sanctuary in Falkreath. No, no, she’s still in Windhelm. But she could swear one of those bodies was Veezara. 

Her shoulder is numb. She looks down and sees blood on her armor. Is it hers? Someone else's? Doesn’t matter. She casts a healing spell. The blood doesn’t go away. 

She steps on another body. Crack. Blood soaks in through her boots. She’s covered in it now, it sticks to her fur and her face and her hands. Her arms hurt. She’s been gripping her sword for so long and so tight that she doesn’t think she can let go.

The Palace of Kings. Tullius is suddenly with her. Rikke too. They look fine. They’re bloodied and bruised, but they’re not soaked in the red stuff like she is. Why? 

Tallulah realizes why as they enter. She was on the front lines. She was in before anyone else. She was carving a bloody path through the Stormcloaks, with her Thu’um and her weaponry alike. 

Why are her cheeks wet? Why does her throat burn?

Galmar raises his ax. He says something. Tallulah can’t hear him. Her ears won’t stop ringing. Rikke sheaths her sword. She can smell the oncoming bloodshed. No, no the war isn’t done yet. 

Ulfric sits on his throne. He doesn’t look bothered. He meets Tallulah’s eyes. Is that pity? Or simply disgust? 

Galmar roars. He charges. Tallulah doesn’t pause. She parries, strikes, blocks, strikes again. Ulfric has barely gotten up from his throne. Galmar stumbles back. Tullius finishes the job. Ulfric Shouts, and Tallulah wants to laugh. His Thu’um is weak. She can see how it drains him. This fight will be quick. No, it won’t even be a fight. It’ll be a slaughter.

And slaughter it is. Tallulah runs forward at full force. Ulfric’s Thu’um doesn’t faze her. She slashes, again and again and again, until Ulfric is down on one knee. 

He coughs up some blood on the floor. Tullius steps forward, sword drawn. He says something. Tallulah still can’t hear him. The ringing in her ears is deafening.

She hears one phrase. “Let the Dragonborn be the one to do it. It’ll make for a better song.”

Ulfric looks up at her. He smiles. Why is he smiling? He’s going to die. Maybe he can see Tallulah’s strife. Tallulah breaths. Tullius is about to hand her his sword. She pushes it away. Her Legion blade, already stained in blood, will do.

She draws her blade across his throat.

Ulfric falls. There really is blood everywhere now, on the throne and the floor and Tallulah’s face. Her sword clatters to the ground. She wants to collapse, to break down, but she doesn’t. It’s like her body doesn’t know the fight is over.

She stares at Ulfric’s body. The blood is pooling on the floor. There’s so much of it. She slit Ulfric’s throat. As he was already broken and bruised and practically helpless. 

Despite everything, she lets out a hoarse laugh. She’s just like Mercer.

Her strained chuckle echoes on the empty walls. She’s no better than Mercer! Maybe even worse! She’s cheated and stolen and murdered all for what? Why? She spirals, further and further down. She wants to cry, wants to scream, wants to run away, but she doesn’t. All she can do is stare at Ulfric’s broken body. How many have fallen by her blade?

“Legionnaire?” Rikke is behind her, and suddenly reality comes rushing back. When did Tallulah start crying?

Rikke’s face is written with concern. Her mouth is drawn in a thin line. “The rest of the Legion cleared out a little while ago,” She says. “I wanted to check in on you.”

“I’m fine,” Tallulah mutters, staggering towards the exit.

Rikke puts one strong hand on her shoulder. “I know what war does to a woman, and I suspect you’ve already seen more than your fair share of violence. But the war is over now, Tallulah. You can take all the time you need to recover.”

No. No, she can’t. Her work still isn’t done. Alduin has fled to Sovngarde, probably devouring all the souls lost in this very battle. And even after that, she knows, she still won’t find peace. Trouble will always find her. It will hunt her down like some sort of bloodthirsty monster, demanding more and more sacrifices, more and more lives. 

There’s a flicker in her heart, a little ember. A little bit of hope. Maybe that’s her inner draconic nature, refusing to submit. She won’t give up. No matter all the bloodshed and all the death, she won’t. As long as trouble will find her, she will face it head-on. 

She walks out of Windhelm. There’s still smoke in the air. Flesh still burns. That’s when she picks up the pace. No, no, not here. Outside of the city. There she can finally break.

She stumbles onto a riverbed, far enough away from the city. She screams. It’s a broken, shattered, and piercing cry, the kind that sends nearby birds scattering. Strangely, after that, she feels at least a little bit better. Like that relieved some of the tension.

She strips down to her undergarments, going neck-deep into the river and furiously scrubbing the blood from her fur. The water is stained red by the time she’s done, and even then, there’s still a reddish tint to her fur. It’ll do.

With each moment spent outside of Windhelm, her anxieties subside. She feels like she can breathe again. Sure, she won’t ever be the same. She feels confident she’ll have night terrors of this day, the same way she does with Snow Veil Sanctum and the Falkreath Sanctuary. But she will push on. Just like she always has.

She looks into the sky. She never really believed in the gods until recently. But after conversing with Daedra, learning of her identity as Dragonborn… they seem a lot more real.

“You have a reason for all of this, right?” She says, speaking to whatever gods will listen. Maybe Akatosh specifically. “I’m not just… your jester or something, right? This’ll all have a reason in the end? To make me a better person or some shit?”

She doesn’t get a response. Not like she’s surprised.

“Good talk,” She says, methodically putting her armor back on. “Hey, maybe try to tone it down on the traumatic events from here on out. After all, I wanna get some sleep at night.”

Even as she says that she knows she won’t. She’s always been a bad sleeper.

Chapter Text

I’ve always been an emotional person. I feel things deeply, in the very heart of my soul. I never quite realized why until I came to Skyrim, however. It’s my draconic soul. It feels my emotions far deeper than any normal human soul, so much that it almost feels too big for my body.

It comes in many different forms. Crushing grief and sorrow, fierce ambition and drive, and joy that feels like I’m floating.

In addition, I’m not one to get angry. I’ll get annoyed, and pissed off, but very rarely so furious I lose myself. Except for one peculiar instance.

An instance where the Blades went almost, truly, extinct.

It was just after Alduin’s defeat. It was like a feeling I could scarcely describe - the past few hours seemed simultaneously like months and like seconds. I was like a strike of lightning, from High Hrothgar to Whiterun and finally to Sky Haven Temple, ready to tell the Blades that I had, finally, completely my destiny.

Lydia had already gone back to Whiterun. I burst in through the temple doors, and Delphine’s head popped up from where she was sitting.

“We heard the news from Whiterun!” She said, bolting up. “That you left the city on the back of a dragon!” She paused. “That’s… a little showy, even for you.”

I chuckled. “Maybe just a tad.”

“Since you’re still alive,” She said. “I assume you have good news to report?”

I felt my eyes light up and my tail swish behind me. “Yes. I used Alduin’s portal to travel to Sovngarde. He’s dead.”

“Gods above,” Delphine exhaled. “That’s better news than I could’ve hoped! When you walked into my inn that day, I never imagined where it all would lead… dragons out of legend, Sovngarde…”

My face hurt from grinning so much. “Truth be told? Neither did I.”

Esbern came running in next, with more joy than I had ever seen him. “You’ve done it, just as the prophecy said,” He put down his books and scrolls. “I knew you could do it, I believed in you, and yet…” He let out a short, disbelieving chuckle. “I still didn’t think I’d live to see the day. Thank you. Thank you, Dragonborn. You’ve done a great service to us all.”

Glowing with praise, I was ready to dash outside and head back to Whiterun to recoup when Delphine put one firm hand on my shoulder.

“There’s one more thing,” She said, her voice firm. “We know about Paarthurnax.”

It took my brain a second to load that information. “Uh, yeah. Turns out he’s a dragon. He helped me though, so-”

“That’s fine,” Delphine said. “We needed his help. Now we don’t, and it’s long past time for him to pay for his crimes. And he’s not just any dragon. He was the right hand of Alduin. He committed atrocities so infamous they’re still remembered, thousands of years later.”

The knowledge hit me like a physical blow. Alduin’s right hand. Still, my resolve was steady - Paarthurnax was my ally, my friend. The only other dragon I had truly connected with.

“He needs to die,” Delphine said. “He deserves to die. And it falls to you. Until he’s dead… well, I’m sorry, but we would dishonor our oaths as Blades if we continued to help you. He may have betrayed Alduin in the end, but that makes him worse, not better. We can’t give him the chance to betray us.”

I turned to Esbern, desperate for some common sense.

Esbern sighed. “I’m afraid she’s right. I’m deeply sorry this has to come between us. But just as Paarthurnax’s later deeds do not expiate his crimes, your deeds do not allow us to ignore our duty. I hope that you will return to us soon with news that justice has finally been done. With both Alduin and Paarthurnax dead, a dark chapter in history will finally be closed.”

I was stunned, downright speechless. Esbern, too?

“Make your choice, Dragonborn,” Delphine said, crossing her arms. “You’re either with us or against us.”

Some deep fury roared in my gut, a strength so overpowering I felt like it might break me. All my draconic power, my might, welled up inside of me, threatening to boil over. 

“ Meyye,” I muttered.

“What?” Delphine snarled.

“ Lir joor meyye!” I howled. My vision went red and hazy, everything a blur of anger and fury, the will of every dragon whose soul I consumed inside of me, power that should be far too much for any mortal to handle.

“ Zu’u dreh ni kreh wah hin uth! Zu’u qiilaan wah nid!” I surged forward, snarling. My throat felt like it was hot with embers, my entire body twitched with unspent energy. “Alduin nikriin dii sahrot!”

Afraid. I could smell Delphine’s fear, caustic and toxic. Lir. Weakling. How dare she challenge me? How dare she think she can control me?

“Hi dreh ni uth aan dovah! Ni faal Dovahkiin! Faal pah suleykaar!” I roared, this newfound anger threatening to take over, pushing me forward like a fierce ocean storm. “Zu’u vaaz hi fah daar tahrovin! Neh tinvaak daar, fod hi paar wah lahney!”

I wanted to tear her apart. Treachery. The dovah have no respect for those who disobey them. She needs to pay for even speaking such words, for even trying to control me. 

My rage subsided by a fraction, the haze in my vision disappearing. Delphine was as white as a sheet, Esbern was pushed back against a wall. They weren’t just afraid, they were terrified. Good, a part of me hissed.

“Zu’u rel hi. Zu’u los mulaag ko slen.” I stalked forward, watching as Delphine cowered like a child. I snarled, leaning down to Delphine’s height. “Thaarn, Delphine. Paarthurnax fen lahney.”

Part of me knew I should kill her right then and there. But I knew that was my inner dragon, hungering for blood and domination. I’m not a dragon, as much as I sometimes forget. I’m just a mortal. 

I told Paarthurnax of the whole incident later. I would sit in the snow by the Word Wall as he was perched above me, listening intently.

“The Blades are wise not to trust me,” Paarthurnax said after I was done. “ Onikaan no ov. I would not trust another dov.”

I glanced up. “Why shouldn’t they trust you?”

“ Dov wahlaan fah rel. We were made to dominate. The will to power is in our blood.” Paarthurnax said. “You feel it in yourself, do you not? You felt it back in the temple, and you nearly succumbed to it.”

His tail swished, kicking up a bit of the snow. “I can be trusted. I know this. But they do not. Onikaan ni ov dovah . It is always wise to mistrust a dovah . I have overcome my nature only through meditation and long study of the Way of the Voice.”

Paarthurnax hung his head. “No day goes by where I am not tempted to return to my inborn nature.” He sighed, puffing smoke out of his nostrils. “ Zin krif horvut se suleyk . What is better - to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?”

I growled. “I wish I knew sometimes.”

“And it is okay if you do not,” Paarthurnax said. “You are aware of your own nature, which is a step itself. You need not meditate for years as I have, or isolate yourself. Sometimes, all you can do is think. Ponder your own nature. Morah hin kosil dovah. And perhaps that will be enough.”

“And if it isn’t?” I said, bolting up. “If it’s not enough, and I do end up hurting someone, or if I lose myself?”

“Then I suspect you will find a way. Hi fen siiv aan miiraad. You proved that in your defeating of Alduin.”

I let out an explosive sigh, flopping back down onto the floor. “It doesn’t help I really don’t know what do next. You can only do so many errands for Jarls until things start getting kinda boring.”

“Well, what do you desire, Dovahkiin?” Paarthurnax dipped down his head until he was eye level with me. “What do you seek?”

“I wanna know more,” I said. “Just… about everything. And I want a place to stay, a real place, not just little hideouts I’ve made and stashed stuff in. I’m pretty skilled in sneaking, and fighting, and-” I paused. “Wait. Wait wait wait. I have an idea!”

“Well?” Paarthurnax said, his mouth turned up in something resembling a smile. “What is it?”

“The College of Winterhold,” I said. “I could learn whatever I wanted there, and a bunch of stuff about magic! Which is like, the one thing I don’t know a whole lot about.” I bounced up on my tiptoes like a small kid. “Plus I’ll get a room all to myself. And it’s away from everything else.”

Paarthurnax let out a happy sound, almost like a purr. “Seems you know where you will be heading next.”

“I do,” I hugged his snout. “Don’t worry, I’ll visit sometimes.”

“I would certainly hope so,” He said. “ Drem wundun, Dovahkiin. May your adventures be plentiful, because I suspect the gods are not done with you yet.”

And you know what? Paarthurnax was very, very right. Because I am the gods’ little jester, and Akatosh forbid I get a fucking break.

Chapter Text

I was going to do it. I was going to master magic.

I always had some knack for spellcasting. I would pick up spell tomes where I had found them, use them if the opportunity seemed right. But more often than not, I was better off with a bow or a sword than a firebolt.

With the world saved and civil war over, I was at a bit of a loss for what to do next. I helped out where I could, wandering mostly. Ended up buying a house in Windhelm just so I’d have a place to put all my extra gear. I had been storing it all in the sewers under Solitude, but that was getting far too moist for my tastes.

And I wandered. I wandered a bit more. I helped out some townsfolk, took out a few bandits, stopped the resurrection of an ancient tyrant. 

After my wanderlust was quenched, I finally headed to the College of Winterhold. I had been there once before in my search for an Elder Scroll, but never really took the time to see the place in full. I spoke to Mirabelle Ervine, the Master Wizard, who showed me around and let me meet the new apprentices - a Nord named Onmund, a dark elf named Brelyna, and another Khajiit, named J’zargo.

My teacher, Tolfdir, took us all down to Saarthal - some musty Nordic ruins they were excavating. As many of you are probably aware, I’ve spent more than my fair share of time in those types of ruins, but knowledge calls.

Tolfdir ushered me off to help a certain Arniel Gane catalog various enchanted items. I picked up a few gold rings before I plucked an amulet off its shelf and…

Yeah. Things went sideways quickly.

I paused, blinking a few times, and looked down at the amulet in my hand. There wasn’t really anything special about it. It was super old.

“What in the world was that racket? Everything alright?” I heard Tolfdir’s voice echo down the hall as he approached. Several iron bars had been raised, locking me in.

“Uh…” I looked around. “A little stuck!”

Tolfdir rounded the corner, equal parts confused and concerned. “How in the world did that happen?”

“Pulled an amulet off the wall.” I showed off the ancient Nordic necklace.

“Really?” Tolfdir hummed in thought. “Perhaps the amulet is important somehow. Is there some way you can use it?”

I slipped the necklace on over my head, a vibration going through me. I whirled around, back towards the wall where I had found the necklace - everything was distorted, thrumming with energy.

“Do you see that?” Tolfdir said. “Some kind of resonance! You and the wall. It must be connected to the amulet. I wonder… what effect might your spells have?”

“Only one way to find out,” I muttered, summoning flames to my hands. Thrusting my hands out, a burst of flames poured from my fingertips. The wall crumbled, and the resonance faded. I took the necklace off, glancing at it again. It didn’t look that important.

“Well, would you look at that!” Tolfdir exclaimed, coming up beside me. The metal bars were gone. “This appears to lead somewhere. Let’s see where it goes.”

It was a tunnel, almost a little too small for me. I ducked down, brushing aside the cobwebs and other debris. The walls were smooth, carefully carved.

“Well, this is highly unusual,” Tolfdir said, scratching at his beard. “And very interesting.”

“It’s really not,” I said.

“Pardon?”

“It’s not that unusual,” I said. “Well, the amulet thing was unusual. But lots of Nordic tombs have these sorts of secret passages.”

Tolfdir gave me an odd look but said nothing else. I suspected he had lots of odd students in his time.

We entered a room with three coffins, and I immediately raised my spells. I had been in enough old Nordic ruins to know the drill by now, and I was not about to let my teacher get skewered by some Draugr.

Except… the coffins didn’t clatter open. Instead, everything went hazy for a second, and before my very eyes, an elven man appeared, dressed in some sort of exotic mage’s robes.

“Hold, mage, and listen well,” He said, raising one hand. I glanced around. Tolfdir wasn’t moving - in fact, he was frozen in time, staring blankly and glancing at one of the coffins. Was this some sort of illusion?

“Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped,” The elf said. “Judgement has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgement will be passed on your actions to come, and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you.”

“Woah, woah,” I said. “Wh-”

The mage shushed me with one quick motion. “We have little time. This warning is being passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, mage, and you alone, have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching.”

The world shifted again, and everything was back to normal. Tolfdir paused mid-step, shaking his head.

“I… I swear I felt something rather strange just then. What just happened?” He said.

My eyes were still glued to the spot where the strange wizard was, my brain sluggishly trying to process what I had just been told. “Uh… some sorta… I dunno, ghost or apparition, uh… appeared. It spoke to me.”

“I’m afraid I didn’t see anything,” Tolfdir said, and I had to give him credit for not instantly calling me nuts. “Can you tell me more about what you just saw?”

I scoffed. “Said something about ‘the danger ahead’, and the Psijic Order.”

“The Psijic Order?” Tolfdir echoed. “Are you quite sure about that?”

I nodded.

“That’s very odd,” Tolfdir said. “And… danger ahead? Why, that doesn’t make any sense at all. The Psijics have no connections to these ruins. And no one’s seen any of their order in a long time.”

Tolfdir continued muttering to himself, and I mulled the information over in my head. Psijic Order? I feel like I read something about them in a book once - some old order of mages dedicated to… I actually wasn’t really sure. And judgement? I hate being judged. Especially by snobby elves I don’t know.

I let out an explosive sigh. Why was it always me?

The coffins took that moment to clatter open.

Chapter Text

Saarthal was a goddamn mess.

Dozens of draugr, another old necklace, and a giant orb later, I was stuck fetching books for the librarian while Tolfdir and the Arch-Mage figured out what said giant orb was. I got back around noon and dropped off the books when one of my fellow apprentices stopped me.

“Hey, Tallulah?” Brelyna tapped me on the shoulder. “If you have a moment, could you help me with something?”

I put down the book I was flipping through, glancing up. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

“We’re all trying to become better mages, right?” She said, leaning against the doorway to my dorm. “Well, I need someone to practice a few spells on.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Nothing dangerous, really!” She said. “Would you… be willing to assist me?” She shifted her weight, awkwardly glancing away.

“Uh, sure,” I said. Now’s my chance. I gotta be a helpful person. I am not going to be an asshole about this. I am going to be a polite and reasonable human being.

She let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. I was afraid I’d have to ask J’zargo.”

I chuckled under my breath. “No worries.” I stood, brushing the dust off my robes as Brelyna raised her hands.

“Please, hold still, and don’t move.” She said. Tendrils of magic began to wrap around her fingers and wrists like snakes, the magic coalescing in the air like humidity.

Brelyna thrust out one open-palmed hand, and I felt a physical bolt of magic hit me. I stumbled back, feeling dizzy for a second before my vision cleared.

Something was wrong. It was green.

“There!” Brelyna wiped some sweat off her brow before her eyes went wide. “Oh, dear. That wasn’t supposed to happen.” She winced. “Do you… ah, do you feel alright? You look very, um-” She gestured vaguely. “Green.”

I blinked a few times, shaking my head as if that would make it go away. It didn’t. 

“I-” She choked on her words for a second. “I am so very sorry. I went over this again and again, and I was sure it would have better results.” She seemed to shrink back, fussing with the edge of her robes.

“Is this permanent?” I asked hoarsely. Why did my mouth taste like grass?

“It’s not!” Brelyna said. “It shouldn’t be. You’ll be back to normal in no time. And when it does, you’ll be perfectly fine, a-and we can try this again.” There was a slight waver to her voice, even as she tried to look more confident.

I wasn’t even mad, really. Weirder things had happened. I hadn’t been incinerated, at least.

“Yeah, uh, speaking of which,” I straightened, running a hand through my hair. “What was the spell supposed to be?”

Brelyna sighed. “I was trying my hand at a new Alteration spell I had been working on. It is- it was supposed to be able to give the target animal-like attributes, like increased speed, stamina, and natural claws-” She glanced at my hands. “Or, uh, enhanced claws. But obviously-” She gestured to me. “That didn’t work.”

She shook her head. “That doesn’t matter. I just need to find out what happened, and fix it.” She squared her jaw.

My mouth twitched up in a smile. “Good luck with that. Now if you excuse me, I’m going to sleep this spell off.”

~ ~ ~

I woke up an hour later, stretching lazily and sitting up. I knew I should probably go see Urag and ask him if he’s had a chance to look at those books yet, but Brelyna happened to walk by as I woke.

“Oh, you’re up!” She said, perking up and nearly dropping the stack of books she was carrying. She beamed. “See, it wore off! Exactly as I said it would.” I looked down at my hands. They weren’t green anymore, and that was certainly a start.

“Are you ready to try again?” She asked nervously. “I am confident it will work this time.”

Despite my tiredness, I nodded, standing up and brushing the wrinkles out of my robes. “Of course. Gimme your best shot.”

She set down her books, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath. “Okay, now don’t move at all.” She readied the spell, the shade of green slightly darker. Just like the first time, she thrust out one hand, and I felt a wave of magic go through my whole body. I stumbled back, knocking into the wall. I grunted.

Or, at least, I tried. Instead, I mooed.

That earned another shocked noise from me, which came out as a bovine groan. My eyesight took a moment to adjust, but the first thing I saw was Brelyna, her eyes as wide as the moons.

“Oh my,” She said. “That isn’t right!”

I mooed in response. I looked down - my hands were replaced with hooves, thick shaggy hair growing all over me. 

“Just wait,” She said, flipping through one of her books. “Just… I can fix this.”

Her hands shaking slightly, she cast another spell, and my vision blurred again. I tried to grab onto the wall but instead, there was the clack of hooves against stone. Not the thick cow hooves I previously had - horse hooves. I whinnied, rearing back and knocking my head against the ceiling.

Brelyna backed up, sucking in a breath. “Oh no, that’s not it-” Her brow furrowed with concern. “Let me try again-”

I tried to say “ no seriously don’t, we can find Tolfdir, it’s fine” but speaking is a bit hard when you’re a horse, so all that came out was a snort and a nicker.

She cast another spell, and a flurry of scents assaulted my nose. The food upstairs, alchemical ingredients, the lingering scent of draugr on Brelyna’s robes from Saarthal-

I opened my eyes, and I was suddenly smaller. I looked at my hands, which seemed to be back to resembling paws - only with thick, shaggy gray fur. There was a long, canine snout in front of my face. I looked up to Brelyna, and a whine escaped my mouth.

She flinched. “This really isn’t turning out how I had hoped,” She muttered, her brow furrowed in concern. She sighed, hanging her head. “I-I’ll get it right this time, I swear.”

I was hit with another bolt of magic, and overjoyed to realize I had five fingers again after it. I twitched my nose, feeling around my face to make sure it was really me. I let out a sigh of relief when I realized it was.

Brelyna groaned. “There. All better.”

I stood up, my back hurting a bit, and my vision still a little blurry. Brelyna didn’t meet my eyes, instead letting out an awkward chuckle.

“Heh, well… it all worked out in the end, didn’t it?” She forced a smile.

Still reeling from the experience of being turned into three different animals, I forced a smile back and clapped her on the shoulder. “It was my pleasure.”

That earned a bark of laughter from the Dunmer. “Oh, no it hasn’t. Let’s be honest.”

I nodded. “Then let’s never speak of this again.”

“Agreed.” Brelyna sighed. “And… thank you for your help. You’re a good friend.”

Friend? Are we friends now? The thought sent my head spinning for some reason. Maybe it was the fact I was a bit of a loner by nature. Maybe the fact I never tended to classify people I knew as ‘friends’.

And maybe the fear that anyone I grew close to might end up dead.

Gabriella. Veezara. Festus. Arnbjorn. They had been my friends too, hadn’t they? And they never would’ve died if they hadn’t met me.

Heavy footsteps shook me out of my thoughts, and Urag rounded the corner, three books in hand and a stern expression on his face. Then again, I think it was always there.

“Night of Tears,” He said, handing me a book with the same name on the title. “Has some… interesting implications. I would mention it to Tolfdir if I were you. I have to sort out these other two books.” With that, he turned and left.

Brelyna raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been helping Urag?”

“Yeah, with that big orb in Saarthal,” I said, flipping through the book and skimming the pages. “Urag was right, though. I gotta find Tolfdir. He’ll want to know.”

I thought this would be the end of my involvement with the Big Orb of Saarthal. And as per usual, that was very, very wrong.

Chapter Text

I was really beginning to hate Ancano.

I was never a fan of the Thalmor, to begin with. They had all the racist tendencies of the worst Stormcloaks and all the power and reach of the Empire. First, he looked at me like I was some animal, then interrupted my nice conversation with Tolfdir, then pretended like I was keeping some massive secret from him when I am in fact just an apprentice who keeps getting herself wrapped into conflicts.

Actually, ignore my first phrase. I already hated him. So much so that I was beginning to wonder if I could put a small shock rune on his bed.

But onto the story at hand. After another meeting with one of those Psijic Monks, I had been put on a path - to find the Augur of Dunlain… whoever or whatever that was. 

“Excuse me, Arch-Mage?” I tapped him on the shoulder. “While I’m here, I just wanted to ask you something. Have you ever heard of the Augur of Dunlain?”

Savos just about rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Has Tolfdir been telling stories again? I thought I made it quite clear that this subject was inappropriate for conversation. Please don’t allow him to continue to discuss the subject.”

“O-Okay,” I muttered, heading back down to the Arcanaeum. So Savos definitely knew what the Augur was, but it was a taboo topic. Fun.

I nearly bumped into Colette next, who was sifting through ingredients at the Alchemy table. The vial she was holding nearly spilled.

“Sorry,” I said. “Hey, Colette, have you ever heard of the Augur of Dunlain?”

The suddenness of my question must have caught her off guard, and her eyes widened. “The Augur? Tragic story, really. At least, the way I heard it. But that was a long time ago.” 

She turned back to her alchemy table, grinding up a few fragments of deer antlers into a fine powder. “It was some experiment gone horribly wrong. Ghostly results, I was told. And his ghost still roams the halls, they say.” She paused. “Of course, on further reflection, that may have simply been an attempt to scare me.” 

She grabbed a pinch of salt, throwing it into the mortar and pestle, and mixing a bit of water into it. “Perhaps I’ll ask Tolfdir what really happened. I understand he was here at the time.”

“Tolfdir, eh?” I said. He has been here a while, and seems like the most likely candidate to actually know what’s happening and tell me about it.

Another flight of steps later, I was back in the Hall of the Elements, with Tolfdir once again closely studying the orb. He perked up when he saw me.

“Ah, there you are!” He said. “Do you wish to continue our discussion?”

“Maybe a bit later,” I said. “I actually have a question.”

“I’m always eager to teach my new apprentices something. Go on ahead.”

“What do you know about the Augur of Dunlain?”

He nodded sagely. “Well now, there is a name I haven’t heard in some time. My goodness, it’s been years since I’ve spoken with him. I suppose he’s still down in the Midden, but I haven’t checked.” He turned back to me. “Are you going to see him? Do tell him ‘hello’ for me, won’t you?”

“Of course,” I said. “But… where’s the Midden?”

“Underneath the College,” Tolfdir said. “There’s a hatch in the Hall of Countenance. It’s not the nicest place, so do be careful if you decide to go down there.”

“What else can you tell me about the Augur?” I asked. I wanted to be prepared before going dungeon-delving under my own school.

“Well, I suppose he wouldn’t mind,” Tolfdir said. “It was all before my time, you understand. I’ve heard the stories, same as anyone else. He was a brilliant student, an accomplished wizard…” Tolfdir’s eyes went distant. “Delved into magic in a way none had seen before. But, I think, he became too focused on just how much power he could acquire. That’s what lead to the accident.”

After being pulled aside by Faralda for something, I was left with something of a lead and a spooky omen. But that certainly wouldn’t stop me.

I found the trapdoor in the Hall of Countenance, and dropped down. Hit with a blast of cold air, I shivered - it was freezing down here. Sure, we were in the northern reaches of Skyrim, but at least the rest of the College was enchanted to be warm.

The whole place looked like a cross between sewers and a secret bunker. Everything from thick cobwebs to decapitated dear heads. The whole place reeked like a musty basement to boot.

It wasn’t nearly as bad as I expected, though. A few Frostbite Spiders, a few Ice Wraiths, a single lonely Draugr. Of course, that made me wonder why that was a singular Draugr, but I didn’t have time to worry about that.

I wasn’t quite sure where I was going, so I just kept delving deeper and deeper. I found what was labeled as an ‘Atronach Forge’, along with an alchemy table, and some strange Daedric hand (which I decided to leave alone given my luck with Daedra).

It was the kind of place you would almost expect to be under a mage’s College - it was stuff they tried to lock away, the strange occult bits that gave the College a bad reputation in the first place.

I paused as I approached an icy bridge. There was a strong sense of magic, a slight vibration in the air. A raspy voice stopped me in my tracks.

“There is no solace in knowing what is to come.” It said, and I suddenly knew without a doubt it had to be the Augur. I continued on, coming to an ancient and weathered wooden door. I pulled hard on the handle - it didn’t budge.

“There is no help for you here,” He said. “Your perseverance will only lead you to disappointment.”

“Hate to break it to you,” I muttered. “But trying hard is what I do.”

I tugged on the handle again. Nothing. Damn stupid mage.

“Still you persist?” The Augur said, and I heard the clicking of an unlocked door. “Very well. You may enter.”

I opened up the door, greeted with a circular room and a well of magic in the center. A bright blue light flared up, and I instinctively backed away. I squinted, making out something of an orb of light.

The light subsided as I took a few steps forward. “So you’re the Augur of Dunlain?” I asked.

“I am that which you have been seeking,” He said. “And I am here to tell you your efforts are in vain. It has already begun. But those who have sent you have not told you what they seek. What you seek.”

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. Just the fact that he was a sentient gathering of magical energy wouldn’t stop me from back-talking him. “And just what is it that I’m seeking?”

“That which all who wield magic seek. Knowledge.”

I stiffened slightly. I’ll be damned, the magic ball was right. Even if he was just referring to my search for knowledge about the Eye, but wasn’t knowledge part of what drove me to the College in the first place?

“You shall find this,” The Augur continued. “Knowledge will corrupt. It will destroy. It will consume. You seek meaning, shelter, in knowledge. You will not find it. The Thalmor sought the same thing, and it shall lead to his end, as it has so many others.”

Great, so the mysterious magic orb was a raging cynic. How grand. And now yet another reason to be pissed at Ancano.

I tilted my head. “So I’m not the first to come and see you?”

“No, though you may be the last.” He said. “The one who calls himself Ancano has sought my knowledge as well, through very different questions. Your path differs from most. You are being guided, pushed, towards something. It is a good path, untraveled by many. It is a path that can save your College. I will tell you what you need to know to follow it further.”

That piqued my interest. I had heard it before from the Psijics, that the College was in great danger, but for some reason as the Augur said it… it sounded more personal. Closer. I stiffened, jutting out my chin.

“Tell me what I need,” I said.

“You, and those aiding you, wish to know more about the Eye of Magnus. You wish to avoid the disaster of which you are not yet aware. To see through Magnus’ eye without being blinded, you require his staff. Events now spiral quickly towards the inevitable center, so you must act with haste. Take this knowledge to your Arch-Mage.”

Buzzing with energy and intent, I was about to hurry back upstairs when I paused. “Oh, uh, Augur? Tolfdir says hello.”

There was a brief pause, and for a split second, I thought I felt a bit of happiness flicker through the room.

A new, and finally clear, goal in mind, I rushed back to the surface, practically bursting into the Arch-Mage’s quarters. Out of breath, I paused for a second, the Arch-Mage giving me an odd look.

“I have important information for you,” I said.

Savos raised an eyebrow. “Really? What might that be?”

“We need to find the Staff of Magnus.”

Savos leaned back in his seat, looking more confused than anything. “I’m sorry, what? Well… I’d certainly love to have such a powerful staff, but I’m not sure any of us need it.”

I blinked a few times, remembering he hadn’t spoken to the sentient bundle of magic under the College. “It’s connected to the orb we found.”

Savos gave me a flat stare. “And how do you know this?”

“I spoke to the Augur of Dunlain.”

Instead of being mad, like I expected, he seemed… a little surprised, yet in a good way. “Did you really? And he specifically mentioned the Staff of Magnus? I’m… impressed with your initiative. Of course, someone will need to follow up on this.”

My enthusiasm was quelled as I realized the undertone of his words. “You… you mean me, don’t you?”

The Arch-Mage gave me a warm smile. “I certainly do. Since you went so far as to seek the Augur out for advice, I thought you’d be more enthusiastic.”

I wanted to say “ look dude, a weird mage told me to, I didn’t actually want to”, but I also favor not being called a madwoman so I kept my mouth shut. Savos stood, steepling his fingers and turning to me.

“Something as specific and ancient as the Staff of Magnus… I’m not sure we’d ever find something like that. I seem to recall Mirabelle mentioning the staff somewhat recently. Why don’t you see if she can tell you anything?”

I turned around to leave when Savos put one hand on my shoulder. “I’m quite pleased with your progress, you know. You’ve certainly proven yourself to be more than a mere Apprentice. Well done.” 

He dug around in his pockets, taking out a silvery circlet with a single sapphire set into it. “This circlet once proved invaluable to me. I hope it can be of use to you know.”

I felt myself glow with pride. I guess I wasn’t really used to that sort of praise. That, and Brelyna calling me her friend… I really felt like I was fitting in here. Like everything was starting to go right.

Why is it that things never stay ‘right’ for long?

Chapter Text

Everything went wrong again.

I was cursing all the way to Labyrinthian. I was cursing while I was cutting down Draugr. I was cursing on my way back, the Staff of Magnus feeling heavy in my hands.

Arch-Mage Savos Aren was dead.

Why? Why did he have to die? Was it not enough for Ancano to take over the Eye? Was it not enough for him to treat us all like dirt?

I blinked away tears on the way back, pushing through out of sheer stubbornness. I needed to get there. Get there before anyone else died, before Ancano caused any more chaos. The College was my home. The only home I had since the Sanctuary. And I was not going to have it ripped away.

The outline of the College made itself known through the blur of snow and mist. As I made my way up to the bridge, I knew what was wrong - Ancano’s barrier had expanded, and all the staff and students were forced out onto the bridge. Brelyna and Onmund sat silently, looking lost, Nirya was bouncing her leg nervously, even Drevis and Faralda were engaged in tense conversation. Tolfdir was in the center of everything, whispering calm words to everyone who would listen.

“You survived!” He said as I approached, looking simultaneously more relieved and wearier than I had ever seen him. “You have it then? Let’s hope it’s as powerful as the Psijics believe it to be.”

I glanced up at the massive, swirling vortex of magic. “What happened?”

“Ancano’s power is growing,” Tolfdir said gravely. “We can’t crack whatever magic he’s using to shield himself. I hope your trip to Labyrinthian was worth it.”

I nodded. “Where’s Mirabelle?”

Tolfdir didn’t meet my eyes, his expression turning somber. I knew what he was about to say, my chest already constricting.

“She… she didn’t make it,” He said. “When it was clear we were going to have to fall back, she stayed behind and made sure the rest of us were alright.”

I didn’t cry. I didn’t despair. I couldn’t. No, there was nothing but rage. How could Ancano do such a thing? Does he have no concern for those he hurts? That same rage I felt in Sky Haven Temple was back, and stronger than ever.

I didn’t think twice. I thrust out the Staff of Magnus, a brilliant stream of blue energy hitting the barrier, crackling like lightning. It shattered like glass, and I sprinted inside, past the courtyard and bursting into the Hall of the Elements.

“ANCANO!” I roared, my own draconic soul flaring brighter and brighter. 

“You’ve come for me, have you?” He said, his own bravado unwavering. Magic flowed into him from the Eye, his entire body glowing. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You think I can’t destroy you?”

He laughed, the sound almost a little maniacal. “The power to unmake the world is at my fingertips, and you think you can do anything about it?”

Tolfdir burst in behind me, flinging a fireball at Ancano. The flames disappeared, swallowed up by his own magical energy. Tolfdir froze, sucking in a breath.

“I am beyond your pathetic attempts at magic!” Ancano boasted. “You cannot touch me!”

I lunged, clawing at him with my bare hands. They bounced off like he was wearing heavy armor. I lifted the staff, shooting a burst of magic at the Eye. The plates making it up shifted, emitting a blinding blue light. Ancano stumbled.

“Enough!” He said. “Still, you persist? Very well!” He shot out a bolt of green energy, nailing Tolfdir in the shoulder and sending him sprawling to the ground, paralyzed. He turned to me, an arrogant smile on his lips.

“Come!” He said. “See what I can do!”

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone else, you bastard!” I howled. “You hear me!? No one else!”

I shot out a bolt of fire, singing Ancano’s robes. The plates on the Eye shifted back, and the flames went out instantly. Ancano grunted, sparks gathering around him accompanied by the smell of ozone. I ducked behind a pillar as lightning struck one of the windows, causing it to shatter.

The Staff of Magnus in one hand and a glass dagger in the other, I shot another burst of magic at the Eye. It opened up, the panes shifting as pure magic poured out into the area. Hissing filled the room as Magic Anomalies poured out from the center, weaving around the room. I slashed at Ancano, who dodged out of the way and readied a spell in his hands.

“You still believe you can defeat me?!” He said. “Pathetic mage, I-”

I whacked him upside the head with the blunt end of the staff, sending him sprawling to the floor. I had my dagger poised to strike when howling wind filled my ears, and a Frost Atronach flung me to the other side of the room. My body throbbed.

I pulled myself upright, trembling a little bit. Yol Toor! Fire poured from my mouth, heat filling the room. The Atronach wobbled, melting and refreezing until it was a misshapen icicle. A single sharp strike to its center was enough to send it shattering.

“You cannot defeat me!” Ancano said. I could smell his fear in the air as he retreated, the Eye of Magnus slowly reforming. Another swift shot from the staff fixed that. 

“Your time is up, Ancano,” I growled, a fury building in my gut. That urge to destroy, to conquer. Except this time, I had control. This time, there was a purpose and a drive for my anger, and a perfect outlet to let it out on. “You won’t hurt anyone else at this College for as long as I remain.”

My fingertips grew numb as a spike of ice formed in my hands, and Ancano barely threw up a ward in time to block it. Sweat was beading on his forehead. Magic thrummed in the air, pulsing like a heartbeat that engulfed the entire room. 

Ancano was barely standing now, his skin gaunt as he continued to deplete his own magicka. The Eye was still pulsing, the plates making it up shifting wildly like clouds in a storm. 

Abandoning my magic, I rushed at Ancano, dagger in hand. I stabbed his shoulder, the blade going in deep, and knocked him to the ground. He thrashed like a caged animal as I raised my dagger overhead. Ancano gripped at one of my hands with his own uninjured arm, and frost crept along my arm, the nerves growing numb.

“N-No-!” Ancano growled. “I w-won’t-”

With a roar, I drove my blade into his chest. He howled in pain, writhing, as the blood pooled on the floor. Finally, he went still.

The adrenaline wore off, my own body struggling to even stay standing. My knees buckled, and I eased myself onto the ground. I mentally checked myself over - not too much blood. I tried to cast a Restoration spell, but it flickered in my hands. My magicka was nearly as worn out as my own body. With Ancano dead, his paralysis spell wore off Tolfdir, who didn’t waste any time getting up and helping me to my feet. 

“What now?” I said hoarsely.

“I-I don’t know,” He said, his gaze trained on the Eye. “Ancano is gone, but whatever he’s done to the Eye doesn’t seem to have stopped. I have no idea what to do!”
He was right. The Eye was still unstable, spinning faster and faster, growing slightly brighter. Magic thrummed in the air, Magic Anomalies continuing to circle the room.

I grimaced. “I’m sure I didn’t help either.”

There was a shimmer in the air, and a Psijic Monk appeared - the same on that spoke to me in the Arch-Mage’s quarters. Except this time, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.

“We knew you would succeed,” He said. “Your victory here justifies our belief in you. You have proven yourself more than worthy to guide the College of Winterhold.”

Leaning on Tolfdir, I cleared my throat. “What do we do know?”

He turned back to the Eye. “The Eye has grown unstable. It cannot remain here, or else it may destroy this College and this world. It must be secured.”

He shook his head gravely. “Ancano’s actions proved the world is not ready for such a thing. We shall safeguard it… for now. You now have the opportunity to maintain your College, and carry on with your lives. You have our gratitude, Arch-Mage.”

More Psijics appeared, taking the eye away with them. But I had other things to worry about besides my wounds and the strangeness of the day.

“Did…” I blinked a few times. “Did he say Arch-Mage?”

“I think he did,” Tolfdir said. “And in my mind, there is no one else more deserving for the position.”

Ice formed in my stomach, and I turned to Tolfdir. “Sir, you have no idea how unqualified I am for any sort of leadership role.”

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Brelyna, J’zargo, and Onmund all rushed in, spells readied in their hands. Brelyna saw me first, gasping.

“Tallulah!” She cried, rushing over to me. “We got so worried! Everything went quiet, a-and we thought Ancano might have won-” She grimaced, noticing the burns along my side. “Oh gods, we gotta get Colette.”

J’zargo knelt down next. “They were sure the mage had killed you, but I knew better. You are strong.”

Onmund looked on the verge of tears. “We thought you were dead!” He glanced to the center of the room. “Uh… where’s the Eye?”

“It’s quite a story,” Tolfdir said. “For the time being, let’s tend to Tallulah’s wounds, then we can discuss details.”

Colette, Faralda, and Drevis burst in next, all of them visibly sagging with relief when they saw we were all okay. Faralda wasted no time scolding the other apprentices for rushing in, as Colette knelt down and put one hand on my shoulder.

“You’ve done a great thing,” She said. “Now where does it hurt?”

“Uh… everywhere?” I muttered.

Colette sighed, raising her hands as warmth poured through me. I let out a deep sigh, my wounds beginning to close, the dull ache fading from my body. I watched as the frost along my arm melted, and a gash on my leg close up. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

“Be careful,” She said. “You should be able to walk, but that doesn’t mean you’re fully healed, so no more fights for you.”

“Try telling that to the rest of the world,” I muttered, pulling myself up. The next few minutes were a frantic rush as everyone convened in the Hall of the Elements, crowding around me and Tolfdir. 

“Everyone, everyone, calm down,” Tolfdir said. “Give the girl some space. She’s had a very long day, longer than even us.”

Everyone backed up a healthy step, allowing me to breathe again. I managed a weak smile, pride bubbling up in my chest.

“The Eye of Magnus has been taken care of by the Psijics,” Tolfdir announced. “And in other news, we also have a new Arch-Mage.” He turned to me, smiling warmly, the implication clear.

I laughed nervously. “R-Really, Tolfdir, I am not great at responsibilities-”

“Pfft,” Enthir muttered. “Not Savos did a whole lot anyway.” Faralda smacked him on the shoulder.

“Respect the dead, Enthir,” Tolfdir said. “But do not worry yourself, my dear. I can take the role of Master Wizard, and take some of the load off of your shoulders. Besides, these types of…” He glanced around the room. “ Events don’t happen often.”

I felt a bit of the tension ease in my shoulders. Normally, there’d be a sense of dread in my gut. Knowing that this calmness wasn’t forever, that things had calmed down and that meant the gods were going to send me off on another adventure. Except… I felt okay with that. I felt okay knowing there was another adventure on the horizon this time. 

Because this time around? The College was intact. Only two people died.

Are my standards really that low? Yes. The answer is yes.

“Well?” Brelyna said, putting her hands on her hips. “What now, Arch-Mage?” 

“Now?” I said. I glanced over my shoulder at the shattered window. “We should probably fix that.”

“Ah, there is one more thing,” Tolfdir said. “A question, if I may.”

“Uh, fire away,” I said.

“Was I correct in saying that you Shouted during your fight with Ancano?”

I let out another nervous laugh, and I rubbed the back of my neck. “Uh, yeah. Kinda forgot to mention that. I’m sort of… the Dragonborn?”

Onmund gasped behind me, his eyes wide. “Are you joking?”

“Nope,” I said. “And I can prove it.”

I turned away from the crowd, my Thu’um rising up in my chest. Fus.

Nirya raised an eyebrow. “I feel like I must’ve missed a memo. What was that?”

“She’s the Dragonborn!” Onmund said. “The savior of Skyrim! She defeated Alduin and the dragons-” He turned to me. “Did you really go to Sovngarde?”

“Wait, wait,” Arniel said. “ The Dragonborn? As in, the one that was galavanting around a month or two ago? The one who left Whiterun on the back of a dragon?”

“The very same,” I muttered. “And yes, I did see Sovngarde. It was actually really beautiful.”

Onmund looked ready to pass out right then and there.

Another clamor arose from the group, a dozen questions volleyed right at me. I held my hands up as everyone quieted, trying to give my brain a second to think.

“Yes, I’m the Dragonborn, and yes, I’m a Khajiit,” I said. “I’m the same one that defeated Alduin-”

“Aren’t there rumors you ‘ended’ the Civil War?” Drevis said.

“I wouldn’t say I ‘ended’ it, but yes,” I said. “I sorta figured it out about two months ago. It was… interesting. But yes, I defeated Alduin, saw Sovngarde, and left Sovngarde on the back of a dragon. No, I did not get the chance to talk to Shor.”

Onmund deflated, pouting.

“So you defeated a dragon, ended the Civil War,” Brelyna said. “And then… came here? Why?”

My shoulders tightened. “I didn’t really… have anywhere else to go.”

“You don’t have a place to stay?” Tolfdir said, a hint of pity in his voice.

“It’s not… like that,” I said. “I guess it’s more that I didn’t have anywhere I wanted to go. And stuff was…” I remembered all the sleepless nights and loneliness in the wake of the Civil War. “Rough,” I muttered.

“Well, you have a place now,” Tolfdir said, squeezing one of my shoulders. “Members of the College look out for one another. We don’t leave each other behind, either. You will always have a home here at the College, Tallulah.”

It was a simple thing. Basic decency. But still, it made me smile. I did have a home here. With amenities, friends, people I could lean on, and all the books I could ever want. It felt a little too good to be true. I think I had been preparing for the worst - for everything to fall apart. But it didn’t. No, it stayed. 

And it stayed because I intervened. Because I was back in time to save the day.

For once, my presence finally felt more like a blessing than a curse.

Chapter Text

Lydia absently tapped her foot in the great hall of Dragonsreach. She was better off suited to roaming the wilds of Skyrim and taking down bandits rather than sitting around all day. She needed something exciting to happen. A bandit raid, maybe, or giants-

Tallulah burst in the door, looking disheveled and a bit sweaty.

Oh no, not that kind of excitement.

“Lydia!” Tallulah sprinted up the steps, clapping her housecarl on the shoulder. “I was just looking for you! I need your help.”

Lydia stood. “With what, my Thane?”

“Ah…” Tallulah bit her lip. “I may be a bit in over my head.”

Tallulah is in over her head? And she’s admitting it? This must be some sort of fever dream. Then again, Tallulah looked changed - when they had parted ways last, before Tallulah left to take back Windhelm, she had looked drastically different. For one, there were new scars along her shoulders and arms, dark circles under her eyes, and dirt coating her fur. She looked generally a bit worse for wear, too, her fur matted in some places and a large notch in her left ear. Despite that, she was smiling, looking as lively as always.

“Er, of course, my Thane,” Lydia said. “What is it specifically?”

“Well, I found this neat necklace a while back,” Tallulah fished out an amulet of ancient Nordic make. “Long story short, I’m sure there are two other necklaces like this somewhere, and I wanna find them.”

Lydia looked to the necklace, then back at her Thane, still a bit confused.

Tallulah bit her lip. “Can I explain on the way?”

~ ~ ~

“So from what I can tell, his sons were hunted down,” Tallulah spoke as they walked, barely pausing for breath. “And literally the only other person I’ve heard of who knows about this is some elf in Folgunthur.” 

Lydia brushed away a stray branch, jogging to catch up. “So you want to find the three amulets?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And… why?”

Tallulah paused. “Mostly? Because I think it’d be cool. Pretty useful, too. I mean, this one amulet already boosts my magicka, so what do the other two do?” Her lips twitched in a smile. “That’s what I wanna figure out.”

Something definitely seemed different about Tallulah, but in a good way. She was always lively and occasionally even brash, but always… nervous. Like she was expecting an attack at any moment, or she was scared of something. That fear seemed to be gone.

Lydia smiled. She liked this version of Tallulah.

~ ~ ~

Tallulah eased herself onto a patch of dry ground in the marshes. “So. That was harder than expected.” She winced, cradling her bruised wrist.

Lydia popped her shoulder. “Damn draugr knew how to pack a punch, that’s for sure.”

“Need any healing?”

“I don’t think so, I’m just a bit sore.”

“Take some anyway,” Tallulah tossed Lydia a small red bottle, corked and sealed with wax. Lydia shot Tallulah a look.

“It’s a potion,” Tallulah said. “Brewed it myself, actually. Bit of mountain flower and wheat makes a pretty good healing potion, turns out.”

Lydia paused mid-way through uncorking the bottle. “When’d you start on alchemy?”

“When I joined the College.” She glanced sideways at Lydia. “Uh, long story. Later.”

Lydia shrugged, downing the potion in one quick motion. It tasted like dirt, literal dirt. She fought back a gag and reflexively reached for her canteen. Her joints didn’t ache as much, though.

Tallulah flinched. “I’m… still working on the taste.”

Lydia cleared her throat. “Uh… maybe add some honey next time.”

“I’ll consider it.” She downed one of her own potions. “You know, you actually get used to them after a bit. They’re not that bad.”

Lydia shot her a look of concern. “How many of these things have you had?”

“More than I’d ever care to admit,” Tallulah muttered. “Mage robes? Not very protective. And an Ironskin spell only does so much against a dozen draugr looking for you to join the dead.”

Lydia raised an eyebrow. “Seriously, when’d you get serious about your magic?”

“When I joined the College,” Tallulah said again. “I was already good with melee weapons so I figured why not. And now I’m good with melee weapons and magic.”

Lydia shrugged. “No shame in expanding your arsenal, I guess.” She leaned forward, putting her chin in her hands. “So what’s next for the esteemed Dragonborn?”

“Dunno,” Tallulah said. “I saw some book in the College, mentioned something about an… Aetherium forge? Somewhere in one of the Dwemer ruins near the Jerall Mountains in the Reach, so that’s worth checking out.” She shrugged. “After that… might come back to Whiterun. Get a house, maybe?” She huffed. “I don’t like the idea of settling down, but I don’t know what else I can exactly do.”

Lydia perked up. “You could always check with the Companions.”

“The Companions?” Tallulah echoed. “Those warrior guys up on the hill?”

It still pained Lydia how ignorant Tallulah was of Nordic culture, but she couldn't really blame her. “In Jorrvaskr, yes. They’re a renowned group of warriors, descendant from the Companions of Ysgramor himself.”

Tallulah shifted, looking uncomfortable. “Yeah, but would they accept a Khajiit into their ranks?”

It was a fact Lydia almost forgot about sometimes. Most Khajiit weren’t even allowed in the cities. Even fewer were tolerated by guards. She had worked with Tallulah for so long that she knew Tallulah was a good person, working for the good of the people, but… well, most Hold Guards didn’t know that.

Lydia managed a small smile, lightly punching Tallulah’s shoulder. “They’d certainly accept the Dragonborn.”

Tallulah scoffed and tried to hide her smile. “I mean, maybe.”

There it was again. That little bit of sadness. The hesitation. Lydia knew she couldn’t do much - she had certainly tried. But, at the very least, she could be there. She could let Tallulah know she wasn’t alone. She trusted Tallulah, knew she would overcome her internal strife in her own time. Lydia wasn’t all that great with deep talks, either.

Tallulah was her Thane. And Lydia wasn’t just her protector, anymore. She was a friend.

Chapter Text

Best part about returning to Whiterun? I got to see Meeko again.

Also turns out that the entry fee for joining the Companions is running errands.

After reuniting with Meeko and insisting he stayed at Breezehome because I did not want him causing trouble in Jorrvaskr, I headed up to the mead hall in question to see if I could be let into the ranks of the Companions.

Kodlak, the Harbinger, was nice enough. A mountain of a man, too. Reminded me of my dad, with less bad jokes and more wisdom. The other man he was talking to - Vilkas - seems skeptical, but the moment I mentioned I was Dragonborn and the very same woman who released the dragon from Dragonsreach, they both eased up. Of course, Vilkas still took me out to the yard to see my Thu’um in action. 

After that, I ended up delivering Vilkas’ sword to Eorlund - the Companion’s personal blacksmith. Which, then, led to me taking Aela’s shield back to her. Like I said, running errands. I didn’t exactly mind, though. It gave me a chance to see the inner workings of the operation.

I ended up back in Jorrvaskr in the main hall. Eorlund told me I would know Aela when I saw her - and damn, he wasn’t even wrong. 

Whereas the members of the Circle were all dressed in dark steel armor with some sort of wolf motif, and the other members were in some sort of hide armor, Aela wasn’t in either. No, it almost looked like… old Nordic armor? That, and she had 3 lines drawn across her face in warpaint, like claw marks. She carried herself tall, like she was well aware of her own strength and not afraid to prove it.

She was engrossed in conversation with another member of the Circle - Skjor, I think? Yeah, it was Skjor. He had that scar running down half of his face.

I caught the last part of their conversation as I approached. Aela scoffed. “Ysgramor himself wouldn’t have the patience to deal with all the rabble around here.”

“Uh, Aela?” I said, and she turned around, raising an eyebrow.

“I have your shield,” I said, hefting it up. 

Her eyes lit up. “Ah, good. I’ve been waiting for this.” She tilted her head slightly. “Are you new here?”

“I told you,” Skjor said. “This is that whelp Vilkas mentioned.”

“Ah, yes,” Aela said. She nudged me with her elbow. “I heard you gave him quite a thrashing.”

Skjor chuckled under his breath. “Don’t let Vilkas catch you saying that.”

She turned back to me. “Do you think you could handle Vilkas in a real fight?”

I shrugged, letting my own pride get the better of me for a moment. “I dunno. I think as the Dragonborn, I have fairly good odds.”

That caught Aela’s attention, and she shot a glance towards Skjor. “You know, I thought I heard Kodlak say something about that. Well, it’s our honor, Dragonborn. Just don’t expect any special treatment here - fight with honor, and you’ll do just fine within our ranks.”

Skjor just shrugged. “Titles don’t mean anything. Actions speak louder than words, so you still need to prove yourself, whelp.”

I crossed my arms, matching his apathy with confidence. “Then I hope you find my actions to be adequately loud.”

Aela rolled her eyes and shook her head. “If you two start arguing on your first day, I’ll have both your hides.” 

“Oh, one quick question,” I said.

Aela crossed her arms. “Go on.”

“Where are your hunting dogs?”

Skjor gave me a flat stare. “Our what?”

“Hunting dogs,” I said. When I got no response, I elaborated. “I mean, come on, the whole place smells like dog, or a territorial wolf. Do you guys just use ‘em for hunting or something?”

Aela cleared her throat. “We, uh, don’t have any dogs.”

“We used to,” Skjor muttered.

“We used to,” Aela said. “But that was a while ago. No, I uh, don’t know what you’re smelling.” She shook her head, dismissing the conversation entirely. “Let’s have Farkas show you where you’ll be resting your head.”

“Farkas!” Skjor barked. Another great beast of a man lifted his head up, his hair dark and shaggy. He looked… actually, a lot like Vilkas. Wasn’t there something about Vilkas having a twin?

Farkas blinked a few times. “Did you call me?”

“Of course we did, icebrain,” Aela said. “Show this newblood where the other whelps sleep.”

 “Newblood?” Farkas came lumbering over, staring me down. Then, he broke into a smile. “Oh, hello. I’m Farkas. Come, follow me.” He began leading me across the hall, down to the living quarters. “Skjor and Aela like to tease me, but they’re good people. They challenge us to be our best.” 

He sidestepped a bottle lying on the ground. “Nice to have a new face around. It gets boring here sometimes. I hope we keep you.”

He led me towards the stairs leading down. “The quarters are up here. Just pick a bed and fall in it when you’re tired. Tilma will keep the place clean. She always has.”

He showed me an alcove, beds lining the walls with thick fur blankets. Weapons were scattered around, a few hanging on the walls, a few more poking out from chests. Shields and armor were stored under the beds.

“All right, so here you are,” Farkas said, leaning against the doorway. “Others are probably eager to meet you. Come to me or Aela if you’re looking for work. Once you’ve made a bit of a name for yourself, Skjor and Vilkas might have things for you to do. Good luck.” He gave me another crooked looking smile. “Welcome to the Companions.”

I sat down on one of the beds, the wooden frame creaking slightly. I already liked this place. The College was nice, but I was still an adventurer at heart. A wanderer, a warrior. 

I missed this kind of family, too. The Guild was pretty much a bunch of business associates, the College a bunch of colleges. The only other place to really have a family like this, a sort of tightly knit group that has each other’s back through thick and thin…

Well, the Brotherhood.

I shook the thought out of my head before it could lodge itself there. Those days were far, far behind me. I had atoned in the best way I could. And now was time for another new start, one with family and drinking and tales straight out of legend.

And, it turns out, one with werewolves as well.

Chapter Text

Why was it always Nordic tombs?

Seriously, the damn things were scattered across Skyrim like the gods forgot to clean up their breadcrumbs. Some were big, some were small, some had treasure, some just had lame swords. And this particular one apparently had some piece of an ancient axe I was supposed to be getting.

Farkas was coming along with me, and I was grateful. While I had been fitting in, Skjor still scared me a bit, Vilkas was a bit abrasive, and although I would’ve loved to tag-team with Aela, I also didn’t wanna look like a complete wimp in front of her.

I pushed open the door, the now-familiar scent of musty draugr filling my nose. Farkas was just behind me.

“Looks like someone’s been digging here,” He knelt down, examining a collapsed draugr. “And recently. Tread lightly.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice,” I muttered. 

We pushed further in, all the hairs on the back of my neck standing up on end. Why hadn’t anything attacked us yet? Why was there not a single draugr? I normally had a pretty good sense for ‘something sketchy is happening’ and right now, all the alarm bells were going off.

“Careful around the burial stones,” Farkas said, not noticing that anything was off. “I don’t wanna haul you back to Jorrvaskr on my back.”

I remained silent, poking around and watching my footing. Every sense was on high alert now. We reached a massive chamber, and while Farkas looked at one of the bookshelves, I entered one of the alcoves. A chest, a potion, and a lever. I grabbed the hilt of my sword, preparing for battle, and pulled the lever.

The gate behind me closed.

I tried to switch it back, but the lever was budged. With a deep sigh, I turned around to see Farkas watching me, a slightly amused smirk on his face.

“Now look what you gotten yourself into,” He said, shaking his head. “No worries. Just sit tight. I’ll find the release.”

There was the clamor of footsteps and Farkas wheeled around, bringing out his sword. A dozen or so men and women dressed in dark furs came out, with weapons that gleamed like silver in the low light.

“It’s time to die, dog.” One of them snarled, leering forward. Farkas remained defensive, watching them all carefully.

“We knew you’d be coming here,” Another said.

“Your mistake, Companion!” A third shouted.

“Which one is that?” One of them said. 

“Doesn’t matter,” The first said. “He wears that armor, he dies.”

“Killing you will make for an excellent story,” One said.

I caught a glimpse of a toothy smile from Farkas. “None of you will be alive to tell it.”

He doubled over, grunting. His hair grew longer and darker, his form shifting, his armor threatening to tear at its seams. His sword clattered to the ground as the people surrounding him backed up. Farkas snarled, something sound almost… feral.

When he lifted his head, he wasn’t even Farkas anymore. He had a snout, bright yellow eyes, a tail-

A werewolf.

He lunged at the closest one, digging his claws into their chest and flinging them across the room. Another stuck him - the sword barely seemed to enrage him more than anything. With mere seconds, the others were dead, and Farkas - or at least his wolfish version - went darting off down one of the halls.

My legs went out from under me. I sat, staring blankly into the distance. Farkas was a werewolf. Cool. Cool cool cool. Did the other Companions know? The way those people spoke… werewolf hunters, maybe? Certainly not Vigilants of Stendarr. 

The gate opened up with a clatter. I perked up, only to notice Farkas coming back in. He was in his human form, his armor a bit disheveled. 

“Hope I didn’t scare you,” He said.”

“Yeah Farkas,” I said. “You fucking terrified me. Wh-what was that?” I asked, knowing full well what it probably was.

“It’s a blessing given to some of us,” Farkas said, pulling me up from the ground. “We can be like wild beasts. Fearsome.”

I thought for a second. “Are you gonna make me a werewolf?”

“Oh, no,” Farkas said, chuckling. “Only the Circle have the beastblood. Prove your honor to be a Companion first. ‘Eyes on the prey, not the horizon’.” He said. “We should keep moving. Still the draugr to worry about.”

As he walked off, I jogged to catch up. “Wait, so, the Companions are werewolves?”

“Not everyone,” He said. “But all in the Circle all. It’s a secret to everybody.”

Not me, apparently. “And who were those people?” I asked.

“Silver Hand. Bad people who don’t like werewolves. So they don’t like us, either.”

My head was spinning. The Companions. The Companions of Whiterun, the great warriors since Ysgramor… were werewolves? Some of them, at least. And it was a secret. Well, supposed to be. And the Circle… Kodlak, Aela, Vilkas, Skjor… they were all werewolves. My head was swimming with questions.

Well, it was until I got smacked in the back of the head by a draugr.

~ ~ ~ 

My shoulder was still aching when we got back to Jorrvaskr. It was dark out, Masser and Secunda nothing but silvers in the night sky, the aurora blazing like a bonfire. The fragment of Wuuthrad rested in the largest pocket of my armor.

“Come on, around back,” Farkas said. “The Circle’s waiting to initiate you.”

I followed Farkas back to the yard, where the Circle was waiting, the lit braisers casting the whole place in orange light. 

“Brothers and sisters of the Circle,” Kodlak announced as Farkas and I approached. “Today we welcome a new soul into our mortal fold. The woman has challenged, endured, and shown her valor. Who will speak for her?”

“I stand witness to the courage of the soul before us,” Farkas said.

“Would you raise a shield in her defense?” Kodlak asked.

“I would stand at her back, that the world might never overtake us.” Farkas said.

“And would you raise a sword in her honor?”

“It stands ready to meet the blood of her foes.”

“And would you raise a mug in her name?”

“I would lead the song of triumph as our mead hall reveled in her stories.”

“Then the judgment of this Circle is complete,” Kodlak said, turning his gaze back towards me. “Her heart beats with fury and courage that have united the Companions since the days of the distant green summers. Let it beat with ours, that the mountains may echo and our enemies may tremble at the call.”

“It shall be so,” The rest of the Circle echoed. They stayed for a moment longer before Kodlak bowed his head, and they dispersed.

“Well girl, you’re one of us now,” Kodlak said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “I trust you won’t disappoint.”

Pride glowed in my chest. I had done it. Really done it. But one question was still nagging at the back of my mind.

“Kodlak,” I said, hesitantly. “Is it true the Companions are werewolves?”

He froze, and for a second I feared I had done something wrong, before he relaxed. “I see you’ve been allowed to know some secrets before your appointed time,” He said, turning back to face me. “No matter. Yes, it’s true. Not every Companion, though. Only members of the Circle share the blood of the beast. Some take to it more than others.” I could’ve sworn he shot a glance at Aela and Skjor.

“What about you?” I asked.

“Well, I grow old,” Kodlak said. “My mind turns towards the horizon. To Sovngarde. I worry that Shor won’t call an animal to glory as he would a true Nordic warrior. Living as beasts draws our souls closer to the Daedric Lord Hircine. Some may prefer an eternity in his Hunting Grounds, but I crave the fellowship of Sovngarde.”

I nodded slowly. “So you’re looking to cure yourself?”

“Yes, but it’s no easy matter.” He shook his head. “But you don’t need to share the worries of an old warrior. This day is to rejoice in your bravery! Come now, the others have likely already begun their drinking.”

Kodlak was right - they had. Athi was already busy arm wrestling Njada and losing horribly. To be fair, he should’ve known better than to wrestle someone named ‘Stonearm’. Aela was perched on one of the railings, a tankard in hand and chatting with Vilkas. A glass shattered, someone yelped, and Tilma came in with a rag.

“And there’s the woman of the hour!” Skjor announced as I walked in. He raised a glass. “To our newest member. Though I still can’t be sure she’s the Dragonborn.” There was a slight glint in his eyes.

“So you do have a sense of humor?” I laughed. “I’ll be damned.”

“Don’t make me regret it, newblood,” Skjor said. “Now, how about you tell us about Dustman’s Cairn?”

I laughed. “Oh really, Farkas should tell it-”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Aela said. “It’s tradition. If it’s your Trial, you tell the story.” She leaned forward. “So go ahead. Regale us with your fantastic tale, Dragonborn.”

I wasn’t used to this many eyes on me, but if anything, I wanted to embrace it. I shrugged. “Well, to be fair, it was pretty boring.” I let myself smirk. “But I do have other, far more interesting tales.” I glanced around the room. “Who wants to hear about the time I went drinking with Sanguine?”

Vilkas scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m serious!” I said. “Happened up in Windhelm, got in a drinking contest with this man. Next thing I knew, I was in the Temple of Dibella in Markarth with the worst hangover in my life, and by the Divines that priestess was pissed! Or, of course, there’s the time I stopped Potema from being resurrected- don’t give me that look! Ask Falk Firebeard, that really happened!”

Chapter Text

I had been in the Companions for nearly two full weeks, and nothing disastrous had happened.

I mean it. Nothing. The worst thing that happened was when I got a bear claw stuck in my shoulder and ended up having to see Danica at the temple for some healing. 

I took this as an opportunity to do something different. Magic was generally frowned upon at the Companions - no rules against it, really, but it didn’t fit with the whole Nordic ideal of ‘fists good, magic bad’. On that note, sneaking was also frowned upon - Kodlak said to leave that to the ‘gutter rats’. 

So, I got myself a set of heavy armor and a greatsword. No better way to learn a new skill than to plunge yourself right into it.

I was coming back after a particularly boring job late at night, when both the moons were high overhead. It was louder than normal tonight inside Jorrvaskr - the Circle members were all leading the others in some drinking song about a Nord farmer who defeated a giant to get back his prize goat. The whole thing ended with Torvar spilling a bottle of ale onto Vilkas.

“There you are, Shield-Sister!” Ria came running up to me. “How’d the job go?”

“Pretty good,” I said, shrugging. “The heirloom was covered in cobwebs and was a bit sticky, but that was about it.”

Vilkas came over next, wiping the ale off his face with a rag. “Good to see you’re in one piece, as well.”

I laughed. “Wasn’t easy. Damn spiders nearly bit me in half. Nothing a little bit of mead won’t fix, though.” I took the nearest bottle and took a swig out of it. Honningbrew, by the taste of it. The Companions really loved their Honningbrew.

“That’s the spirit!” Vilkas said, patting me on the shoulder. “Now come on, drink with us! The night is young!”

It really wasn’t, but I wasn’t about to argue. Another thing about the Companions - they really loved my stories. I told them about how I saw Sovngarde, mentioned the incident at the College, told the story about how me and a group of Imperial soldiers overtook an entire Stormcloak camp, numbered three to one. 

The stories were interrupted when Kodlak came up, smiling at all of us warmly. 

“Anything in particular we’re celebrating, or are we simply living the night?” He asked.

“Just living the night,” Skjor answered. “While the night is still young.”

Kodlak nodded in response. “Ah, I see. Well, those of you that have jobs tomorrow, remember to not drink too heavily. The only thing worse than facing off with a pack of wild wolves is facing a pack of wild wolves while you’re hungover.”

That earned a hearty laugh from the gathered Companions. Ria perked up, wobbling a little as she stood, her face flushed.

“Oh, Harbinger!” She said. “Uh, what’s that um… that story! When you killed that Frost Troll near the Sea of Ghosts!”

Kodlak laughed. “Truly, I’m afraid that story would be too long to tell.”

“Ah, come on!” Farkas said. “Tell it! I love that story.”

Kodlak tried to hide his own smile and failed. He took a tankard and sat down, all of us listening with bated breath.

“It was Frostfall, about… oh, eight or nine years ago,” Kodlak said. “I had gotten a message from the Jarl of the Pale…”

That story snowballed into a dozen others, like the tale about Vilkas and Farkas’ Trial, or about Skjor taking on a pack of sabre cats single-handedly, or about how Aela one fought off a cave bear with her bare hands. 

Eventually, I found myself outside, sitting on the steps and staring up at the moons. The night air felt good, a slight breeze that carried the scents of the wildflowers. Torchbugs flickered, and despite the excitement of the night, I felt… tired, honestly. But content. Content in hearing the cheers inside Jorrvaskr, content in knowing I was keeping the world safe.  

“There you are,” Aela said, sitting down beside me. “Wondering where you disappeared off to.”

“Pacing myself,” I said. “If I started drinking anymore, it would get embarrassing fast.”

Aela shot me a curious look. “Are you going to elaborate?”

“Absolutely not.”

Aela laughed, gently socking me in the shoulder. “Fair enough.”

We sat in companionable silence for a bit. It felt… a bit odd. I wasn’t used to this sort of calm. To have complete faith in the person beside me, to know I had people watching my back. It felt good, in a way. Like my heart was full.

“Hey Aela,” I said. “What’s it like being a werewolf?”

The words tumbled out of my mouth before I even had a chance to think. Aela stared at me, her eyes wide.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “Uh, I saw Farkas transform. Back at my Trial. I sorta know.”

“Oh,” She said. “Does Kodlak know you know?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Well then, I don’t see the shame in telling you,” She said, turning her gaze back to the sky. “In truth, lycanthropy isn’t something easily explained. It’s a gut feeling. Once you have it, you wonder how you could’ve ever lived without it. For me, anyway. The experience is different for everyone.”

I rested my chin in my hands. “I think that’s cool as hell.”

“Not everyone does,” Aela said. “I know Kodlak is trying to cure himself. I could never see why. This kind of power, this kind of strength… it’s exhilarating. The thrill of the hunt is like nothing else.”

I shrugged. “Each has their own, I suppose.”

“I suppose they do. I also suppose you’ll be finding out your own thoughts soon.”

This time, it was my turn to shoot her a look. She sighed, shaking her head.

“There I go, waggling my own tongue. Oh well,” She lifted her head. “I’ve heard talks between Skjor and Kodlak. I don’t like eavesdropping, but it’s their fault they don’t close their doors when they’re within earshot of a werewolf. I suspect you might find yourself as one of the Circle soon. Which, of course-”

“Means I’ll have the beastblood.” I said.

“If you want it,” Aela shrugged. “I know Kodlak won’t force it on you, and won’t tolerate Skjor forcing it on you, either. But to be a part of the Circle, you must have the beastblood.”

I nodded slowly. “But I’ve… I’ve only been here for like, two weeks.”

Aela shrugged again. “You’re a powerful warrior. You’re the Dragonborn. To be honest, we’d be stupid not to offer you the chance to join the Circle. Besides, the Circle isn’t necessarily about rank - it’s about showing the whelps what to do.”

“Huh,” I said. “Makes sense when you put it that way.”

Aela sighed, standing and stretching. “But, that’s likely in the future. No need to worry yourself with it now. You’ll always be one of us, Shield-Sister. Now how about we join the others inside?”

I grinned. “I think I still have room for a few more drinks in me.”

I was never able to quite place the emotion I felt that night. Was it just happiness, at being accepted and welcomed into a group, a family? Was it the feeling of longing finally being fulfilled? Or was it something bittersweet? A part of me knew this couldn’t be permanent, after all. There was always trouble where I was concerned.

In the end, I decided it didn’t matter. Because it finally felt like I had a family again.

Chapter Text

I had been with the Companions for nearly a month now. And I was living life. Helping people, drinking to my heart’s content, and then waking up the next morning to do it again.

What would follow next I can only describe as a mess.

As mentioned previously, I am the gods' jester. And apparently, my life was getting just a little bit too boring. So what better to do than to mess it all up and watch me scramble around in the aftermath?

This time, though, was a little bit different from the others. It wasn’t some dastardly betrayal or the result of a meddling Thalmor. It was something all but outside my control. And my actions weren’t limited to idly standing by. I could do something about it. And do something I did.

Now, how does this, one of the last of my great adventures start?

It starts with a bit of werewolf blood.

It was about noon when I got back from a job. Clearing a few animals out of someone’s house in Falkreath. Nothing too difficult. I came back in only to find Aela in the middle of her lunch, scarfing down a whole goat leg.

“The wolves are dead,” I said, sitting down next to her. 

“Good work, Shield-Sister. A simple job, but keeps the coin rolling in.” She tossed me a small coin purse, which I caught mid-air.

“Anything else for me?” I asked. 

“Actually, I think Skjor’s looking for you. Best not to keep him waiting, you know.”

“Ugh, I wouldn’t want to,” I muttered, and began looking for him. I eventually found him downstairs, pouring over a map of Skyrim.

I peered my head into his room. “You were looking for me?”

“Yes,” He said, standing. “I have something a little different planned this time. But it’s not for everyone to hear. Meet me in the Underforge, tonight.”

I blinked a few times. “The what?”

“I forget you’ve never seen it,” He said, shaking his head. “Beneath the Skyforge, where Eorlund works. The door is hidden, but I’ll show you the way.”

And with that, he left, leaving me with quite a few questions.

I spent that time until dusk not really doing much except for twiddling my thumbs and wondering what he meant. I had hazy memories from about a week ago, something Aela mentioned about me joining the Circle, but I’d sooner trust Mercer Frey again than my own drunken memories. 

Was that it? Is that what was happening?

I could barely wait for nightfall. The second the sky grew dusky, I was outside, poking around underneath the Skyforge, trying to find this mysterious ‘Underforge’. You’d think that digging around in three dozen Nordic tombs would help me find hidden doors, but you’d actually be wrong. This Underforge was well hidden.

“Are you prepared?” Skjor’s voice startled me, my fur standing up on instinct. I wheeled around to face him. His face was as cold as stone.

I glanced around. “What is this place?”

“Here’s all you need to know,” Skjor said. “Jorrvaskr is the oldest building in Skyrim. The Skyforge was here long before it was. And the Underforge taps an ancient magic that is older than men or elves. We’re here to bring you stronger, new blood.”

I cracked my knuckles. “I’m ready for whatever test is next.”

“This isn’t a test, newblood.” Skjor said. “This is a gift.”

He put one hand on the stone, running his hands along the ridges. He dug his nails into one crevice, pulling and pulling until a dark passage was revealed. Then, he entered. I scrambled to keep up behind him. The door shut behind us with a loud boom, and it took a moment for my eyes to adjust.

There was a werewolf in there with us.

It wasn’t Farkas, that was for sure. Farkas’ fur in his wolf form was shaggy and dark, and he pure muscle. This one was slimmer, lithe. The fur was silvery, shimmering with the moonlight that came in through holes in the cavern. In the center of the room was a massive stone bowl. I froze at the entrance as Skjor stalked forward, his confidence unwavering.

“I’m glad you came,” He said. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a heart like yours among our numbers. That pitiful ceremony behind the hall does not befit warriors like us. You are due more honors than some calls and feasting.”

He turned to the werewolf, who was perched near the bowl. “I would hope you recognize Aela, even in this form. She’s agreed to be your forebear.”

Aela? I looked at the wolf again. Her eyes met mine, that same stormy gray as her human form. Suddenly, it seemed so obvious. 

“We do this in secret because Kodlak is too busy trying to through away this great gift we’ve been granted,” Skjor said, a slight venom creeping into his words. “He thinks we’ve been cursed. But we’ve been blessed. How can something that gives this kind of prowess be a curse?”

He sighed, turning back to me. “So we take powers into our own hands. To reach the heights of the Companions, you must join with us in the shared blood of the wolf.”

I glanced at Aela, then back at Skjor. “And if I don’t want to?” I asked.

“That is your choice,” Skjor said. “We will not force you. But to join the Circle, your blood must be as ours.”

The way he said that implied that I didn’t truly have much of a choice, but that almost felt secondary. I knew what it was like to be outcasted for being a monster. I had been a vampire, after all. Not to mention the fact Khajiit are literally known as ‘beastmen’. But my vampirism was a curse forced upon me by forces outside my control. That was a reminder of the worst days of my life. And my race was something that I had been born with and accepted long ago.

The Companions were my family now. They had taken me in and I finally felt like I was belonging. I would walk through Oblivion for them.

And now, I would become a werewolf for them.

I nodded. “I’m ready.”

Skjor nodded in turn, approaching Aela and drawing a dagger. He took one of Aela’s arms, held it over the bowl, and cut an incision. The blood flowed into the bowl, the metallic scent hitting me like a wave. Aela pulled her arm back, the wound already closing. Skjor handed me a goblet made from dark metal.

“Drink, Shield-Sister.” He said.

I took a steadying breath. Why was I shaking? Nerves? Anxious energy? Just the fact that the smell of blood made me panic sometimes? I didn’t really know. I dipped the goblet in, filling it about halfway. Another steadying breath. I lifted the goblet to my lips. I think the blood was making me a bit nauseous.

I tipped my head back and downed it in one gulp like it was a tankard of ale.

It tasted like… well, blood. It also tasted like nature, if that made any sort of sense. Like the smell just after it rains, mixed with wood. 

I yelped as a bolt of pain struck through me, clutching at my heart. I think I dropped the goblet, I didn’t really know. All I heart was a clang. My entire body was shaking, twitching, like there was fire being forced into my veins.

My teeth dug into my tongue, my armor suddenly felt suffocating. I tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled cry. Suddenly, I was aware of everything - the scent of blood was overwhelming, I could hear heartbeats, the torchbugs buzzing outside and my own blood pumping faster and faster. Everything blurred together, a thousand sights and sounds assaulting me at once.

Every rational thought abandoned me at that moment, replaced with one instinct.

Hunt.

~ ~ ~ 

I couldn’t tell if minutes or hours had passed. I could smell the wet earth, wildflowers, and rabbit. Blood, too, but it didn’t really bother me. I heard a deer rustling in the brush some ways away.

Slowly, I opened my eyes. The moons were still high overhead. I blinked, and tilted my head. Aela was sat on a fallen log, watching me intently. 

“Are you awake?” She said, chuckling. “I was starting to think you might never come back.”

“Ung…” I struggled to sit up. My muscles were on fire, and my head was pounding. I suddenly felt cold, and looked down.

“Aela,” I muttered. “Where’s my armor?”

She laughed under her breath. “You shredded it during your transformation. I have a set of Circle armor here for you. Another little gift.”

“And…” I spit into the grass. “Why do I taste blood?”

“You just mauled a few deer, don’t worry,” Aela said casually. “I think you spooked a few guards that were patrolling the roads, but that was about it. Skjor and I made sure you didn’t cause too much trouble.”

As I put my armor on, Aela continued talking. “Yours was not an easy transformation, but you’re alive, so congratulations. We even have a celebration planned for you. There’s a pack of werewolf hunters camped nearby, at Gallows Rock. The Silver Hand. I think you’ve met them before.” 

She glanced at me over her shoulder, grinning almost savagely. “We’re going to slaughter them. All of them. Lead on. Skjor’s already scouting ahead.”

I cracked my neck. My body was beginning to wake up now, unspent energy gathering. “What exactly just happened?” I asked.

“You were born into the pack, sister,” Aela said. “I almost envy you. That first time is always the most… intense.” She chuckled. “You gave us more trouble than Farkas did at his first turning.”

As we stalked up the ruined fort, memories returned bit by bit. Sprinting across the plains, the earth beneath my paws, the whistling wind and raising my head to call out to the moon.

The fight inside was pitiful - my new armor didn’t hurt, either. Aela stayed to the back while I rushed into the forefront, swinging my sword almost recklessly. Weapons felt strange, now that I knew I could use my own claws.

So I did. When one of the bastards knocked my sword out of my grasp, I clawed at his face and sent him sprawling.

We pushed into the fort, where metal bars were blocking the hallway down. Aela scoffed.

“Look at this.” She hissed. “Cowards must’ve locked the place down after Skjor charged in. You can smell the fear.” The odd thing was, you could. It was sour, rancid almost, the smell of a coward.

“Is that what that smell is?” I asked

Aela nodded. “Don’t get overwhelmed by your new senses, Shield-Sister. We have a job to do.”

I nodded. “Right, right.”

Even then, the new smells were hard to ignore. Something metallic, like iron, probably blood too. The damp stones, something cooking a few halls down. And of course, werewolf. Something else… sweat and fury, but something slightly familiar…

“I think I smell Skjor,” I said.

Aela raised an eyebrow. “You probably do. His scent is all over Jorrvaskr, so you might recognize it without you even knowing.”

I let that information sit for a second. “That’s so cool. And so weird.” I glanced at Aela. “What now?”

“Now?” Aela said. There was an inhuman glint in her eyes. “We hunt.”

And hunt we did.

But no hunt is without its toll.

We had killed the leader. I was covered in blood, and for the first time, I wasn’t panicking about it. I felt wild, free, my inner beast reveling in the hunt. But something still felt off. There was a sense of dread in my gut, the notion that something was wrong. 

I practically stumbled over it. Skjor’s corpse.

My breathing halted. It took me a moment to realize he was actually dead - his heart wasn’t beating. 

“A-Aela?” I said, hoarsely.

Aela paused a few feet in front of me, her breath hitching. She balled her hands into fists, a low growl coming from her.

“ Bastards,” She snarled. “They-” She took in a shaky breath, her rage disappearing and replaced with grief. She stamped her foot. “He was one of the strongest he had, but numbers can overwhelm. He shouldn’t have come without a Shield-Sibling.”

“Get out of here,” She snapped. “I’m going to make sure we got the last of them, and see if there’s any information to be gotten from the bodies.”

She turned to me, her gaze as cold as eyes and as hard as steel. “You and I have work to do. The Silver Hand will tremble at our sight.”

Chapter Text

You know, the gods really ought to just give me a jester’s outfit at this point. I’ve been playing the role of the lead clown for a while now, and I’d like to have some formal apparel. I think I have enough stories to keep up with even Sanguine.

The cut on my shoulder burned. Turns out, silver actually does hurt werewolves. It’s fucking painful, actually. 

As promised, Aela and I had been taking the fight to the Silver Hand. That, combined with exploring my newfound abilities and generally causing a bit of legally sanctioned chaos… well, it was exhilarating.

I burst into Jorrvaskr in the afternoon, brushing by Athis and Njada currently engaged in what I could only guess to be a drinking competition.

“That sect of the Silver Hand won’t be an issue anymore,” I told Aela.

Her eyes gleamed. “Good. Now, there’s plenty more work to be done, but I fear that Kodlak has gotten wind of our recent efforts. He’s asked to see you.” She glanced over her shoulder. “My advice? Always be honest with the old man, but don’t tell him anything he doesn’t need to know.”

With that, I was shoved down into the Jorrvaskr living quarters.

Kodlak sat in his little half-office space, a tankard in hand. Was that tea? He glanced up as I approached, gesturing to sit down.

“You wanted to see me?” I said, trying to keep my tone light.

“Yes, youngling,” Kodlak said. “I hear you’ve been… busy, as of late.”

We had scarcely talked since I had been inducted into the Circle. I was sure he had heard of it, though, and somehow that only made it worse.

“Aela and I work to avenge Skjor’s death,” I said, careful to keep my voice steady.

Kodlak sighed. “Your hearts are full of grief, and my own weeps at the loss of Skjor. But his death was avenged long ago. You have taken more lives than honor demanded.” He shook his head. “The cycle of retribution may continue for some time.”

My heart ached. I would have rather him be angry at me. My eyes burned, and I balled my hands into fists.

“In any case,” Kodlak said. “I have a task for you.”

I blinked a few times. “You do?”

Kodlak nodded. “Have you heard the story of how we came to be werewolves?”

“Uh,” I racked my brain for knowledge. “I think Skjor said it was a blessing from Hircine.” 

Kodlak laughed under his breath. “Aye, that sounds like him. As in all matters of faith, though, reality is more complicated than one believer would tell you.”

I leaned forward. “So what is the truth?”

“The Companions are nearly five thousand years old,” Kodlak said. “This matter of beastblood has only troubled us a few hundred. One of my predecessors was good, but short-sighted man.” His eyes went distant. “He made a bargain with the witches of Glenmoril Coven. If the Companions would hunt in the name of their lord, Hircine, we would be granted great power.”

I nodded, vague legends coming back to me. Hircine, the father of manbeasts. “So they became werewolves,” I finished.

Kodlak let out a deep sigh. “They did not believe the change would be permanent. The witches offered payment, like anyone else. But we had been deceived.”

“But…” I paused. “ Aren’t we more powerful, now?”

“The witches didn’t lie, of course,” Kodlak said. “But it’s more than just our bodies. The disease, you see, seeps into the spirit. Upon death, werewolves are claimed by Hircine for his Hunting Grounds. For some, this is a paradise. They want nothing more than to chase prey with their master for eternity. And that is their choice.”

I thought briefly of Aela. She embraced the beastblood even more than me. I could see her finding that afterlife a blessing.

“But I am still a true Nord,” Kodlak continued. “And I wish for Sovngarde as my spirit home.”

“Is there a way to cure yourself?” I asked. 

“That’s what I’ve spent my twilight years trying to figure out,” Kodlak said. “And now I’ve found the answer.”

My eyes widened. I leaned in, waiting for his answer.

“The whiches’ magic ensnared us, and only their magic can release us. They won’t give it willingly, but we can extract their foul power by force.” 

He met my eyes, carrying what seemed like the weight of a thousand lifetimes worth of wisdom. “I want you to seek them out. Go to their coven in the wilderness. Strike them down as a true warrior of the wild. And bring me their heads. The seat of their abilities.”

He glanced away, his gaze going distant once more. “From there, we may begin to undo centuries of impurity.”

Resolve strengthened me. I didn’t even want to cure myself, but Kodlak - he was a bit of a father, now. He was my Harbinger. 

“Am I to do this alone?” I asked as the thought struck me.

“You shall have no Shield-Sibling this time,” Kodlak said. “But the spirit of Ysgramor is with you, to restore honor to his legacy. Talos guide you, girl.”

I set off immediately, packing up what I would need. According to Kodlak, he had traced them down into the wilderness of Falkreath, bordering the mountains. I had a quick meal and was soon on the road.

My mind wandered as I walked, like it normally did. I had pledged myself to Nocturnal, though that seemed like ages ago. And now I was a werewolf. Nightingales guarded the Sepulcher after their life. Werewolves, apparently, went to Hircine’s Hunting Grounds.

So where would I, a werewolf Nightingale, go?

Oh fuck, didn’t Tsun say something about me coming to Sovngarde? Am I going to have a choice, or are the gods just gonna have a big custody battle of their disaster Khajiit of a child? Doesn’t Akatosh technically own my soul, what, with the whole Dovahkiin nonsense?

Nope, nope, nope, I muttered internally. That’s a thought for a later date. Kill witches now, ponder the afterlife later.

And kill witches I did. And for my final performance, the gods decided to make things just a little bit more complicated for me.

Chapter Text

When I die, I’m going to ask Akatosh exactly one question. No, it’s not about the meaning of life or the disappearance of the dwarves or my true purpose. None of that nonsense. Nope. I’m gonna walk up to the chief deity of the Divines and ask him if being Dovahkiin comes with a blood curse or if the gods are just messing with me.

Why do I think I might have a blood curse? Glad you asked.

Everyone I’ve ever gotten close to, everyone I’ve looked up to - has died.

Or betrayed me, or gotten arrested, or something else entirely. It’s happened everywhere I’ve gone. It’s more than just bad luck at this point. It happens everywhere. Everywhere I go, someone dies. They die where they otherwise might have lived if I never showed up.

Now, why do I bring this up right now? What brings up this train of thought right now?

Kodlak died.

The Silver Hand finally got the spine to attack Jorrvaskr, while I had been retrieving the Glenmoril Witch heads. I came back to blood and the aftermath of a battle. Vilkas didn’t waste any time telling me what happened. 

We wiped out the Silver Hand. We got back our fragments of Wuuthrad. But it wasn’t quite done yet.

“The others should be preparing Kodlak’s funeral,” Vilkas said. It was the first time I had heard him spoke since we left to destroy the Silver Hand. “We should join them.”

The sky was beginning to turn dusky as we walked up to the Skyforge. Built on top of it was a massive wooden structure, Kodlak’s body resting on top. All the Companions were there, obviously, but I spotted others from Whiterun around.

Eorlund cleared his throat as we approached. “Who will start?”

“I’ll do it,” Aela said hoarsely. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Before the ancient flame-”

“We grieve,” The Circle echoed. Of course, it was just down to Vilkas and Farkas now. Eorlund spoke as well.

“At this loss-” Eorlund said.

“We grieve.” 

“For the fallen-” Vilkas said.

“We shout.”

“And for ourselves,” Farkas said.

“We take our leave.”

There was silence for a moment or two as I felt tears welling up in my eyes. Dammit. Gods dammit. Why did this always happen to me?

Aela took a torch, lit it on one of the braisers, and three it into the Skyforge. The flames crawled up, licking at the wood, before the whole thing was a massive bonfire, sending smoke pouring into the sky.

“His spirit is departed,” Aela said. Her gaze was distant. “Members of the Circle, let us withdraw to the Underforge, to grieve our last together.”

As everyone else dispersed, I stayed. I can’t even say I knew Kodlak that well - certainly not as well as the rest of the Circle. But the grief weighed heavy in my heart anyway. I had seen too much death already. The death of friends, of enemies, of people I didn’t even know. I was tired of death.

I made a silent vow to myself. No one else would die unnecessarily as long as I was around.

I was shaken out of my thoughts as Eorlund tapped me on the shoulder. “I don’t mean to interrupt, but do you still have the fragments of Wuuthrad? I’ll need to prepare them for mounting again.”

I nodded, pulling them out from my bag, tied together in string. “I return them with honor,” I said.

Eorlund shook his head. “Don’t get too flowery on me, lass. Of course, I still have a small favor to ask. There’s another piece, that Kodlak always kept close to himself. Would you go into his chambers and bring it back to me?” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I’m the best one to go through his things.”

I nodded. “It would be my pleasure.”

I went back inside Jorrvaskr. The hall was empty - I could only guess everyone else returned to their chambers. I pushed through the ghost of a building. Everything felt… heavy. 

I had never actually been inside Kodlak’s room, only ever outside of it. I knew to respect personal space. With a heavy sigh, I pushed open the door.

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. It wasn’t anything grandiose or dramatic - in fact, it was pretty simple. A few weapons hanging on the walls, a fireplace, a nice bed. And, on the nightstand, a fragment. I assumed it was from the pommel of the weapon. I pocketed, taking it back upstairs.

Eorlund was still at the Skyforge, lifting his head as he approached. “You’re back.”

“I have the fragment,” I said.

“Thank you,” He said, taking it. “Your Shield-Siblings have withdrawn to the Underforge. I think they’re waiting for you.”

I pushed open the door, and the first thing I saw was Vilkas, Farkas, and Aela gathered around the Underforge bowl. Vilkas’ nostrils flared - I could smell his anger.

“The old man had one wish before he died,” He said. “And he didn’t get it. Simple as that.”

“Being moon-born is not so much a curse as you might think, Vilkas,” Aela said.

“That’s fine for you. But he wanted to be clean. He wanted to meet Ysgramor and know the glories of Sovngarde. But all that was taken from him.”

“And you avenged him.” Aela snapped.

Farkas kicked at a stone on the ground. “Kodlak did not care for vengeance.”

“No, Farkas, he didn’t,” Vilkas said, turning his gaze back to Aela. “And that’s now what this is about. We should be honoring Kodlak, no matter our own thoughts on the blood.”

Aela looked away, almost ashamed. “I…” She sighed. “You’re right. It’s… it’s what he wanted, and he deserved to have it.”

I stepped forward, joining the conversation. “I was actually off trying to help him with that,” I said. “The Glenmoril Witches. I got their heads, but… I don’t know what we can do with them now.”

Vilkas scratched his chin. “The way he spoke when he talked about cleansing himself… it seemed it could work even in death.” He glanced back to Aela. “You’ve heard the legends of the tomb of Ysgramor.”

“‘There the souls of Harbingers will heed the call of northern steel’,” She said, before shaking her head. “We can even enter the tomb without Wuuthrad, and it’s in pieces, like it has been for a thousand years.”

“And dragons were just stories,” Eorlund entered, striding in. “And the elves once ruled Skyrim. Just because something is, doesn’t mean it must be.” His lips twitched in a smile, his eyes gleaming. “The blade is a weapon. A tool. Tools are meant to be broken. And repaired.”

Vilkas’ eyes widened as he sucked in a breath. “Did you… you repaired the blade?” I traced his gaze to the weapon on Eorlund’s back.

Eorlund nodded. “This is the first time I’ve had all the pieces, thanks to our Shield-Sister here,” He gave a nod to me. “‘The flames of a hero can reforge the shattered’. The flames of Kodlak shall fuel the rebirth of Wuuthrad, and now it will take you to meet him once more.”

He turned his gaze to me. “As the one who bore the fragments, I think you should be the one to carry Wuuthrad into battle.”

He pulled the massive axe from his back, handing it to me. I hefted it - it was a heavy, massive thing, but one that hummed with energy. Not magic, necessarily… just the weight of centuries of legend.

“The rest of you,” Eorlund barked. “Prepare to journey to the tomb of Ysgramor. For Kodlak.”

Aela grinned, putting one hand on her dagger and the other on her chest. “For Kodlak!”

“For Kodlak!” The twins echoed.

~ ~ ~

Ysgramor’s tomb - a lot less ‘ancient and breathtaking burial place of a great hero’ and more ‘like every other Nordic ruin you’ve ever seen, just bigger’. 

Vilkas stayed behind at the entrance. He felt guilty for letting his grief consume him. Farkas left about halfway through - the spiders up ahead terrified him. That left me and Aela, fighting side by side like a whirlwind.

“How much further, do you think?” I asked, stabbing an ancient Companions Ghost in its eye. It dissolved into mist.

“I wish I knew,” She muttered, nocking another arrow.

“Aren’t you the Nord, here?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” She dodged a blow, hitting the ghost in the ribs with her dagger. “That I don’t know everything about ancient Nordic culture.”

“I dunno, you guys seem to really like that stuff,” I said, catching my breath. 

Aela brushed by me. “You’re technically an ancient Nordic hero. You should be learning this stuff.”

I was too tired to mock her, so I just followed her instead. We pushed through another dusty hallway before exiting out into a massive chamber, a blue braiser in the center. And-

I gasped. “Kodlak?”

I had seen ghosts before, but this felt different. I sprinted up to him, Aela not far behind, grinning from ear to ear.

He turned to me, smiling warmly. “Greetings, Shield-Sister.”

I stood a few feet away, balking. “Is that really you?”

“Of course,” Kodlak said. “My fellow Harbingers have been warming ourselves here. Trying to evade Hircine.”

I gave a quick glance around the room. “But… there’s nobody else here.”

“You see only me because your heart knows only me as the Companions leader.” He laughed under his breath. “I’d wager old Vignar could see half a dozen of my predecessors.” He looked off into the distance. “And I see them all. The ones in Sovngarde. The ones trapped in Hircine’s realm.”

He turned back to me. “And they all see you. You’ve brought honor to the name of the Companions. We won’t soon forget it.”

Me. A Khajiit. A chronic idiot, a thief, an assassin, a mage… bringing honor to the oldest, most Nordic group of fighters in Skyrim.

I’d love to see the look on Ysgramor’s face.

“Vilkas said you can be cured,” Aela said, jerking me out of my thoughts. 

“Did he now?” Kodlak said. “I can only hope.” He turned to me. “You still have the witches’ heads?” 

I hefted one up.

“Excellent,” Kodlak said. “Throw one of them into the fire. It will release their magic, for me at least.”

I shot a glance to Aela, and threw one of the heads into the fire. The flames expanded, turning blood red, a ghastly scream echoing in the chamber. Kodlak doubled over, his form wavering, splitting apart. A massive wolf clawed out of his chest, roaring and howling.

It trained its eyes on me, pouncing. I held up Wuuthrad, shoving the rod between its teeth. I heard Aela nock an arrow, and a split second later, a single arrow pierced the wolf’s spectral hide. The wolf reared back.

I brought Wuuthrad down over my head, slicing into the wolf’s shoulder and kicking it’s snout a moment later. With a final, furious swing, the wolf dissolved with a long, ghostly howl.

I glanced back at Kodlak. He had stood, smiling down at me. 

“Well,” I caught my breath. Wuuthrad was not an easy weapon to haul around. “Your wolf spirit is slain.”

“And so slain the beast inside of me,” Kodlak said. “I think you for this gift. The other Harbingers remain trapped by Hircine, though.” He turned, looking off somewhere distant. “Perhaps from Sovngarde, the heroes of old can join me in their rescue. The Harrowing of the Hunting Grounds… It would be a battle of such triumph.”

He turned back to me. “And perhaps someday, you’ll join us in that battle. But for today, return to Jorrvaskr. Triumph in your glory. And lead the Companions to further glory.”

With that, he vanished, and I was left with one massive question.

Why did I always get chosen for leadership roles?

Aela walked up behind me. “Did I hear right? Did he say you were to lead the Companions?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Look, Aela, I’m gonna be honest. I suck at leadership stuff. I’m always on the move, normally in mortal danger, it’s just-”

To my surprise, Aela laughed. “Have you forgotten the role of a Harbinger?” She nudged me with her elbow, winking. “Here’s a little hint. There’s actually not a whole lot of leadership is truly involved.”

That drew a chuckle out of me. “Yeah, but… I just don’t wanna abandon you guys.”

“I don’t think you will,” Aela said. “Even so, we’d drag you back anyway. I have to say, I’m a bit surprised.”

“Really?”

Aela shrugged. “Maybe just because I remember when you were a whelp who just joined. That said, your strength and honor is apparent to all. The old man trusted you, so I’ll trust you.” She tilted her head. “So what’s next for you, Harbinger?”

I bit my lip. “Honestly? I wanna settle down for a little bit. Not too long, because I’ll probably get bored quickly, but at least for a bit. Other than that? I have no clue.”

An idea struck me. The kind that’s so stupid that it almost seems a bit genius.

“Actually,” I said. “Maybe I do have a clue.”

Aela raised an eyebrow. “Care to elaborate?”

“Nope,” I said. “It’s just gonna take… a bit of planning.” And a lot of tents.

Chapter Text

“I wish you would tell me what you’re actually planning,” Aela walked up next to me. I had gathered up the Companions - Vilkas and Farkas, along with Athis, Torvar, Ria, and Njada. Currently, we were hiking in the wilderness of Falkreath.

“Nope, sorry,” I said, casting a sideways glance at Aela. “It’s a secret.”

“I hate secrets.”

“Too bad, then.”

“Harbinger, where exactly are you taking us?” Athis hollered from the back of the group. “We’ve been walking for hours.”

“We’ve been walking for an hour, singular,” I said. “And don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

Njada grumbled some curse under her breath and we kept walking. Farkas, at least, seemed happy to be out here. Well, in general, he seemed a lot happier since he got cured of his lycanthropy.

Oh yeah, he got cured of his lycanthropy. Vilkas, too. Did I forget to mention that?

I suppose I should give you a bit of context. I had been Harbinger for just about two weeks. Things hadn’t changed much - Aela and I went hunting sometimes, but that was about it. But today, I had something special planned.

“Are we stopping for lunch soon?” Torvar asked.

“Yes, actually,” I said. “Come on, everyone. Just over here.”

We stopped at a massive forest clearing. I had scouted it out about a week prior, and decided it was perfect. I stood in the center of the clearing, clapping my hands.

“Alright, everyone!” I said. “I’ve noticed a little something. Morale has been fairly low since Kodlak’s death, though that’s understandable. But more than anything, you guys have been all keeping to yourselves.”

Njada crossed her arms. “And?”

“ And this is going to fix that, hopefully,” I said. “This is a team-building exercise. We’re here to reconnect with our roots as Companions and truly become Shield-Siblings once more. This camping trip is going to cement our bonds so that not even the mightiest Skyforge steel weapon could break them.”

Ria’s eyes lit up. “Oh! This sounds fun!” 

“That’s the spirit!” I said. 

“Uh, quick question,” Farkas said. “Where are our tents?”

Aela glanced at me. “You did remember we would need tents, right?”

“Of course,” I said. “And I got that covered. Now, if all of you would take a few steps back…”

I spread out my hands, palms facing up, and channeled my magic. I hadn’t performed a spell like this in so long, it almost felt like a relief. After I felt the magic building, I thrust one fist into the ground. The clearing shimmered - suddenly, there were tents, a firepit, a tanning rack, and more. I grinned as the rest of the Companions watched, open-mouthed.

“Never underestimate the power of a good Conjuration spell,” I said. “Now, members of the Circle, come see me so we can delegate. Everyone else, choose your tents. It’s two to a tent, and no, you don’t get to sleep by yourself. You can bunk up, it’ll be fine.”

“I gotta say, I’m impressed,” Vilkas said. “I didn’t think you could pull this off.”

I rolled my eyes. “What do you think I am, a whelp?” I playfully punched him in the shoulder. “I’m more responsible than you think.”

Farkas smiled. “I think this’ll be nice. I may not be a werewolf anymore, but I still really like being outdoors. Something nice about nature.”

I smiled in turn and nodded. “Then you’ll like your assignment. Vilkas, Farkas, I need you two to get some firewood. We’re gonna have to cook lunch and have enough for a bonfire tonight.”

“Will do, Harbinger.” Vilkas said.

“Aela? I need you to actually hunt said lunch,” I said. 

At that, Aela’s eyes lit up. She pulled out her bow. “With pleasure. And what will you do?”

“Me?” I glanced back at the campsite, watching as Athis and Njada squabbled over who was bunking with who. “I’m gonna make sure the whelps don’t hurt each other.”

~ ~ ~

The afternoon was as fulfilling as it was long. I sent everyone out to go catch something for dinner and promised that whoever got the biggest catch (minus Aela, since I knew she would come back with something like a sabre cat) would get a bonus pay when we got back. Competition is a pretty good motivator.

At first, the winner seemed to be Vilkas, with three wolves. We were about to go looking for Ria when she came in from the treeline, dragging an entire bear behind her.

She won the competition.

Dinnertime was as rowdy as any other night in Jorrvaskr. I was able to conjure up two barrels of mead, much to everyone’s surprise and excitement. The night was spent with enough drinking and enough shouting that I think we scared off just about every wild animal and pissed off every Spriggan in a five-mile radius.

“Oh, oh, Tallulah!” Njada shouted. “What was Ysgramor’s tomb like?”

“Like every other Nordic tomb I’ve ever been in,” I said, taking a swig of mead. “Dusty, old, and full of dead things.”

“You say that like you’ve been in a lot of Nordic tombs,” Athis commented.

I rolled my eyes. “My friend, you have no idea. I might start switching it up, investigate Dwemer ruins or something. Plenty of those scattered around.”

That earned a laugh from the crowd. I felt like today has been a success - morale was boosted, everyone was having a good time, we were able to get out of Whiterun for a bit and spend a day enjoying each other's company and the boons of nature. But there was one other reason I had assembled everyone.

“There’s actually…” I cleared my throat, gathering everyone’s attention. “There’s actually something I wanted to talk to you guys about.”

The group went quiet. The only sound was crickets and the crackling of the campfire.

“Something of a secret among the Companions,” I said. “One that… well, has caused some troubles in the past. One I think you guys deserve to know about.”

Aela froze. “Wait, are you-”

“Aela and I are werewolves,” I said. “So were Kodlak and Skjor. Vilkas and Farkas used to be too, until they got cured. It’s a secret the Circle has been keeping for a few hundred years now. A secret that I think should come to light.”

Dead silence. Nobody was meeting my eye.

“Look, I’m still the same person I’ve always been,” I said. “The reason I wanted to tell you guys is because we’re a family. We’re companions, it’s in the name. I don’t wanna keep secrets from you guys. The Circle is supposed to guide newer members, to give them an example. And keeping secrets isn’t a good example.”

“How?” Ria said softly. "Like... how did you become a werewolf."

“Eh, the best way to describe it is a ritual,” I said, waving my hand. “You gotta drink werewolf blood. Actually not as gross as it first sounds. It hurts a lot the first time, too, but it gets better.” I paused. "Wait, did you mean how it all started? I think one of the previous Harbingers made a deal with some witches."

I took a deep sigh, waving that away. “I’m telling you guys this not only because you deserve to know, but to extend the offer to you. Lycanthropy isn’t something easy - you’ll go to Hircine when you die, and you’ll need to learn how to control your powers. Also, know that curing it isn’t easy. We won’t force you to, but you deserve the opportunity.”

Aela stared at me. “What are you-?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to tell them about it and then not let them participate,” I said. 

Athis hesitantly raised a hand. “Are there any upsides to being a werewolf?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You turn into a massive fuck-off wolf and get to shred apart bandits like paper.”

Athis actually seemed to seriously consider it.

“I won’t dwell on it, because this is meant to be a night of revelry,” I said. “But feel free to come to any of us with questions. Vilkas and Farkas can offer their insights, even though they are cured. And, of course, Aela and I can offer any help as well.”

Torvar burped. “Good. Because I’m a bit too drunk to be making good decisions.”

Njada socked him in the arm. “Aren’t you always too drunk?”

“That’s true.”

~ ~ ~

“Well done,” Aela said. It was well after dinner, now, everyone else winding down. We, however, were talking a walk through the wilderness. “I didn’t expect you to just… put the truth out so brazenly. I’m just afraid we might draw unwanted attention if the word gets out.”

I shrugged. “Then we’ll face it head-on. That’s what we do, right?”

“Fair point,” Aela said. “Do you think any of the newbloods will accept your offer?”

“I’m honestly not sure,” I said. “The thing I’m most worried about is them abusing that power.”

“We’ve had people try to do that before,” Aela said. “We kicked the last one out, though I heard he went on to cause even more trouble. We started cracking down from there.”

“The last one?” I said.

Aela snarled. “Arnbjorn. Real stubborn bastard, that one. His thirst for blood was… aggressive.”

My breathing hitched, and I almost tripped. Aela paused, helping me back to my feet.

“You alright there?” She asked.

“Y-Yeah,” I said, not at all prepared to hear his name ever again. “Just, uh… branch tripped me up.”

Aela chuckled, thankfully oblivious to my little mental slip. We kept walking for a while, until the moons were both high overhead. My inner wolf howled, begging for an outlet. I hadn’t hunted in a while.

“What do you say to a little late-night hunt?” I asked.

Aela grinned at me. “I was thinking the exact same thing.”

“First one to find and kill three bandits gets the better prey for a week.”

“That’s boring,” Aela said, cracking her knuckles. “Why not just find a whole camp and slaughter a dozen?”

A low growl built in my throat. “There should be one not too far away.”

“Fine then. Last one there has to drink that barrel of stale mead back at Jorrvaskr.”

“You’re on!”

And that was the birth of a family I would have at my back for years and years to come.

Chapter Text

“Thoric!” Svalka burst into the guard barracks, her armor in tatters and her face covered in ash.

Thoric raised his head. “Are you alright?”

“Well, I’m fine now,” She said. “Why didn’t you tell me a Khajiit was the Dragonborn?!”

Neyette poked her head into the room. “A Khajiit is the Dragonborn?”

“Yeah!” Svalka said. “I watched her rip a dragon’s soul right out of its body! She devoured it!” Svalka ran a hand through her hair. “It was one of the most terrifying fights I’ve ever been in, but she acted like it was nothing!” She pointed a finger at Thoric. “And you never mentioned she was a Khajiit!”

Thoric held his hands up. “It… didn’t come up in conversation?”

Svalka threw her hands up. “Didn’t come up in conversation. Of course.”

Neyette leaned on the doorframe. “How can a Khajiit be the Dragonborn? Are you sure?”

“I swear on my ancestors,” Svalka said. “She Shouted, too. It was… well, it was honestly incredible.”

Laskir came up from the prison, grabbing a bottle of mead and popping open the cork. “What’d I miss?”

“Oh, nothing,” Svalka muttered, throwing herself into a seat. “Just Thoric neglecting to mention the fact that the Dragonborn is a Khajiit.”

Laskir stopped mid-drink. “Isn’t she also the Harbinger?”

“Huh?”

“The Harbinger,” Laskir said, nodding to himself. “Yeah, after that Whitemane fellow died. They said they appointed the Dragonborn as their Harbinger.”

That made Svalka’s brain short-circuit. “So… a Khajiit is both the Dragonborn and the Harbinger?”

Laskir hummed under his breath. “So it would seem.”

“I call bull,” Neyette said. “I mean, seriously, why would the gods make a cat the Dragonborn? It doesn’t make any sense.”

“The gods work in mysterious ways,” Laskir said. 

“Mysterious indeed,” Thoric said. “I had heard rumors she was also a member of the College of Winterhold.”

“Those bastards?” Svalka said. “Ugh, petty milk-drinkers. How could the Dragonborn be in league with them?”

“Wish I could tell ya,” Thoric said. “She was able to heal me up right quick, though. I even heard summoned a Daedra to fight for her!”

“All these legends, all these rumors,” Neyette grumbled. “What’s real and what’s not?”

Laskir laughed. “I mean, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it? She’s a living legend. No one knows who she really is. I mean, ask any guard in any hold, and they’ve heard different rumors about her and have different thoughts. Like, uh-” He hollered over his shoulder. “Istarn! What’s one rumor you’ve heard about the Dragonborn?”

Istarn came down from the bunks. “My brother was stationed in Falkreath for a few months. A bunch of guards think she helped this werewolf escape.”

“See?” Laskir said. 

“Oh, and-” Istarn leaned on the table. “I heard she was the one that discovered all those Forsworn in Markarth. Apparently killed them all, too. Every. Last. One.”

Thoric’s brow furrowed. “What happened in Markarth?”

Istarn shrugged. “Something about a bunch of Forsworn secretly ‘controlling the city’. I’m not entirely sure, myself.”

Svalka snapped her fingers. “That reminds me! Laeli said she saw the Dragonborn summon a Daedra out of a staff once.”

Neyette threw up her hands. “Firstly, there’s no way that happened. Secondly, how did you get from ‘Forsworn in Markarth’ to ‘Daedra summoning’?”

“My trail of thought is as wild as the Karth River, friend.”

Laskir sat back in his seat. “I’d love the chance to talk to her. She what exactly she’s like, separate the truth from fiction. I mean, can you imagine? Meeting the Dragonborn?”

“I’d prefer to talk to Akatosh and ask him why he made a Khajiit the Dragonborn.” Neyette muttered.

“As would I.”

All five of the guards jumped, wheeling around to the newcomer in the doorway. It was a Khajiit with dark fur and faint stripes. Her eyes were piercing, bright blue, scanning all of them intently. Scars marred her fur.

“D-Dragonborn!” Neyette said. “I-I didn’t mean any disrespect, I-”

“No, I’m serious,” The Khajiit said. “I’m the incarnation of a Nordic hero in a Khajiit body. It never made a whole lot of sense to me.”

“Wh-What are you doing here?” Svalka asked.

The Dragonborn shrugged. “I was bored, mostly. Figured I’d check in with the guards of Whiterun. See what was going on.”

“Well, uh-” Thoric gestured around. “Here’s what’s going on.”

“Er, Dragonborn?” Laskir asked.

“Seriously, call me Tallulah,” The Khajiit said.

“Okay, well, Tallulah ,” Laskir said. “Can we ask you some questions? We’re not entirely sure what’s rumor and myth and what’s actually true.”

Tallulah grabbed a bottle of mead. “Fire away.”

“Are you really the Harbinger?” Neyette asked.

“Yes, it’s quite an interesting story and one I don’t feel like telling.” Tallulah said.

Laskir narrowed his eyes. “And were you the one that discovered that Forsworn plot in Markarth?”

Tallulah rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that was a pain in the ass. Ended up getting locked up for it, too. I mean, I was later pardoned, but it was still an inconvenience.”

“Are you really a member of the College?” Svalka asked.

“Uh-huh,” Tallulah said. “Arch-Mage, actually, though Tolfdir tends to run the day to day operations. I just kinda make sure no one is breaking rules or causing a ruckus.”

Istarn’s eyes widened. “Can you really summon Daedra?”

Tallulah shot him a curious look. “I’m going to assume you mean basic Daedra, but yes, I can. Atronachs are considered Daedric I think, and I can summon three types of them. I also got a neat staff that lets me summon one.”

“Told you,” Svalka said, elbowing Neyette in the gut.

“And…” Thoric mulled over his words, leaning in. “Did you really see Sovngarde?”

“Yeah,” Tallulah said. “It was… really nice, actually. You Nords have a pretty sweet afterlife to look forward to.”

She stood and stretched. “Well, this was a nice chat, but I’m pretty sure they’re expecting me back at Jorrvaskr. Keep up the good work, all of you.” With that, she left, and the guards were left in silence.

“Somehow,” Thoric said. “I’m left with even more questions.”

“As am I,” Svalka muttered.

Laskir shrugged. “Maybe it’s meant to be like that. I mean, come on, you don’t expect a demi-god to be a little bit strange?” He leaned back in his seat, kicking his feet up on the table. “A true living legend. All we can do is wait to see what her next adventures will bring.”

Neyette rolled her eyes. “Oh, get your feet off the table. It’s gross.”

“Sorry, your majesty,” Laskir said, taking his feet off. “I didn’t realize this was the Blue Palace.”

“Oh, shut it, the both of you,” Thoric said. “Our break is nearly up anyway, and I’m not going to stand you both arguing on watch duty.”

Chapter Text

It had been nearly a whole two months without any disastrous happening. You know what that means.

I had to go find my own disaster.

I love the Companions, I really do, but it was time for me to strike out on my own. My wanderlust was getting the better of me again, and I needed to sate it. And I found exactly the perfect way as I stopped in Falkreath and heard rumors from the guards.

“Did you hear?” One of the guards said, nudging their companion. “They’re reforming the Dawnguard. Vampire hunters, or something. In the old fort near Riften."

The second guard nodded. “I wouldn’t mind joining. Be more interesting than this.”

“And face one of those bloodsuckers? No way! I hear there were a bunch roosting near Morthal and the whole city nearly got overrun.”

“Exactly. Damn things are getting bolder by the day. And I intended to protect my city.”

I paused, glancing down at Meeko. “Whaddya say, boy? Wanna go hunt some vampires? Wanna go set some undead on fire?”

Meeko just wagged his tail.

“I thought so,” I said. “Now come on. Let’s get to Riften.”

~ ~ ~

Fort Dawnguard was actually pretty hard to find. But a little bit of poking around was enough to find the entrance. Turns out, the whole thing was situated in a valley. The fort itself was massive. A man welcomed me in, told me Isran was in the fort and was the one I should talk to.

I wasn’t gonna lie - I was excited. Vampires were a pain in the ass. Plus, I couldn’t get infected by them any more thanks to the beastblood. Also having an outlet to be able to freely strike down undead was always a plus.

And, of course, I walked right into a tense conversation.

“Why are you here, Tolan?” A Redguard man said, dressed in Dawnguard armor. I could only assume that was Isran. He looked to be talking to a Vigilant of Stendarr.

“You know why I’m here,” The Vigilant, Tolan, said. “The Vigilants are under attack everywhere. The vampires are much more dangerous than we believed.”

“And now you run to the safety of the Dawnguard, is that it?” Isran said, crossing his arms. “I remember Keeper Carcette telling me repeatedly that Fort Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin, not worth the expense and manpower to repair.” He gave Tolan a flat stare. “And now that you’ve stirred up the vampires against you, you come begging for my pardon?”

“Isran, Carcette is dead!” Tolan said hoarsely. “The Hall of the Vigilants, everyone… they’re all dead. You were right, we were wrong. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Yes, well…” Isran’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn all of you… I am sorry, you know.”

Suddenly, his gaze turned to me, and he lifted his chin. “You. Who are you, and what do you want?”

I sauntered in, putting my hands on my hips. “I heard you’re looking for vampire hunters.”

“You heard right,” Isran said. “I’m glad word’s finally starting to get around. But that means it won’t be long before vampires start to take notice as well.”

“Well, I’m here to help,” I said. “I’m a damn good fighter. Just tell me what I can do.”

“I need someone out in the field, taking the fight to the damn vampires, while we get the fort back into shape,” Isran grumbled. “Tolan was telling me about some cave that the Vigilants were poking around in. Seemed to think it was related to these recent vampire attacks.”

Isran glanced over his shoulder back at Tolan. “Tolan, tell her about… what was it, Dimhollow Crypt?”

“Yes, that’s it,” Tolan said. “Dimhollow Crypt. Brother Adalvald was sure it held some long lost vampire artifact of some kind.” He hung his head. “We didn’t listen to him anymore we did Isran. He was at the Hall when it was attacked…”

Isran crossed his arms again, standing straight. “That’s good enough for me.” He turned his gaze back in my direction. “Go see what the vampires were looking for in this Dimhollow Crypt. With any luck, they’ll still be there. Feel free to poke around the fort and take what you need. There isn’t much yet, but you’re welcome to anything you can use.”

Tolan perked up. “I’ll meet you at Dimhollow. It’s the least I can do for my fallen comrades.”

Isran shot a glance at him. “Tolan, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You Vigilants were never trained for-”

“I know what you think of us,” Tolan snapped. “You think we’re soft, that we’re cowards. You think our deaths proved our weakness. Stendarr grant that you do not have to face the same test and be found wanting. I’m going to Dimhollow Crypt.”

“Don’t forget to take a crossbow,” Isran said, pointing to one on the barrels lining the room. “Good for taking out those fiends before they get close.”

I hefted it up - it couldn’t be that different from a bow, could it?

I slung it over my shoulder. “I’ll meet you there, Tolan.”

~ ~ ~

Tolan, of course, was dead when I got there, and some sort of hellhound was gnawing at his corpse.

Now, I expected it to be standard Nordic ruins. It wasn’t. The stonework was completely different, the whole place reeked of blood and undeath. There weren’t just normal vampires there, either. These ones were stronger. Hardy enough to be a real pain, too. Poor Meeko nearly got skewered by an ice spike.

The main chamber was massive - a great, circular plate in the center with arches. A dead Vigilant, and soon, a few dead vampires, were there too. And in the center of the room, a pillar, with a button.

I immediately pressed said button.

I immediately got stabbed through the hand.

“Argh!” I stumbled back, clutching my hand as I cast a quick healing spell with my uninjured one. My blood must’ve activated something - purple flames crawled up from the cracks in the ground, illuminating the whole space. The fire crawled into the braisers lining it, lighting them up.

The ground began to split open. I scrambled back, Meeko barking near the edge of the circle. The circle began to lower as the pillar raised up, revealing a stone monolith. As suddenly as it all had started, it stopped. I stood, shaking a little, and nudged the monolith with my foot.

Part of it began to slide down, opening up like a sarcophagus. I had exactly two thoughts in the span of a few moments. 

As the door slid open and the scent of blood and dust hit my nose. A vampire. No doubt about it. Then I saw the face of the woman inside the sarcophagus - deathly pale skin and short, ebony-black hair. I paused for a split second.

Oh, she’s a pretty vampire.

I violently shoved that thought out of my head. No. Absolutely not. We would not be doing that.

The woman’s knees buckled, and on instinct, I rushed to catch her. I helped her up as she slowly regained consciousness, leaning against the stone pillar.

She groaned, her voice hoarse. “Where is…” She glanced around, her eyes barely focused, before she turned to me. I had seen vampires before, but she was something else entirely. Most vampires had orange eyes, but her’s were piercing red. Most vampires had a hint of color to their faces - she was whiter than snow.

She blinked a few times, staring at me. I removed my helmet, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Who sent you here?” She asked softly.

I raised an eyebrow. “Who were you expecting?”

“I was expecting someone…” She scanned me up and down. “Like me, at least.”

“You’re a-”

“Vampire, yes,” She said. 

I bit the inside of my cheek, letting out a sigh as I weighed my options. “The Dawnguard would probably want me to kill you.”

“Not fond of vampires, are they?” She said. “Well, look. Kill me, you’ve killed one vampire. But if people are after me, there’s something bigger going on. I can help you find out what it is.”

Was she lying? Was she messing with me? It didn’t really matter, because I shrugged anyway. “Alright. Where do you need to go?”

She blinked a few times, as if surprised by my sudden willingness. “My family used to live on an island to the west of Solitude. I would guess they still do.” She shifted her weight, managing a weak smile. “By the way… my name’s Serana. Good to meet you.”

“Tallulah Moonstep,” I said. “Now let’s go. I hate caves.” There was something slung across Serana’s back, barely glimmering in the low light. I gasped as I realized what it was.

“Why…?” My brow furrowed. “You have an Elder Scroll.”

Serana crossed her arms. “Yes. And it’s mine.”

I blinked a few times. “Wh… why do you-?”

She sighed. “It’s… complicated. I can’t really talk about it. Sorry.”

To be honest, I wasn’t even really concerned about why she had an Elder Scroll and more about how. I mean, I had one, safely stored back at Jorrvaskr. I was the Dragonborn, and the scroll contained my prophecy. It made sense. So why did this vampire have one? And what the hell did I just get myself into?

I shook the thought out of my head and glanced around, trying to change the subject. “Any idea how to get out of here?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. This place looks… pretty different from when I was locked away.”
I started poking around, nudging a few of the braisers. “How long were you locked away?”

Serana paused, biting her thumb. “Good question. Hard to say. I… I can’t really tell.” She shook her head. “I feel like it was a long time. Who is Skyrim’s High King?”

I sighed. “That’s… kind of up for debate. There was a civil war… it’s a long story.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Serana said, throwing her hands up. “Good to know the world didn’t get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders?”

“Empire supports Elisif,” I said, lighting a torch. “But plenty of Nords in Skyrim are loyal to Ulfric.”

Behind me, Serana paused. “Empire? What… what Empire?”

I turned around to face her, blinking a few times. “Uh… the Empire. From Cyrodiil.”

Serana’s eyes widened and her jaw hung open. “ Cyrodiil is the seat of an empire?” She ran a hand through her hair. “I must have been gone longer than I thought. Definitely longer than we planned.” She shook her head. “Please, let’s hurry. I need to get home so I can find out what happened.”

I nodded. “Oh, one last thing.” I whistled. “C’mere, Meeks!”

Meeko came bounding over, wagging his tail and licking my hands. I turned back to Serana. “Meeko is my little friend here. I hope you don’t mind.”

She laughed nervously. “It’s fine, but uh… animals don’t really like me. The whole… vampire thing.”

“Aw, nonsense,” I said. “Meeko loves everyone. Isn’t that right, boy?”

Meeko showed his agreement with a happy bark, nudging Serana’s leg and sniffing her. She froze, staring at Meeko for a second, before gently patting the top of his head. She smiled slightly.

“Meeko’s seen all sorts of people,” I said. “And the only ones he doesn’t like are the ones that try to kill me. Now, where were we?” 

I spotted a small bridge off to the side, Serana following soon behind. It led up to a small ruined alcove with little on it. I peered into the darkness, my combination of Khajiit and werewolf blood letting me just barely make out a staircase.

“Over here,” I said. “I think I-”

My sentence was interrupted by screeching. The gargoyle statues that had been perched on the railing moved, their stony skin breaking away. One locked eyes on me.

It hissed, lunging, before a spike of ice impaled it’s chest, sending it stumbling back. I glanced to Serana, who had frost gathering in her palms. She impaled the arm of the second one.

I didn’t have time to look for long, though. The beast got back up, and I took out my warhammer, smashing its head in. It collapsed, and I blocked the attack from the second. Meeko bit at its leg, dragging it down, and I delivered the finishing blow.

As I caught my breath, I heard Serana grunt. She was leaning heavily on one of the railings, clutching her head. 

“You okay?” I asked. “One of ‘em hit you?”

“I’m fine,” She said, her voice strained as she stood back up. She was trembling ever so slightly. “Just… a little bit woozy. Probably from waking up.”

I had the sense she was lying, but I didn’t push. This woman was full of mysteries and she seemed intent on keeping them that way. So instead, I simply nodded.

“Don’t go collapsing on me,” I said. “Because I’m not carrying you.”

I couldn’t tell if she laughed or scoffed at that.

We pushed on, past a room with a single skeleton that Meeko knocked over with ease. Serana followed me the whole way at a healthy distance. I could feel her studying me, as if trying to gauge my personality by my movements alone. Or maybe she was just trying to make sure I wouldn’t turn on her. Who knows.

I paused at the entrance of a large room, of what might have been some sort of fighting arena. I sniffed the air.

“Skeletons,” I said. “And definitely draugr. Be on your guard.”

“What are you going to do?” Serana said. 

“Smash ‘em into dust.”

I didn’t wait to hear her response. I rushed forward, pummeling the first skeleton I saw with my warhammer. The skull cracked with ease. Meeko barked, alerting me of a draugr closing in, and I dodged its attack before smashing at its ribs, causing it to crumble in.

I heard the unmistakable sound of a coffin pop open and watched an ancient draugr, dressed in thick armor, shamble out. 

There was the brief smell of ozone in the air before a bolt of electricity hit it in the chest, sending it flying back. I cast a glance over my shoulder - Serana’s gaze was steely, and lightning arced between her fingertips. I lunged at the draugr, snapping one of its knees inward before burying the head of my warhammer in its chest. It collapsed with a groan.

“Will there ever be a day when I don’t have to take down a dozen undead?” I muttered as Serana approached. She was walking slower, her gait a little unsteady. We were about to leave the chamber when I paused, my ears perking up.

“What is it?” Serana asked.

I didn’t answer her. I knew the sound of that chanting well. I followed it, and my gut instincts, to a wall in the corner of the room. Glyphs were glowing on it. I approached, the familiar sensation of thrumming energy engulfing me. A thousand words and feelings pushed through like a rapid stream, carrying along with it knowledge.

GAAN.

STAMINA.

ENDURING STRENGTH.

UNYIELDING TO FATIGUE.

I took a deep breath, opening my eyes. I flexed my fingers instinctively. I always relished finding new words. It felt like discovering a little part of me.

“Excuse me?” Serana said. “Care to explain what you just did?”

“Hm?” I almost forgot she was there for a moment. “Oh, it’s a long story. Come on. We need to be getting you home, don’t we?”

She didn’t argue with that. I felt a slight breeze coming down one of the ruined corridors, and it wasn’t long before we emerged back into Skyrim. It was nighttime, the world filled with the sounds of twilight and the moons high overhead. Serana visibly relaxed, taking in a deep breath.

“Oh, it’s so good to breathe again,” She said. “It’s definitely better than the cave.”

I nodded, ignoring the scent of nearby deer begging to be hunted down. “Let’s find a place to set up camp. Solitude is a bit of a way away, and I don’t wanna be wandering the marshes at night.”

Serana just nodded in response. We were up on a slope, and I made sure not to lose my footing as I descended. I found a fairly flat patch of earth and began setting up a tent and getting a small fire going. 

I was picking off a branch from a nearby tree when I heard Serana groan. Her knees buckled as she slumped against a tree, breathing through grit teeth. 

It took me a moment to realize what it was. “You need to feed, don’t you?”

She made a sound almost like a growl. “Considering it’s been a good few centuries, yeah.”

I knew a hungry vampire was a dangerous one, but she looked more weakened than anything. I threw a few more sticks on the fire and began to wander off in the woods.

“Hey!” Serana barked. “Where are you going?”

“Getting you some blood,” I said.

I could hear her scoff. “And leaving me here?”

“Considering I don’t think you can stand, yeah. Plus Meeko will keep you in check.”

I followed my nose to the nearest bandit camp, plucking an arrow from my quiver and downing a single bandit from the wall. That would be enough. I cut an incision along the wrist, draining the blood into an empty bottle I had in my bag. My inner wolf kicked up, hungry for a kill, before I silenced it. Not the time to go running off.

I returned to camp to see Serana still leaning against the tree, her entire body tense. I shook the vial of blood and handed it to her. She took it gently, trying to keep the tremble out of her hands before downing it all in a single gulp. She licked the remaining blood from her lips, studying me.

“Why?” She asked.

I went around to the other side of the campfire, digging rations out of my bag. “Why what?”

“Why are you helping me? You’re a vampire hunter, aren’t you? And I’m a vampire. But you… you helped me, you got me blood. So why? What are you playing at?”

I thought for a second, gnawing on a piece of venison and tossing another chunk to Meeko. “Well, I’m not a traditional vampire hunter. You see, I hunt the vampires causing problems. Abducting townsfolk, generally causing a nuisance to people. But the ones that stay in their caves, not bothering anyone? As long as they stay that way, I don’t see a reason to hunt them down. I recognize that not every vampire is some ‘bloodsucking menace of the night’ that needs to be ‘purged’.” 

I glanced at her. “And you don’t seem like a bad vampire. Considering most have tried to kill me rather than talk to me.”

Serana hummed under her breath. “Your standards are pretty low, then.”

“They always have been.” I shot her a sideways look. “Likewise, you seem to put a lot of faith into a vampire hunter .”

Serana was silent for a moment, staring off into the distance. “I prefer to assume the best of people.”

“Assuming the best could get you killed.”

She gave me a flat stare. “Aren’t you a little optimistic ray of sunshine.” She said sarcastically.

I shrugged. “Just being honest. Cynicism isn’t helpful. Pessimism can be.”

I glanced up. The moons were like beacons overhead, the aurora rippling through the sky. I always felt most at home here, deep in the wilds and deep in the night. And despite Serana’s presence, I didn’t fell on edge. Just… curiosity.

“So,” I said. “Tell me about your home.”

Serana plucked a blade of grass from the earth, pulling her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them. “As I said, it’s on an island near Solitude. Hopefully, we can find a boat to take us there. It’s my family home.”

She sighed. “Not the most welcoming place, but depending on who’s around, I’ll be safe.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why wouldn’t you be safe?”

Serana cringed away from my question. “Let’s just say my mother and father had a bit of a… falling out.” She met my eyes and must have seen the concern in them, because she quickly backpedaled. “Don’t worry, I’m not in danger or anything like that, it’s just…”

I nodded. “Someone you don’t wanna see.”

That earned another deep sigh as she dropped the blade of grass and watched it flutter back down to the ground. “Yeah. My father and I don’t really get along.” She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, saying it out loud makes it sound so… common. ‘Little girl who doesn’t get along with her father’, read that story a hundred times.”

I let out half of a chuckle. “Don’t worry, I got the whole ‘lived on the road and never knew her real parents’ thing going on over here. Tropes happen in real life a lot more than you think.”

She grew quiet again after that, continuing to pick at the blades of grass next to her. At one point, Meeko waddled next to her, resting his head in her lap. Serana awkwardly placed one hand on his head, scratching between his ears.

“Alright, onto the elephant in the room,” I said, straightening. “Why were you locked away in the first place?”

Serana wasn’t meeting my eyes. Her shoulders slumped, and her lips were drawn tight. “I’d… I’d rather not get into that with you. If that’s alright. I’m sorry, it’s-” She stammered with her words for a few seconds before shaking her head. “It’s complicated. And I don’t know who I can trust yet. Let’s get back to my home, and maybe then I’ll have a better sense of where we all stand.”

I nodded. I understood it, even as much as I wanted to know the truth. There were certain things I would never speak of. And it seems Serana had more than a few of those.

“Now, onto the other elephant in the room,” Serana said, eyeing me carefully. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

I nodded. Meeko came over and nudged my shoulder. “How’d you know?”

Serana examined her nails. “You smelled like dog, blood, and the wild. Eventually, I realized it wasn’t Meeko.”

“Fair point,” I said. I always forgot vampires had a good sense of smell. In fact, my heightened senses as a werewolf could be comparable to my time as a vampire.

I leaned back, stretching. “I don’t know about you just waking up from your centuries-long nap, but I’ve had a long day and I need the rest.” I scratched Meeko under his chin. “Make sure she doesn’t bite me, okay boy?”

Meeko responded with a bark and I turned to Serana. “Don’t go wandering off. If you do, remember that you’d have both a werewolf and a dog tracking you down. You seem like a good enough person, so don’t test that assumption.”

Serana wasn’t fazed by my threat. “As if I would ever.”

I couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or genuine. Nonetheless, I grabbed a spare bedroom from my backpack. “Here. You’re welcome to set up in the tent or outside. Whatever you’d prefer. Tent’s warmer, though.”

I wormed into my bedroll, extinguishing the lantern. I was about to close my eyes when I heard Serana’s voice.

“Uh, Tallulah?” She said hesitantly.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Thank you. You could’ve killed me, but… you didn’t.”

I laughed under my breath. “And you said my standards were low. But uh… yeah. You’re welcome. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

I closed my eyes, slowly drifting off to sleep. My werewolf blood made that hard, but not impossible. Yet as I dozed off, I could only think about one thing.

Isran’s gonna fucking kill me for letting a vampire live.

Chapter Text

I woke up the next morning just after dawn, as the sky was still rosy. Serana was half awake, leaning against the same tree she had been next to last night. I raised an eyebrow.

“Wow, keeping watch?” I said. 

“I just had a several centuries long nap. I wasn’t really tired.” She stood up swiftly, any sort of weakness or weariness from yesterday gone. “Alright. You probably know the land of Skyrim better than I do. Where to?”

I cracked my neck, undoing my campsite as I talked. “We’re on the southwestern end of the Morthal marshes right now. I’d rather not hike all the way down to Dragon Bridge, so we’re gonna take a shortcut.”

Serana raised an eyebrow. “Shortcut?”

“Swimming.” I said. “Or…” I shook my head. “Nevermind. We can test it out when we get there.”

“Test what out?”

“I think Shadowmere, my horse, might be able to hold both of us. Then we don’t have to get completely soaking.”

“You think your horse will be able to hold both of us and swim?” Serana said.

I shot her a wry smirk. “Shadowmere isn’t a normal horse.”

My things packed and Meeko trailing me, I set off. Serana kept pace, walking by my side the entire time, her face determined and set. 

“We’ll have to cross through the mountains near Solitude,” I said. “Unless we want to go the long way around. From there, we scout the coastline and hope we find a boat.”

“Oh, and another thing,” Serana said. “Kinda unrelated. The name ‘Tallulah’ seems like a bit of a mouthful.”

“And?”

“Do you... I dunno,” Serana gestured vaguely. “Have a nickname or something?”

“I have a lot of titles,” I said. “But not really any nicknames. People always just call me Tallulah. Occasionally they call me a jackass.”

Serana sighed. “Well, Tallulah is a lot of syllables-”

“It’s three-”

“So would you mind if I shorten it?”

I stopped, my brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

“That’s what most nicknames are. A shortened version of your name,” Serana said. “So would you mind if I called you Tallu? Or even just Tal?”

Tallu. I liked it. It was short, simple, to the point. It almost sounded a bit rebellious, too. And the fact that Serana was the one to give me the nickname made it feel even more special.

Stop that, I told my brain. You barely know her. Knock it off.

No, my stupid brain said, proceeding to make my heart beat even faster.

She’s a goddamn vampire! She’s probably noticing the fact my heart is going a mile a minute! I internally shouted.

Tough shit! My brain shouted back.

A faint roar made my ears perk up and shook me out of my thoughts. Serana stiffened, one hand on her dagger.

“What the hell was that?” She said.

I groaned. “You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

A shadow swooped overhead, causing Serana to gasp. The dragon roared, circling the marshes as I drew my warhammer.

Serana was stunned. “When the fuck did Dragons come back?!”

“Long story,” I said. “What matters is that we gotta kill it. Come on!”

I didn’t waste any time. I couldn’t afford to. Drawing my bow, I sprinted forward, waiting for the dragon to circle back around. As it did, I caught a glimpse of white scales and dark indigo spines running across its back.

“ Nikriin!” I bellowed. “ Kren sosaal! Zu’u dovahkiin!”

The dragon hovered in the air, icy eyes boring into mine. “ Zu’u Fovenkrah! Zu’u dreh ni faas.”

I couldn’t suppress my own grin. “ Mey. Hi aal kos onik.” My Thu’um bubbled up in my chest, my draconic energy surging and waiting for a perfect outlet. In one swift motion, I puffed out my chest and Shouted.

“JOOR ZAH FRUL!” 

I watched as the dragon’s eyes widened in fear. As if pulled down by an invisible tether, it slammed into the earth, forcing me to catch my balance. I brought out my warhammer. Meeko snarled, biting at one of the dragon’s wings, as I brought my warhammer down on its snout. It hissed, recoiling and snarling, as I bashed it’s head again.

It opened its mouth, frost and snow pouring from its gaping maw. I refused to stop, even as frost clung to my fur and as my fingertips grew numb. I refused to stop until the beast reared its head up, letting out one last might howl, before it collapsed.

“ Balaan paal,” I said as the life drained from the dragon’s eyes, as the skin began to flake away and burn like cinders in the wind. “ Nid miiraad.”

I turned around to see Serana, frozen in place and eyes wide. Her gaze darted between me and the rapidly dissolving dragon corpse. I took in a deep breath as the dragon’s energy siphoned into me. Fovenkrah. Frost wind chill. A worthy foe indeed.

Serana took a shaky step back. “What are you?”

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Uh… Dragonborn?”

“The hero from Nordic legend.” She said.

“Yeah.”

Her brow furrowing, the confusion growing more and more evident on her face. She blinked, staring me down as if she was trying to figure out if I was lying.

“It’s a really long story, okay?” I said. “One I don’t really feel like telling. I’m the Dragonborn, I kinda had to save the world a little while ago. Now, I hunt vampires and bring justice in my free time.”

Serana slowly shook her head. “I… okay. Okay. I don’t really wanna know.”

“I figured,” I said. “I’d just like to avoid any more distractions, to be honest. Dragons can be a real pain. Those, and Forsworn. Damn things are like roaches. No matter what you do, they’re always springing up in those little nooks and crannies you don’t think to look in.”

I put my hands on my hips. “I’m gonna call Shadowmere now, I think. He’ll be able to get us to the coast faster.”

I whistled - a high, shrill sound that made Meeko whine. There was silence.

“Wow,” Serana said flatly. “Neat whistle.”

“Just wait.”

A chilly breeze blew in as the sound of galloping grew closer, and Shadowmere emerged out of seemingly thin air. He nickered, nuzzling my hand.

“Long time, no see,” I said. “You enjoy your little break?”

Serana stammered for a second. “That is not a horse.”

“Probably not,” I said. “But Shadowmere is a pretty good way to get around. And a very good boy. Or… girl?” I cupped the horse’s face in my hand. “You a boy or a girl, Shades?”

Serana sighed, probably by now realizing what in Oblivion she had gotten herself into. “Just… nevermind. Let’s go.”

I hopped up onto Shadowmere, scooting up to allow enough room for Serana. I’d imagined she hadn’t really ridden a horse before, seeing as it took her a few tries to actually get onto the saddle. When she did, she almost slid right back off, and hastily grabbed onto my shoulders.

“I’m fine,” She said, panting. “Let’s go.”

“If you insist,” I said. “Meeks, catch up to us when you can, okay? Follow our scent.” With that, I spurred Shadowmere into a gallop.

“Are you sure your dog will be able to track us?” Serana said. She was still a little unsteady, clinging to me in an effort to keep her balance.

“Oh, Meeko definitely will,” I said. “He always finds his way back to me one way or another. And if he can’t he just goes back to Jorrvaskr.”

Serana paused. “The… Companions mead hall?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Another long story.”

Serana did push, remaining quiet for the rest of the ride. As we rode northward, I imagined all the ways Isran might tan my hide when he found out I had helped a vampire.

~ ~ ~ 

I whistled low. “This is your home?”

When she said ‘island west of Solitude’ I was thinking a small little manor. Maybe some more ruins. Or an abandoned fort. Any one of those. Not a massive, towering monolith of stone. Not a goddamn citadel.

Serana nodded. “This is it. Home sweet… castle.” She gestured half-heartedly. There was a massive bridge leading up to the door, lined with gargoyles that seemed to watch me.

I shot a sideways glance to Serana. “Why didn’t you tell me it was so… big?”

She crossed her arms, grumbling. “I didn’t want you to think I was one of those… you know, the women who sit in their castle all day?” She gave an awkward shrug. “I don’t know. Coming from a place like this, well… it’s not really me. I hope you can believe that.”

I think what shocked me most about that was that she cared about my opinion. She seemed fairly aloof, if not a bit secretive and wary. And she cared about what I thought of her?

“Well, it’s… impressive,” I said, turning my gaze back to the pointed stone towers.

Serana sighed. “It’s something, alright.”

I started walking up, by when I was about halfway there Serana gently grabbed my cloak, tugging me back. She sighed, her eyes darting away from mine.

“Hey, so, before we go in there…” She said.

My brow furrowed in concern. “Are you okay?”

She blinked a few times, slightly surprised. “Uh, yeah. I think so. And thanks for asking.” She rubbed the back of her neck, taking a deep breath. “I wanted to thank you for getting me this far. But after we get in there, I’m going to go my own way for a while.”

My heart sunk the slightest bit. I knew this was temporary. I knew I was nothing more than an escort. So why did it sting? And why was Serana acting like it was something more? We hadn’t even known each other that long, or that well. But were we… friends?

She let out another deep sigh. “I think… I know your friends would probably wanna kill everything in there. I’m hoping you can show a bit more control than that.” Her lips twitched into a quiet smile. “They may not be ‘good’ vampires, but they do keep to themselves.”

I nodded. “No problem.”

She nodded in return. “Good. Once we’re inside, just… keep quiet, and let me do the talking.”

With that, she took the lead. The gatekeeper - a grizzled, dead-eyed looking human - opened the gate without a second thought. Serana hesitated to open the door for just a moment, before pushing open the massive wooden doors.

The scent of blood was the first thing to hit my nose. I was used to the scent by now, but this was sickening. There was so much of it, it was all-consuming to my sensitive nose. Enough to make me feel a little lightheaded. Almost enough to make me panic. There was, of course, the scent of vampire too, but it was completely overshadowed by the sheer amount of blood.

A wiry High Elf saw me first, his orange eyes glowing like coals. He hissed. “How dare you trespass here! You-” He paused as his eyes drifted to Serana, a small gasp escaping him. “Serana? Is that truly you?” His lips curved into a fanged smile. “I cannot believe my eyes!”

He rushed out onto a small balcony, overlooking a massive dining area, fit for a Jarl - but instead of food, bodies and limbs were splayed out across the tables, more dark hounds gnawing at scraps on the floor.

“My lord! Everyone!” The High Elf exclaimed. “Serana has returned!”

Serana sucked in a breath. “Guess I’m expected.” Every muscle in her body was stiff as she walked down from the balcony, as if she was walking on eggshells.

I couldn’t say I was much better. Maybe it was all the blood, but my body was slowly working itself into a panic, as if there was a vice around my heart. I hadn’t seen this much blood since… since I was a vampire, and some poor soul had his life taken by me in the dead of night-

The hairs stood up on the back of my neck stood up, and my gaze landed on a tall, noble-looking man. His hair was dark, like Serana’s, but with a few strands of gray mixed in. A well-trimmed goatee framed his face. And his eyes were piercing and red as blood, with all the ferocity of a predator stalking its prey.

“My long lost daughter returns at last,” He said, and I suddenly realized who this was. “I trust you have my Elder Scroll?”

Serana took on a sudden defensiveness, crossing her arms. “After all these years, that’s the first thing you ask me?” She said, barely keeping out the anger in her voice. Then, it subsided, and her shoulders slumped. “Yes, I have the Scroll.”

That earned excited whispers from the assembled feasting vampires. There was something dangerous about that man, and it wasn’t just his vampirism. The way he carried himself, the way he spoke… he was arrogant. The only thing was, he had the power to back it up. 

“Of course I’m delighted to see you, my daughter. Must I really say the words aloud?” He said, cupping Serana’s face with one hand. Maybe I imagined it, but it almost looked like she… flinched? 

“Ah, if only your traitor mother were here,” He mused. His tone went venomous. “I would let her watch this reunion before mounting her head on a spike.”

His eyes turned to me, and I felt rooted to the spot. I straightened, meeting his hard gaze with one of my own.

“Now tell me,” He said. “Who is this stranger you have brought into our hall?”

“This is my savior,” Serana said, her voice a bit strained. “The one who freed me.”

He took a step forward, leaving Serana to watch up both anxiously. He bowed his head. “For my daughter’s safe return, you have my gratitude. What is your name?”

There was danger lurking just under his casual tone. I managed a weak smile. “You first.”

“Very well,” He said, spreading out his hands. “I am Harkon, lord of this court. By now, my daughter will have told you what we are.”

My innate need to say something sarcastic in front of authority figures outweighed my own sense of caution. I gave him a smirk. “You’re a reclusive cannibal cult.”

Serana buried her face in her hands.

“Not quite,” Harkon said, my perfectly timed joke going right over his head. “Though I can see how an outsider might arrive at that conclusion.” He narrowed his eyes slightly. “We are vampires, among the oldest and most powerful in Skyrim.”

It took a moment for that thought to register in my head. Assuming he wasn’t messing with me, there were over a dozen vampires in this room, all of whom had their eyes trained on me. The most powerful vampires in Skyrim?

“For centuries we have lived here,” Harkon continued. “Far from the cares of the world. All that ended when my wife betrayed me, and stole away that which I valued most.” He cast a forlorn look back at Serana. She didn’t look scared, or determined, or… much of anything, really. She looked lost. Reserved, off in her own world, trying not to cause any trouble. Restrained.

I forced myself to meet Harkon’s eyes. “What happens now?” I said, trying to contain the urge to go sprinting for the door.

I feel like he must’ve been able to smell my fear, because he took another step closer. “You have done me a great service, and now you must be rewarded.” He jutted out his chin. “There is but one gift I can give that is equal in value to the Elder Scroll and my daughter.” There was a dark gleam in his eyes.

“I offer you my blood,” He said, stretching out on arm. “Take it, and you will walk as a lion among sheep. Men will tremble at your approach, and you will never fear death again.”

My heart started beating in double time, and Harkon knew it too, because a smile was growing on his face. Become a vampire? No, no, no, my mind screamed. Never again. We’re behind that now, we can’t, we-

I swallowed that fear and spoke. “I’m already a werewolf. What will happen if I accept your gift?”

Harkon looked down his nose at me. The same look I had gotten all my life, the look like I was some animal. “Yes, I can smell it on you. The power of my blood will purge that filth and make you whole again.”

A shiver ran down my spine, but Harkon wasn’t done. He took a few steps back.

“Perhaps you still need convincing?” He said. “Behold the power!”

He doubled over, grunting and straining. His body began to cover itself in shadow, liquid blood like some sort of horrible cocoon. There was a horrifying screech and he reared up, bones cracking.

It was monstrous, and to this day, that’s the only word that adequately describes it. The skin was ash-grey, the face bat-like, molted and mangled wings sprouting from the back, gnarled claws and a complete sense of wrongness. I had never felt more like a mortal at that moment, standing in front of Harkon’s beastly form, more like prey.

“This is the power that I offer!” Harkon bellowed, his voice echoing in the hall. His gaze penetrated mine, making my heart stammer.

“Make your choice,” He growled.

I opened my mouth, trying to speak, but what came out was closer to a hoarse whine. I tried again, steeling my nerves, but all I could manage was a single, terrified syllable.

“N-No,” I said.

Harkon let out a low growl. “Be grateful I am a generous man. You are prey, like all mortals! I banish you from this castle, never to return!”

He shot a bolt of magic at me, and suddenly I was back outside of the castle, my vision blurry. I blinked a few times, standing up with shaky legs, and didn’t waste a single moment climbing back into the boat and rowing swiftly to the mainland.

I only had one thought as I made my way back to shore. It wasn’t about Harkon or Serana or even how furious Isran would be when I got back. No, it was only one thing.

This wasn’t over yet. And I doubted it would be the last I would see of Serana and Harkon.

Because I am but the gods' jester, and this is my next act.

Chapter Text

Isran didn’t kill me, actually. 

Instead, the second he figured out the vampires had an Elder Scroll, I think he almost panicked. It didn’t last long though - instead, he put that stoic mask right back on and insisted we needed more members. Two more members, to be exact; Sorine and Gunmar, two of his old allies who he believed would be crucial to his little operation.

It was almost a bit boring as I went to fetch them, and I mean that in the best way. After Serana and all her mysteries, I needed a bit of time to myself. Somehow, I couldn’t get her off my mind, and it wasn’t just a ‘she’s a pretty face’ kinda thing. She was peculiar, in a way. Cold, too, but not like she was mean - more like she was carefully distancing herself, as to not be a burden or a danger.

I knew that feeling way too well.

And, like everything about her, it came back to her mystery. The strange air she kept around herself, the number of questions she raised just be being present… I was nothing if not curious. If there was a question, I wanted it answered. And Serana was a walking puzzle, waiting to be solved.

Just like everything else, though, there was fear. I didn’t want to get close to her. I had been keeping the Dawnguard at a distance, too, because I didn’t want more victims to my little curse. To get to know Serana, I’d have to get closer to her. And the closer I got, the more danger she was in.

That took up most of my mind as I traveled in search of Sorine and Gunmar. One hell of a predicament, I’d say. Eventually, I decided that no matter what, I couldn’t put any more lives in danger, no matter my own curiosity. Serana would stay a mystery.

Of course, fate completely ignored my thoughts on the matter.

I was heading back to Fort Dawnguard, having finally tracked down the elusive Breton and Nord duo. They were, funnily enough, arriving at the fort around the same time as I was, so we were able to enter inside together.

“Alright, Isran,” Gunmar said, craning his head up. Isran was on the balcony of the fort, staring us down with the eyes of a hawk. “You’ve got us all here. Now, what do you want?”

“Hold it right there,” Isran boomed. Suddenly, a bright, almost blinding light shone overhead. Right in my eyes, too. I grimaced.

Sorine grunted. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure you’re not vampires,” Isran said as the light shut off. “Can’t be too careful.”

Gunmar chuckled under his breath. “Yup, that’s the Isran I know, alright.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard about what we’re up against,” Isran said. “Powerful vampires, unlike anything we’ve seen before. And they have an Elder Scroll. If anyone is going to stand in their way, it’s going to be us.”

“This is all well and good,” Sorine said. “But do we actually know what they’re doing? What do we do know?”

“We’ll get to that,” Isran said. “For now, get acquainted with the space. Sorine, you’ll find room to start your tinkering with that crossbow design you’ve been working on.”

At that, Sorine’s eyes lit up.

“Gunmar,” Isran continued. “There’s an area large enough for you to pen up some trolls, get them armored up and ready for use.”

Gunmar cracked his knuckles.

Then Isran’s gaze turned to me. I stiffened.

“In the meantime,” He said, his voice dropping low. “We’re going to get to the bottom of why a vampire showed up here looking for you.” There was a dark glint in his eyes as he faked a smile. “Let’s go have a chat with it, shall we?”

I blinked a few times. I’m sorry, what?

I dashed up the stairs after Isran, catching up with him as he led me down a long hallway.

“This vampire showed up while you were away,” He spat out the word ‘vampire’ like it was a curse. I mean, to him, it probably is. He turned his gaze back to me. “Says it’s got something really important to say to you.”

We ended up in a torture room of all things, a bunch of knives and skulls hanging on the wall. And, in the center of the room, the person I least of all expected.

“Serana?” I said.

She looked better than I had last seen her - she had obviously rested, and she was dressed in new clothes, not the dust-covered garments she had when she woke up. There was a traveling pack on one shoulder, her hair braided back and her eyes just as piercing as ever. As much as I hated myself for it, my heart might’ve skipped a beat or two.

She smiled, her fangs glinting. “You probably weren’t expecting to see me again.”

I let out a small gasp. “No shit. What are you doing here?”

“I’d rather not be here either,” She said. “But I needed to talk to you. It’s important, so please just listen before your friend here loses his patience.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” I said, putting my hands up. “Real quick, we gotta clarify something. You waltzed into a fort full of vampire hunters?”

She shrugged awkwardly. “Uh… yeah.”

I jabbed a finger at Isran. “And you let a vampire waltz in here?”

Isran huffed in response.

I threw my hands up. “You two are both awful at your respective jobs!”

Serana crossed her arms, not meeting my eyes. “I thought you might be a little happier to see me,” She muttered.

“And I am happy to see you again,” I said. “It’s just…” I managed a weak smile. “Why? Why would you put yourself in danger like that?”

She glanced back at me. “Wasn’t it you who waltzed into a castle full of vampires?”

Stop blushing, stop blushing, oh by the Nine Divines please don’t blush in front of the cute vampire-

“Enough,” Isran growled. “My patience is wearing very, very thin.”

Serana cleared her throat. “Uh, sorry. Well, it’s… it’s about me. And the Elder Scroll that was buried with me.”

My brow furrowed. “What about you?”

“The reason I was down there,” Serana said. “And why I had the Elder Scroll.”

She shifted her weight, scrunching up her shoulders. She bit at her bottom lip, not meeting my gaze.

“It all comes back to my father,” She said. “I’m guessing you figured this part out already, bu he’s not exactly a good person, even by vampire standards. He wasn’t always like that, though,” She paused before shaking her head. “There was… a turn. He stumbled onto this obscure prophecy and just kinda lost himself in it.”

I raised a cautious eyebrow. “What do you mean, ‘lost himself’?”

Serana sighed, as if there were centuries of pain behind it. For all I knew, there was. “He just became absorbed… obsessed.” She let out a dry, humorless laugh. “It was kinda sick, actually. The prophecy said that vampires would no longer need to fear the sun. For someone who fancied himself vampire royalty, that’s pretty seductive.”

My heart felt like it was frozen for a split second. Vampires would no longer need to fear the sun? 

“Anyway, my mother and I didn’t feel like inviting war with all of Tamriel,” Serana said, brushing past the topic. “So we tried to stop him. That’s why I was sealed away with the Scroll.”

My brain took a moment to process that all. It felt like my thoughts were a whirlwind, threatening to sweep me away. I grounded myself to the moment at hand, meeting Serana’s eyes.

“What does all of this have to do with the Dawnguard?” I said.

She gave me a flat stare, the kind of ‘I cannot believe you’re this kind of idiot’ stare. “Oh, I’m sorry, I heard there were vampire hunters here. I thought they might wanna know about a vampire plot to enslave the world.” She put her hands on her hips. “Was I wrong?”

I chuckled weakly, holding up my hands. “No, no, you’re… you’re right. It’s just…” I struggled to find the right words for a moment. “You took a big risk coming here.”

Despite my severe tone, she smiled. “I know I did.” She studied my face for a moment. “But something about you makes me think I can trust you. I hope I’m not wrong.”

My heart started doing somersaults. Why? Why does she trust me? She shouldn’t, she’ll just end up killed, she’ll-

I swallowed the burning sensation welling up in my throat and tried to smile. “No, you’re right. We just gotta convince the others, first.”

That smile of hers grew a little bit wider. “Well, let’s move. I’m nothing if not persuasive.”

~ ~ ~

One conversation and barely convincing Isran later, we had a plan… sort of.

“Any idea how we’re gonna find a Moth Priest?” Serana asked. “Skyrim’s a pretty big place.” 

We decided that we needed someone to read the Scroll, and apparently, Moth Priests can. And there just so happens to be one… somewhere in the massive country that is Skyrim. Never mind the fact I had read an Elder Scroll before - something told me this probably wouldn’t be the same.

“Hm,” I thought for a second. “Like Isran said, asking carriage drivers and innkeepers in big cities would probably be our best bet.”

“Well, back before I-” Serana made a vague gesture. “You know. The College of Winterhold would be the first place I would look. The wizards know about all kinds of things that people shouldn’t know about.” She paused for a second. “Wait… the College of Winterhold is still around, right?”

That drew a laugh out of me. “Yes, yes it is. Though Winterhold itself might be a bit different than you remember it.”

I hefted up my own travel bag. Something told me this would a long trip. I was about to go get Meeko from where I had left him near the stables when I felt a hand on my arm.

“Actually,” Serana said, pulling away. “I think I wanna come along with you. I’ve been really wanting to get out and explore.”

I blinked a few times, my heart skipping a beat once more. “Y-You sure?”

“Yeah,” She said, wrapping her arms around herself. “I mean, Skyrim is pretty different from what I remember. And even then, I never really got a chance to leave the island. So… I wanna see it all.”

I tried for a sympathetic smile. “Serana, it’ll be really dangerous out there. This’ll probably end up being a country-wide trek.”

“And what, you don’t think I can handle it?” She mocked. “I may be no ‘Dragonborn’, but I’m a bit tougher than I look.” She smirked.

I knew I probably should’ve shut her down right then and there. I should’ve stood my ground. But the thought of traveling with someone again, of traveling with Serana specifically… I couldn’t resist. My own curiosity - my own feelings - kept getting in the way.

So, I followed my heart instead of my head.

I played off a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, gods, if you insist," I said dramatically, really playing up my inner actress. " I guess you could tag along, if you really wanted to.”

She grinned. “Just what I wanted to hear. Let’s go.”

We made our way downstairs, ignoring the looks from other Dawnguard members.

“So, uh, quick question,” Serana said. “Do you still have Meeko?”

I laughed. “You remembered my dog’s name?”

“Of course,” Serana said. Then, she glanced away. “He was a really cute dog.”

“Then you’ll be happy to know I still have him,” I said as we exited the fort. Meeko came bounding up, wagging his tail and jumping on the both of us. Serana smiled, scratching behind his ears.

“Well, what’s our first stop?” She said.

“Riften,” I replied.

“Why?”

“There’s a carriage driver there who should be able to give us some information,” I told her, making my way down the hillside. “Also, it’s closest.”

Serana shrugged. “Fair enough.”

My heart was surging in my chest, and I didn’t even know why. Was it just the onset of a new adventure? Was it Serana? Both? I didn’t know, and I still don’t know. The only thing I’m sure of was that my adventure with Serana sparked a new beginning for the both of us.

Chapter Text

Serana squinted in the sunlight, despite the clouds overhead providing a good deal of cover. Rain pattered on the leaves and was beginning to dampen her clothes. Tallulah shot a glance back at her.

“Don’t worry,” Tallulah said. “Dragon Bridge is just down the road.”

She huffed. “Why couldn’t we ride Shadowmere?”

“Because it’s a fifteen-minute walk,” Tallulah said. “Now come on. If you stop complaining, it’ll go faster.”

Serana sighed, lightly jogging to catch up with her companion. They hadn’t spoken much - it wasn’t that Serana didn’t want to speak, it was that she couldn’t think of what to say. 

Thankfully, Tallulah was the one to break that silence. “Well, what do you know about Elder Scrolls?”

“About as much as anyone,” Serana said, shrugging. “Which is to say, not a whole lot.” She glanced at the Elder Scroll on her back, borderline scowling at it. “You’d figure a couple hundred years locked away with one would have given me some insights, but no.”

She shook her head, laughing under her breath. “Turns out you don’t learn much from just sleeping with something.”

Tallulah gave her a smirk. “Are you saying you want to learn more about me?”

Serana replied with a deadpan look. “Not at this rate, no.”

Idiooooot~, Tallulah’s brain said. Such a massive morooooon~!

Shush, Tallulah internally said. She regathered her wits and tried to think of a slightly better conversation topic, to at least break the tension she just created.

“Okay, icebreaker time.” Tallulah said. Serana perked up. “What was the stupidest thing you ever did as a child?”

Serana paused. “Huh?”

“Stupidest thing you ever did as a child,” Tallulah repeated. “I’ll go first, if you’re embarrassed. When I was a kid, I ate an entire satchel of Moon Sugar in one sitting.”

Serana glared at her. “Bullshit.”

“I’m serious!” Tallulah said. “Most people tend to think of Skooma when they think of Moon Sugar, but Khajiit use it a lot in their everyday cooking. And the caravan I traveled with as a kid always had some.”

Serana’s eyes widened. “You traveled with a caravan?”

“Uh-huh. Until I was about ten years old.” Tallulah said. “But anyway, the caravan leader, Dra’sahni, always kept a satchel of it on hand. Sometimes she’d give me little clumps of it, mostly to calm me down. A good-sized clump of the stuff was enough to quiet a little kitten like me.”

Serana’s brow furrowed. “And… you were fine?”

“Khajiit use Moon Sugar in lots of stuff,” Tallulah said. “So we’re a bit resistant. But one night, after everyone else went to sleep, I snuck into Dra’sahni’s tent and ended up devouring the whole thing.” Tallulah laughed, rubbing the back of her neck. “We’re resistant, but a half-pound of Moon Sugar is a lot, especially to a kid.”

“Well?” Serana said. “What happened?”

“I barely even remember,” Tallulah said. “I mean, I was okay, just very, very high. I mean, it took hours for it to wear off.”

“What did Dra’sahni do?”

“Honestly?” Tallulah said. “She was really calm about the whole thing. I don’t even think she was that mad. In fact, the only thing I really remember her telling me is to be careful in the future, since that’s how Skooma addictions end up happening.” Tallulah smiled fondly. “Yeah. Dra’sahni always made sure to hide the Moon Sugar after that.”

Tallulah put her hands behind her head, glancing at Serana. “So there’s my embarrassing childhood story. Now, what about you?”

Serana was quiet for a bit. Tallulah nudged her.

“C’mon,” Tallulah said. “You’re gonna let me pour out all my embarrassing information and then clam up?”

“No, uh,” Serana laughed nervously. “It’s just… well, there’s a lot of embarrassing stories.”

“Oh?” Tallulah said. “My interest is piqued. Do tell.”

Serana averted her eyes. “Well, I was… a bit of an odd child. I was always playing with my mom’s alchemy ingredients, right?”

“Oh no,” Tallulah said.

“Normally, she’d be supervising me and telling me what to mix,” Serana said. “But one day she was wasn’t there and I was really, really bored, so…”

“So you mixed some random ingredients together,” Tallulah finished.

Serana hung her head. “And… I drank the potion.”

“Wait, what?”

Serana held up her hands. “It was stupid, I know! But I drank the whole thing, and immediately threw up on my mom’s alchemy table.”

Tallulah winced in sympathy.

“Both my parents were furious,” Serana said. “I mean, downright pissed. My mom made her take care of her private garden for a month. It wasn’t really that long, but to a twelve-year-old, it felt like ages. Of course, I didn’t really mind it, because then I got to learn more about the different plants.”

Tallulah nodded. “Do you still continue with alchemy?” She asked.

“Oh yeah,” Serana said. “I mean, I didn’t have much else to do. After we moved into the castle, though, there were at least more places to explore.”

“I’d bet,” Tallulah said. “That place was huge.”

Serana nodded. “Yeah. I wasn’t exactly allowed to leave the island, either, so I ended up making my own fun a lot.”

Tallulah hummed under her breath. That sounds lonely. “I can’t imagine never leaving one place. Then again, maybe it’s because I was quite literally born on the road, but still.”

Serana shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad. But now, I’m glad to be seeing the rest of the world with you.”

Tallulah felt herself straighten a little bit at that. “Well, good. Now come on. We’re almost to Dragon Bridge. Let’s find us a half-moth, half-priest.”

Serana raised a single unamused eyebrow. “You know that’s not actually-?”

“I do,” Tallulah said. “It was for humorous effect.”

“Wasn’t very humorous.”

“You make a better joke, then,” Tallulah said. “Let’s go. I bet the guards around here know something.” With that, she darted off towards the town gates, leaving Serana to catch up.

“Tallu!” Serana shouted, stumbling over the wet cobblestone. “Don’t go running off without me!”

She shook her head, laughing her under her breath. What a reckless idiot. 

She lifted her head to see Tallulah practically interrogating a guard, before apparently getting the information she needed and shooting a grin to Serana. 

Serana felt her lips twitch into a smile. Okay, maybe I’m glad to be traveling with this idiot.

Chapter Text

I glanced up at the twin moons in the sky. I already had a modest campfire going, alongside our tent and a cooking pot. We had found Dexion a few days ago, and were now on the trek back to Fort Dawnguard. We were about halfway between Riften and Windhelm, camping out in the volcanic tundras of the hold. Meeko had dozed off near the fireplace, his tail twitching in his dream. 

Serana, meanwhile, was leaning back, head tilted up to the sky. She always looked so beautiful - practically bathing in the moonlight, the wind gently rustling her hair. I was simply enjoying the sights and experiences of the night - one of the few moments I was at peace.

I found myself enjoying these little moments. These late nights spent in comfortable silence. Serana was the kind of person I was just… comfortable with. I didn’t feel like I had to talk in an effort to fill the quiet. 

“So,” Serana said, glancing to me. “I have a question.”

“Fire away.”

She met my eyes. “Is it true that the Khajiit breeds are determined by the moons?”

“Yeah, actually,” I said. “I was born during the waxing phase of Masser and the last day of the full moon of Secunda.”

Serana had a blank look on her face. “And that means…?”

“I’m bipedal and feline,” I said. “Though I’m slightly larger than most other Cathay, and more have the build of a Cathay-raht.”

“That still makes no sense to me.”

“I’m a cat that walks on two legs, but I’m slightly bigger than most other Khajiit you see in Skyrim.”

Serana nodded slowly. “How… how does that even work? Your body is determined by the moons.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m not really sure how it works either. I don’t know a whole lot about traditional Khajiit religion, but I think the moons were part of the final litter of… Fadomai? Kinda the Khajiit version of Padomay.”

Serana shrugged. “I can’t say I know a whole lot about religion either. I was, uh… wasn't raised with standard religion.” She went abruptly quiet, leaving something unsaid.

“Now, a question for you,” I said, leaning back. “How’d you become a vampire?”

Serana winced, shifting her weight. “It’s… a long story.”

“Well, I wanna hear it,” I said. “If you don’t mind.”

Serana sighed. “Okay. I guess… well we’d have to go way back. To the very beginning. Do you know where vampirism came from?”

I thought for a moment. “If I were a betting woman, I’d say a Daedric lord.”

“Exactly,” Serana said. “The first vampire came from Molag Bal. She… was not a willing subject. But she was still the first. Molag Bal is a powerful Daedric lord, and his will is made reality.”

The mere mention of that name made me freeze for a moment. Out of all the Daedric Princes, Molag Bal had to be one of my least favorites, right up there with Mehrunes Dagon. I still remembered that damn house in Markarth, the still coldness in the air, and the altar that reeked of old blood.

Something about Serana’s words struck a chord with me. What did she mean, ‘not a willing subject’?

“For those willing to subjugate themselves,” Serana continued. “He will still bestow the gift, but they must be powerful in his own right before earning his trust.”

My own curiosity burned brightly inside of me. “So… how did you actually become a vampire?”

Serana froze. And I don’t just mean she just hesitated. The sort of thing that roots you to the spot, that has your heart stop.  Her gaze was leagues away before she came back to reality, taking a slow breath.

“The ceremony was… degrading,” She said softly, barely louder than a whisper. She shook her head. “Let’s not revisit that.”

I don’t think I had ever heard her so… flat. So distant. 

That emptiness disappeared as soon as it came, though, replaced with Serana’s classic version of sarcasm. “But we all took part in it, my family and I. Not really a wholesome family activity, but I guess that’s something you do when you give yourselves to a Daedric lord.”

She laughed dryly. I could still feel the tension in the air, my own heightened sense well aware of Serana’s own pressure. 

I picked at a weed on the ground, my own thoughts a bit clouded. “Do you… regret becoming a vampire?”

Serana paused. There was another long beat of silence and I was sure I said something stupid, before she spoke.

“Nobody’s ever asked me that before,” She said, half-muttering to herself. “I… I don’t know.” She gazed back up at the sky. “I think… I mostly hate what it’s done to my family.”

I glanced to her, silently asking her to continue.

She let out a heavy sigh. “Well, you’ve met most of us. My father’s not exactly the most stable, and he eventually drove my mother crazy with him.” She waved one hand almost dismissively. “And it all ended with me being locked underground for who knows how long. It’s definitely been a… bad thing on the whole.”

She was uncomfortable. It was obvious - it was in her body language, her tone of speech. I had really pushed too far.

I pulled my knees up to my chest. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Bringing up bad memories,” I said. “You’re uncomfortable. It’s pretty obvious. I… I didn’t mean to pry.”

Surprisingly, Serana just shook her head. “It’s okay. I don’t blame you for being curious. But I want something in return.”

I raised an eyebrow.

She leaned forward. “Tell me how you became a werewolf.”

I felt my lips twitch into a smirk. “Seems like a fair enough trade. Well, it begins in an era of Skyrim long ago, when-”

Serana playfully scoffed. “Spare me the details.” She said.

“Good,” I said. “Because I was completely bullshitting that whole story anyway. You know the Companions, right?”

Serana raised an eyebrow. “They’re still around?”

“Uh-huh,” I said. “And I’m one of ‘em. And the Circle of the Companions are all werewolves. Well, we used to be. Now it’s just two of us.”

Serana hummed under her breath. “Wh… you’re a member of the Companions?”

“Yup,” I said. I didn’t wanna mention I was Harbinger - I didn’t wanna drag her into all of my baggage. “A while ago, one of the Harbingers made a deal with some witches to become more powerful as long as they hunted for the Daedric Prince Hircine. They agreed, and lycanthropy has been passed down for generations now.”

Serana nodded slowly. “You said it’s only two of you know, though.”

“Yeah. There used to be six, two of them died, and then two of them got cured. I decided to keep my beastblood.” I propped my chin up on my hand. “Now another question for you, if you don’t mind.”

Serana leaned back. “Go ahead.”

“Have you ever thought of getting yourself cured?”

Serana glanced off into the distance, her gaze as hard as stone. “No.”

I nodded slowly. “Very definitive.”

“I don’t think of it like some curse to be purged,” She said firmly. “I can’t think of any reason I’d want to lose my gift. Especially after what I did to get it. I earned this.” She glanced to me. “Would you give up your lycanthropy?”

“No,” I said. “It gives me even more connection to the moons. It gives me a sort of strength I never knew before.”

“Exactly,” Serana said. “So I’m not giving this up.”

There was another beat of silence before Serana narrowed her eyes at me. “What? You’re not gonna convince me to ‘cure myself’?”

“Nope,” I said. “You seemed pretty definitive in your answer.”

That seemed to take a bit of the wind out of Serana’s sails. She pulled her knees up to her chest, like she had done a dozen times before when she began to shut herself off. “But… aren’t I a monster to you?”

“Nope.”

Serana stiffened, staring at me with wide eyes.

“Because if I thought of everything ‘unnatural’ as monstrous,” I said. “I’d probably be a monster three times over. You’re not a monster, you’re my friend.”

Serana went quiet.

“And I have just one more question,” I said. “And I swear, it’s not something super deep.”

“Only if I get to ask you one afterward,” She said.

“Sure. Now, when you said you didn’t grow up with standard religion, you were followers of Molag Bal, weren’t you?”

Serana stiffened. “Yeah.”

I bit the inside of my lip. “Oh. Yikes.”

“I know, I know,” She said. “Daedric Princes bad, yada yada-”

“No, it’s not that,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’ve actually dealt with lots of Daedric Princes, frankly more than any normal person should. It’s just… well-”

Serana raised her eyebrow.

I sighed. “Molag Bal kinda hates my guts.”

A long, long beat of silence before Serana bolted up. “ What?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It’s a bit of a long story, but… I kinda descerated an altar of his. And threw the mace he gave me on the ground… and called him a coward.”

Serana sat back down numbly. “And you’re still alive?”

“I sure hope so,” I said. “That’s the thing about Daedric Princes. They can’t really hurt you. Worst they do is send a few Dremora after you. Best case scenario, you get to keep a cool relic in the aftermath of whatever they have you do.”

“They can definitely hurt you,” Serana said firmly.

I shrugged. “I mean, he just cursed me. A few friendly Vigilants were able to help me out, though. When it comes down to it, the so-called ‘Lord of Domination’ can’t do shit.”

“H-He…?” Serana blinked a few times, staring off into the distance with a confused stare. She balled her hands into fists, the scent of her anxiety filling the space, overwhelming me for a moment.

“You said you had a question to ask me,” I said, snapping her out of her thoughts. I knew what it felt like to spiral into worry, and I didn’t want Serana to panic.

“Y-Yeah,” She said. “I, uh-” She took a breath, gathered her thoughts, and glanced back at me with a calm look. “Something changed with you.”

“Huh?”

“You’re not like the first time we met,” She said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s like… you’re avoiding me. You keep deflecting questions, keeping yourself closed off.” She tilted her head. “Why?”

I deflated, an ache appearing in my heart. “I’m a pretty awful liar, aren’t I?”

“I’m not angry or anything,” She said. “Just curious.”

I felt my hands began to tremble. “It’s… it’s a bit hard to explain. I-” My brain fogged up, my words jumbling together. Why was I getting so anxious? And why now? “I-I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Serana’s eyes widened slightly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

I sighed, dragging my hands across my face. “I…” I let out a weak laugh. “People die around me, Serana. Everyone I get close to gets hurt. And I don’t want you to get hurt too.” Not before I get to really know you.

Serana met me with a slightly concerned look, shifting her weight and moving closer to me. “People die around you.” She echoed.

“Yeah,” I said. Why were my eyes burning? “It’s just a thing that… happens. And you seem like a really, really amazing person, Serana. And I don’t want you to die, either.”

Serana’s brow furrowed. “You realize I’m a centuries-old vampire, right? A pureblood vampire, at that. It’ll take a lot to kill me.”

“And Kodlak was Harbinger, Skjor was a member of the Circle,” I said. “Both Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine were master mages. It doesn’t matter how strong you are. Where ever I come around, people die. They die where they wouldn’t have otherwise.”

The sounds of the night grew distant. The smoke that rose from the Skyforge. I had barely known him. Why was I so upset? Why did I feel like this was my fault?

“Hey, Tallu,” Serana said.

The Sanctuary. I should’ve been there faster. Had I gotten there sooner, I could’ve saved at least some of them. There’s so much blood, Astrid’s body is burnt and the smell - the smell of blood and burning flesh and-

“Tallu.” Serana put one hand on my shoulder, jerking me out of my memories. I averted my eyes, deflating with a shaky sigh.

“I’m tired of people dying around me,” I said, my voice hoarse. “So maybe, if I don’t get close to anyone… they won’t die. I-” I tried to laugh, but it sounded somewhere between a cough and a sob. “I swear, I’m cursed.”

“That’s a lonely way to live,” Serana said.

“Maybe,” I muttered.

“Tell you what,” Serana said. “Because I’m not leaving anytime soon, okay? And all this distance… isn’t gonna work. We’re supposed to be a team now, aren’t we?” She squeezed my shoulder. The tension in my body eased slightly. 

“I’ve never met anyone like you,” She said. “And guess what? Some ‘curse’ isn’t gonna stop me. Not from stopping my father, and not from getting to know you. Because you’re the most interesting person I’ve met in centuries.” She chuckled. “And I’ve met some very interesting people.”

That drew a soft laugh from me. “Just… promise you won’t die?” 

I knew I was asking something stupid, something impossible. No one chooses to die. But still, Serana smiled at me, fangs and all; the kind of smile that makes my heart flutter.

“I promise,” She said.

“Now,” I sighed, reigning in my emotions. “How about we pretend this conversation never happened, because that was a bit embarrassing.”

“Nope,” Serana said, smirking. “Too late. That conversation is burned into my brain.”

I shook my head. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Hey, if I’m not allowed to die, then you’re not allowed to either,” Serana said. “Got it? No dying allowed.”

“If you insist,” I said. 

We called it a night not long after that, with Serana falling asleep almost immediately. If there was one thing I had learned about her so far, it was that she could sleep like the dead, pun fully intended.

I, meanwhile, took a bit longer to find any sort of rest. Because one little part of the conversation was still bugging me, still eating away at me, still making me think.

“She… was not a willing subject.”

What did she mean by that? And why was that so stuck in my mind?

Chapter Text

We arrived at Fort Dawnguard in the early afternoon. Serana had her hood pulled over almost her entire face, a cloak draped across her shoulders. We rode up to the door, and I let Shadowmere graze near the stables. Serana had gotten a bit better at riding on Shadowmere, and no longer needed to cling to me just to stay on. 

I say that as a good thing, but I was perfectly content with Serana holding onto me.

These past few days had been… honestly? Pretty amazing. Serana was good company - I noticed she preferred to listen rather than talk, so she was content hearing about my various stories. Of course, she didn’t know all of them yet, and was missing bits and pieces - a fact I definitely felt a bit guilty for. Like, she knew about a few of my adventures at the College of Winterhold, but she didn’t know I was actually the Arch-Mage.

It was almost adorable, the way she was so intrigued by my stories. I guess I never realized how curious Serana was, though I should’ve expected it from someone who’s been in isolation so long. I told her about traveling to Sovngarde and my various dungeon dives, about the Aetherium Forge, and my infamous drinking contest with Sanguine. She listened to all of them intently, normally questioning me afterward about details that would bore anyone else.

In turn, I learned a bit about Serana - such as the fact that she was a total bookworm, and it was the cutest goddamn thing when she started talking about her favorite books. Unfortunately, most of them were at least a few centuries outdated. I would have to remember to take her to the College of Winterhold’s library someday.

But over our short period of time traveling together, it was… well, a bit odd. It had been a while since I had traveled with someone, but it was a welcome change. It helped that she could match my sarcasm three-fold, too.

And every time I caught her eye, my heart skipped a beat. Every smile, every laugh, every quip - I was falling for her more and more every day. I once met some bullshit Bosmer psychic in Valenwood that told me that I don’t normally fall for people, but when I do, I fall hard. I never put my stock in that. That’s bullshit! I told them. I don’t fall for anyone! I keep my emotions in check!

Haha. Good one, past me.

Serana stared up at the towering Fort Dawnguard, and even under her hood, I could see her pout. I nudged her shoulder.

“I know you don’t like it here,” I said. “But don’t worry. I’ll make sure nothing will happen. We don’t even have to stay here. We can camp out.”

Serana nodded. “It’s not that I don’t like, it’s just...” She wrinkled her nose. “It just always smells like vampire dust. It’s a bit gross.” She winced. “And a bit disturbing, in a way. Do they just, what? Keep the stuff around?”

I shrugged. “I don’t really know. But that doesn’t really matter right now. What does matter is that hopefully Dexion got here without getting killed.”

Serana let out something between a laugh and a scoff. “I hope not, because that would be way too much of a pain. I don’t exactly feel like a cross-country hike to Cyrodiil.”

“Me neither,” I said. Also, I’m wanted in the country of Cyrodiil for too many counts of theft and several counts of arson.

We entered Fort Dawnguard and thank the Divines, Dexion wasn’t dead. His eyes lit up when he saw me, giving me a polite head nod. Isran was there too, looking like his usual self - that is, intimidating.

He huffed. “I’m impressed you could find a Moth Priest so quickly,” He said, his tone cool.

I nodded. “And we have Serana here to help thank for it,” I said. Serana was half-hidden behind me. Isran’s eyes narrowed. No way I was going to be the one taking all the credit. 

“Does he have the Scroll? Is everything ready?” I said.

“For the reading?” Isran said. “Yeah. Just let the old man know when you’re ready.”

I turned to Dexion, giving him a polite smile and a firm handshake. “Glad to see you made it here safely, Dexion.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “It’s good to see you again, my rescuer! My trip to Skyrim has become quite the adventure!”

“Welcome to the club,” I muttered. “Now, have my companions made you feel welcome?”

Dexion glanced around at the massive stone walls and the barrels full of supplies lining them. “It’s not exactly the hospitality I’m used to, but your man Isran has seen to my needs well enough. And might I add, this is a remarkable fortress!” His eyes widened, and for a moment he looked more like an excited kid than a scholar. “I have colleges back home that would love to study this place in detail.”

I laughed under my breath. “Maybe after all this is dealt with, they can. Now, are you prepared to read the Elder Scroll?”

“Oh, most certainly!” He said. “Let’s find out what secrets this Scroll can tell.” 

Serana unslung the Scroll from across her back, passing it along to Dexion. He cleared his throat, holding the Scroll up.

“Now, if everyone will please be quiet,” Dexion said. “I must concentrate.”

He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them and opening up the Scroll. The temperature dropped a few degrees, and Serana and I exchanged sideways glances. Dexion’s gaze was distant, and though his eyes were still trained on the Scroll, it was almost like he wasn’t seeing it at all.

“I see a vision before me,” He said, his voice almost hesitant. “An image of a great bow.”

Great bow? I mouthed to Serana. She shrugged.

“I know this weapon!” Dexion said, suddenly straightening. “It is Auriel’s Bow!”

My brow furrowed. Auriel? The… elven god? 

“Now a voice… whispers…” Dexion said, going quiet. “Saying, ‘among night’s children, a dread lord will rise’.” I watched Serana stiffen beside me. 

“In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men,” Dexion said. “Darkness will mingle with light and day and night will be as one.”

Serana and I exchanged another awkward look, a silent understanding passing between us; the fuck is he talking about?

“The voice fades,” Dexion continues with no attention paid to Serana and me. “The words begin to shimmer and distort. But wait, there is more here.”

I lean in. Dexion remains quiet.

“The secret of the bow’s power is written elsewhere,” Dexion said, deflating slightly. “I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other Scrolls.” He nods slightly. “Yes, I see them now; one contains the ancient secrets of dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood.” 

“My vision darkens, and I see no more.” Shakily, he closes up the Scroll, rubbing his temple with one hand. “To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two Scrolls.”

Isran pats Dexion on the shoulder. “Come on, old man. You need some rest.” 

I raised an eyebrow at him. “You’ve heard the Scroll reading. Do you believe Serana now?”

Isran scoffed. “I heard a lot of vague nonsense. You could interpret it a hundred different ways.” He paused for a second, narrowing his eyes. “Only thing that stood out for me was Auriel’s Bow. That’s a powerful weapon, and I sure as Oblivion don’t want the vampires to get a hand of it. The Moth Priest can stay here for now.” 

He stared daggers at Serana, then back at me. “As for the vampire, I still don’t trust it, so keep it on a leash.”

Serana crossed her arms, huffing. “You realize I’m a person, right?”

Isran didn’t answer and instead guided Dexion out of the room, leaving just me and Serana.

I sighed, putting my hands on my hips. “Well. That was… not nearly as insightful as I was hoping.”

Serana hummed under her breath, biting the tip of her thumb. Then, she looked at me. “Dexion said we need two other Elder Scrolls. I think I know where we can find one of them.”

I gasped. “I-... why didn’t you say something earlier?”

She gave me a dry look. “Half of the people in your little crew would just as soon kill me as talk to me. Doesn’t exactly make me want to open up.” She scoffed. “I got a warmer welcome from my father, and that’s saying something.”

A question danced on my tongue, something almost a little too brusque to say. But it needed to be said anyway.

“Does Harkon even care about you anymore?” I asked.

Serana paused for a second, before sighing and looking away. “You know, I’ve asked myself the same thing. I thought…” Her voice broke a little bit. “I hoped that if he saw me, he might feel something again. But I guess I don’t really factor in at this point.”

Her shoulders slumped, and her next words were a whisper. “I don’t think he even sees me as a daughter anymore. I’m just… means to an end.”

A fierce protectiveness burned inside of me, my own draconic anger mixed with something else. How dare he? How dare he make her feel so worthless, so upset? I balled my hands into fists, my claws digging into my palm. I wanted nothing more than to end him right then.

I steeled my nerves, reigning in my fury. To defeat Harkon, we needed to know the full extent of this ‘prophecy.’ To do that, we needed another Elder Scroll.

“So,” I said, gently nudging Serana. “Where is this Elder Scroll?”

Serana cast aside her sadness without a second thought, and was suddenly all business. “We need to find my mother, Valerica. She'll definitely know where it is. And if we’re lucky, she’ll have it herself.”

The gears in my brain slowly turned. “But… didn’t you said you didn’t know where she went?”

Serana nodded. “The last time I saw her, she said she’d go somewhere safe… somewhere my father would never look.” She shook her head. “Other than that, she wouldn’t tell me anything. But the way she said it… ‘someplace he would never search’... it was cryptic, yet she called attention to it.”

I nodded, thinking about it for a moment. “Sounds like she was being cautious.”

“Maybe,” Serana said, shrugging. “What I can’t figure out is why she said it that way. Besides, I can’t imagine a single place my father would avoid looking. And he’s had all this time, too.” 

She glanced to me. “Any ideas?”

I looked around the stone walls of the fort. “Hiding with the Dawnguard?”

Serana gave me another ‘you’re-such-an-idiot’ kind of look. “They’d be even less welcoming to her than they’ve been to me. It would’ve been a bloodbath. And since the Dawnguard are still around, that must not have happened.”

I let that little horrifying tidbit of information process for a second before another idea struck me. “Sealed away like you were?”

Serana shook her head. “I don’t think so. She said she wanted to stay awake in case the situation was resolved. It had to one of us, and, well, she’s just so much more powerful than I am. It just made sense for her to be out here.”

I felt my tail twitch behind me, and I had to put all of my three collective brain cells together. “What about in Castle Volkihar?”

Serana blinked a few times. “Wait… that almost makes sense!”

“It does?”

“I used to help my mother tend a garden in the courtyard there. All of our ingredients for potions came from there. She used to say that my father couldn’t stand the place. Too… peaceful.”

My brow furrowed. “Isn’t it… oh, I dunno… pretty risky, staying around the castle?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Serana said. “But my mother’s not a coward.” She almost laughed. “That said, I don’t think we’re exactly gonna trip over her there. But it’s worth a look.”

“About that,” I said, raising one hand. “Tiny little hitch in the plan. They’re not exactly gonna let us use the front door.”

“True,” Serana said. She got a mischievous gleam in her blood-red eyes. “But I know a way we can get into the courtyard unseen.”

“Oh?” I said. “My interest is piqued.”

Serana gave me a cheeky grin. “I know every nook and cranny of that place. That’s an unused inlet on the northern side of the island that was used by the previous owners to bring supplies in. An old escape tunnel from the castle exits there. That’s our way it.”

I cracked my knuckles. “Let’s go find a secret entrance, then.”

Serana’s enthusiasm deflated slightly. “Except… I don’t know where we could find the other Scroll. The only place I can think of is the College of Winterhold, but even then…”

I sucked in a breath. “About that.”

Serana raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s in Jorrvaskr,” I said. “I stored it there for safekeeping.”

Serana stared at me for a second, wide-eyed. Then, she threw out her arms. “What? You have an Elder Scroll just laying around? ”

I laughed nervously, rubbing the back of my neck. “Yeah?”

“How?!” She sputtered. “A-And why?”

“Dragonborn stuff,” I said. “Long story short, I had to sorta… throw myself back in time to learn this really old Shout to defeat a dragon that was gonna eat the world.”

Serana’s mouth opened and closed like a goldfish for a second. “Wh… when did this happen?”

“About…” I counted on my fingers. “Six months ago?” I whistled low. “Wow, I’ve been in Skyrim for almost a year now.”

“Never mind,” Serana said. “We head to Jorrvaskr, then to the Castle, we have both Elder Scrolls, mission accomplished.”

I nodded. “Exactly right. Now, do you wanna take the carriage or go on Shadowmere?”

“Carriage,” Serana groaned. “I swear, I’m getting bruises from riding Shadowmere so often.”

I felt my lips twitch into a smile. Part of me wanted to dampen that, to remind myself that we were simply unlikely companions working towards a shared goal... and, of course, the other part of me let myself daydream about the kind of future adventures we could go on. I was slowly getting a feel for her mannerisms, getting used to her fighting at my back - I didn't want that to end. And for all I knew, Serana would want to go back to a normal life after all this was over.

I really, really hoped she didn't.

Because now I can't imagine myself without her.

Chapter Text

I had been traveling with Serana for almost a month now, which means shit was about to go sideways.

I had grown accustomed to my werewolf form. I enjoyed it, actually. It gave me a greater connection to the moons, far more strength and agility. Not only that, but it felt… freeing. Like I had lost chains that were holding me back.

It came with its downsides, of course. For one, if I had trouble sleeping before, it was a lost cause now. I always feel sore after transforming, and far hungrier. Not to mention my own inner wolf always begging for something to hunt, but I’ve gotten very good at controlling my instincts.

Now, allow me to dispel some myths about lycanthropy right now. I can shift at will. Er… sort of. I have to build up my strength first, so I can’t just go shifting whenever I please. However, it’s different from shifting on full moons.

And here is where the problem arises. 

As stated earlier, Serana and I had been traveling together for about a month. For those of you with subpar knowledge of basic astronomy, that means a full moon was coming up. And I was getting worried.

My lycanthropic powers waxed and waned with the cycles of the moon, for fairly obvious reasons. And as Masser - the moon that my lycanthropy follows - was getting closer to full, my inner wolf got louder. 

Serana knew this. It wasn’t exactly a secret. She had watched me grow a little more restless and a little wilder with each passing night. And eventually, the night before the moon would be full, as my wolfish urges began to stir, I decided I needed to speak to Serana.

Luckily (or perhaps, unluckily) Serana is very good at reading me. As we sat down at our campsite, Serana raised an eyebrow at me.

“What’s on your mind?” She asked.

I sighed. “I’m easy to read, aren’t I?”

“You’re an open book, Tallu,” Serana said. “Now what’s up?”

I let out an explosive sigh. “I’m… fuck it. I’m not gonna beat around the bush. It’s a full moon tomorrow, so I’ll need the night for myself.”

“Sure. Whatever you need. But…” Serana raised an eyebrow. “You realize I’ve seen you shift before, right?”

I nodded. About a week ago, we ran into some bandits. It was dark, and I was feeling a bit restless, so… 

“Yeah,” I said. “But it’s different during full moons.”

Serana leaned forward, engaged and intent, that familiar curious gleam in her eyes. “Elaborate.”

“I can control myself when I shift at will,” I said. “I mean, sure, I’m a bit scattered and disconnected, but I’m still me. But under full moons, I… I’m not myself. I lose control. There are ways to combat that, but I’m-” I tried to hide the red in my face. “I’m still working on that.”

Serana nodded slowly, taking in that information. “And you don’t wanna accidentally hurt me.”

I let out another long sigh. “Exactly.”

Serana chuckled. “You don’t seem very confident in yourself. Either that, or you’re just super worried about me.” She shrugged. “I know I’ve said this before, but… you realize I’m an ancient vampire, right? I can defend myself, even against a werewolf.”

I gave her a weak smile. “I don’t wanna take chances.”

Serana nodded. I knew I was being anxious and more than a bit paranoid, but… I had already lost too many people. There was no way I was going to count Serana as one of them. 

That fierce protectiveness burned up inside of me again, a bit stronger. Though Serana might not need it, I wanted to protect her from the world.

I tried not to think about it too hard. I hated the way my brain ping-ponged back and forth between ‘I need to protect her at all costs’ and ‘I can’t get attached to her’. It’s annoying. I’m not a fan of mood swings like that.

I was buzzing with energy the next day. Even in the daylight hours, my wolf was restless and hungry, waiting for an outlet. It felt like a more violent, bloodthirsty version of my draconic energy - if that was possible.

Most of it was spent hiking from the Rift to the borders of Whiterun. We stayed away from civilization and major roads, instead opting to forge our own path. Part of that was for convenience’s sake, and the other part was because I knew I was getting violent.

We set up camp earlier than normal, and I felt on edge the whole time, barely able to focus on the task at hand. My inner wolf was like an impatient child, focusing on every nearby deer or thing I could sink my teeth into.

Serana remained tolerant and quiet, distracting Meeko and roasting leftovers over the fire. I stared up at the moons, beginning to rise over the horizon. Soon, my wolf whispered. I began taking off my armor, slipping into a spare set of tattered clothes. 

“What are you doing?” Serana asked.

“I don’t wanna shred up my armor,” I said, remembering my first shift and the misshapen steel armor that was left behind. “I’m gonna walk out for a little bit so I’m far enough away when I transform.”

Serana’s brow furrowed in concern. “What if you run into bandits in the meantime?”

I flashed Serana a smirk, flexing dramatically. “You think an arrow could get past these rock-hard muscles?”

Serana scoffed, tossing a stick at me. “Never mind, then. Have fun.”

I managed a smile, then left the campsite and began wandering. My entire body felt charged, humming with unspent energy, my inner wolf begging for its hunt. I reached a small pond, shimmering in the moonlight, and felt my heart start beating faster.

~ ~ ~

Serana watched Tallu wander off into the Whiterun plains. Meeko whimpered, but stayed at the campsite. She suspected he had watched this many times before.

And Serana didn’t have any intention of staying still.

She didn’t know if it was curiosity or just the sheer need to rebel, but she was going to follow Tallu. She would keep her distance, obviously - even if she could face a raging werewolf, she didn’t want to, and she especially didn’t want to risk injuring her friend. But she did want to watch. Her inner curious academic wanted to see what she would be like.

So she stayed low to the ground and trailed behind Tallu. Tallu wasn’t filled with any of her usual feline grace - instead, she almost seemed to be wobbling, as if walking on unsteady feet. Serana followed her to a small lake, when Tallu paused, turning her gaze to the sky.

The air seemed to still for a moment, the moonlight reflecting off the Khajiit’s fur. She made a noise like a snarl, doubling over. Her snout grew larger and more pointed, her fur darkened. She writhed, growling as her clothing began to tear.

Serana had seen Tallu transform only once before, and it was very different. Back then, it was fluid - so swift that Serana almost didn’t see it. Tallu did it as easily and as naturally as she would swing her sword or Shout. 

Seeing her transform now, it almost looked… painful. She briefly thought of her own Vampiric Lord form, and wondered if it hurt as much as that.

Heavy, labored breaths signaled the end of the transformation. Serana kept her eyes trained on Tallu - now a hulking, wolf-like beast. Then, she raised her head and howled. It was a feral, dangerous sound, one that made the hairs on the back of Serana’s neck stand up. It pierced the sky, carrying with it a message - this is my land. This is my hunt.

Then, she began sprinting. She was gone in the blink of an eye, darting out among the planes. Serana moved to try and keep up, while keeping herself hidden. When she finally caught up to Tallu again, it was at a bandit camp. The smell of blood told Serana all she needed to.

Tallu was hunched over a corpse, gnawing at it and ripping away chunks of flesh. Serana had seen her fair share of blood, obviously, but even this seemed excessive; it pooled on the ground, seeped into the dirt. Still, Tallu tore the flesh away like paper, in a way that was truly animalistic. Blood and viscera were clinging to her fur and her claws.

Just then, Serana was struck with the full weight of what Tallulah had told her. This wasn’t the Tallu she knew. This wasn’t the woman she had been traveling with, who she had grown to trust. This was an animal. A beast.

Suddenly, those two beastly, glowing eyes were trained on her.

Serana barely had time to blink before she was pinned to the ground, the overwhelming scent of blood and wolf on top of her. Tallu had Serana’s arms pinned to the earth, the massive wolf-like form dwarfing Serana. Blood and saliva mixed together, dripping from her maul. Even with her slight superhuman strength, Serana couldn’t so much as budge against a werewolf empowered by the full moon.

Tallu dipped her head down and Serana flinched, bracing herself for pain. Instead, there was nothing. Tallu had her snout pressed to Serana’s collarbone, sniffing.

Then, Tallu met her eyes. Her pale blue eyes remained in her wolfish form, but now there was a semblance of familiarity. Tallu took the weight off her front paws, allowing Serana to move again, but remained hovering over her, almost curious.

Serana smiled weakly. “You remember me, don’t you? You remember your friend.”

Hesitantly, she reached up for Tallu’s face. She brushed her hand along her snout, wiping away a bit of the blood. She moved her hand up, reaching up and scratching behind Tallu’s ears. The fur was thick and surprisingly soft. Tallu closed her eyes and let out a satisfied sound, gently headbutting Serana’s shoulder. Her tail was wagging. 

Serana couldn’t hold back her laughter. “Yeah. You’re just a big puppy dog, aren’t you? And you know who your friends are.”

Tallu huffed out in response, before abruptly sitting up again, her ears perked up. In an instant, she was darting off across the plains again. Serana heard the strangled sound of a deer, then she brushed the dust off herself.

Tallu was back an instant later, dropping the mauled corpse of a young deer at Serana’s feet, her tail wagging still, pleased with bringing back a gift for her friend. Serana nudged the deer with her foot; it twitched.

This cycle continued for most of the night into the early hours of the morning. Serana found it a bit endearing - Tallu’s wolf form really wasn’t much more than a big puppy, but with far more violent actions towards her prey. But not once did she show a shred of aggression to Serana, once she realized her scent.

~ ~ ~

I woke up with the taste of blood in my mouth and an ache deep in my bones. Shockingly, I was back at my campsite. In my bedroll. Well, on top of my bedroll.

I wrapped a cloak around myself and poked my head out. Meeko bounded towards me, licking me excitedly, and Serana just smiled.

“Around dawn, I went out looking for you,” She said. “You actually weren’t too far. Figured I’d bring you back.”

“And you held down for the fort all by yourself?” I said.
She nodded. “Yup. Now come on and get some breakfast. You’re starving, aren’t you?” 

She handed me a still-warm piece of venison. I bit into it - it was tender and tasted fresh, too. I cracked my neck, rubbing at my shoulders.