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Chapter Text

Across the province, people went to their beds unaware of the atrocities already taking place in all corners of their homeland. The Thalmor struck decisively, simultaneously, without mercy. By the time the first beams of morning light hit the bloody snow, Skyrim was broken beyond mending.

Arngeir was pulled from his evening meditation by a hand on his shoulder. Ulfric Stormcloak, five years a Greybeard, looked down at him with stricken eyes.

"It's happening at last." Ulfric said, and walked away stiffly. Arngeir made to follow him, and then felt the first waves of agony. A bright pain flared through his mind and down into his veins. Arngeir stumbled and braced himself on a stone pillar. A groan of pain escaped his throat. The Gildergreen is dying, slowly. Kynareth, the sky god that the Greybeards dedicated their lives to, was in anguish.

He staggered outside to the front steps, where he found the rest of the Greybeards gathered. A stormy wind threatened their balance, no doubt a sign of Kynareth's growing wrath. They all looked shaken, presumably sharing Arngeir's discomfort. Only Ulfric stood firm, looking out towards the west.

Arngeir saw the smoke. Two pillars of ash, one rising above Skyrim's central city. The monks watched in silence as the sky darkened. Whiterun was burning. The other pillar was concentrated above Falkreath. None of them had any question of its source. Sky guard you, Dragonborn.

Ulfric seemed to take notice of the other Greybeards, shaking himself out of the trance.

"A storm's coming," he said, "We should get inside."

There was movement in the distance, past the altar stone that marked the end of the Seven Thousand Steps up to the monastery. Many slender forms in black robes tinged with gold, coming up around the bend. He hadn't seen the robes of the Thalmor since the truce meeting of the Civil War. Arngeir had always feared it would come to this. Now that the time had arrived, though, a curious peace came over him.

"Not quite. I think this is where we say goodbye, my son." Arngeir summoned the strength to stand upright. Ulfric looked confused for a moment before seeing the approaching band of elves through the snowfall.

"No," Ulfric replied, "We fight them together."

His hands curled into tight fists, as if he meant to tear the elves apart with his bare hands. Arngeir inclined his head, and the other Greybeards moved into a line in front of Ulfric, silently preparing. Arngeir turned to face his old student. "The gods are not yet done with you, Ulfric Stormcloak."

Ulfric opened his mouth to protest, to no avail.

"IIZ SLEN NUS!"

Ulfric's limbs stiffened as the power overcame him. The Shout was Ice Form, a powerful combination of dragon words that left the target encased in a suit of ice. No man could withstand it. Ulfric froze for a moment and then fell to the ground like a statue. Arngeir placed a foot against his side.

"I forgive you, my son. For everything." Arngeir gave a mighty push.

Ulfric slid off the stone platform and down into a heavy snow drift, sinking deep.

The Thalmor contingent continued their march. Arngeir saw the glimmer of warding mages in the front, presumably meant to block their shouts, and quick infiltrators sneaking around the sides. Clever. These elves were an enemy to be reckoned with. Arngeir could only pray to Kyne they hadn't seen Ulfric before he was concealed.

Arngeir joined hands with his old brothers and sent a silent prayer to his god. Borri, Wulfgar, and Einarth stood with him. They had been his only companions for many years.

"You may speak now, my friends," he said in a rising tone. "Let them taste the unshackled Voices of the Greybeards!"

Ulfric willed every fiber of his being towards movement, uselessly. Darkness. The unrelenting snowfall had already filled in what little his fall might have displaced, but he could still hear the sound of battle through the frost. Shouting, powerful enough to shake the earth, and the righteous taunting of the Thalmor. The twang of bow strings, and the roar of Fus Ro Dah. The heavy crash of lightning bolts, and the cries of men and elves alike. They're holding back, for my sake. If the Greybeards so wished it, this entire mountain would collapse around us.

He knew not how much time passed before the shouting and the dying came to an end. Finally, he heard the heavy footfalls of the elves ascending the steps into High Hrothgar. He noted with low satisfaction that few elves remained of the contingent he'd seen approaching the monastery.

Minutes passed before the elves came out again. Ulfric seethed in fury inside the cage of his body. The murderers were walking away, and he'd never even know the faces of the Thalmor that had murdered his beloved teachers. I came to this place to escape death.

Movement slowly returned to his limbs. The shocking cold hit, and he struggled to breath. Digging upward, Ulfric broke through the snow drift gasping for air. Once he had collected together, he looked around. His eyes searched desperately for any living Thalmor, the adrenaline running through his veins demanding release. Alas, they were long gone. Ulfric Stormcloak was alone.

The signs of battle scarred the once holy ground. Broken bodies and arrow shafts littered the snow, and there was blood splattered across the path. Ulfric had been in many battles, quite a few of them in Skyrim, but the bold display of bright red on white still disquieted him.

A dark storm was brewing overhead. He pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders as the winds pulled angrily.

Arngeir was leaned up against the final altar. Many arrows pierced his bloody robes, and scorch marks from lightning spells. Damn it all.The old man had been more of a father to him than his true parent, the elder Bear of Windhelm, could have ever hoped to be. I wish I'd told you that while you still drew breath. Ulfric knelt down and gently closed Arngeir's eyes with the back of his hand. There would be no burials, not at this time of winter. He said a silent goodbye and left Arngeir in Kynareth's care. The fresh bodies were already being covered by the unrelenting snowfall.

Frustration took hold of Ulfric, but he pushed it aside with no small amount of effort, clenching and unclenching his hands. There was too much to do, and no time to be outraged. He went into the monastery, leaving the dead behind him, as he always had before.

His sword and armor were still where he stored them when he arrived, in a forgotten cabinet near the Shrine of Kynareth. The symbol of a blue bear adorned the chestplate. Five years ago, Ulfric had led the Stormcloak Rebellion against the Empire. He'd wanted freedom for Skyrim from what he considered a puppet state controlled by the Aldmeri Dominion. He'd fought for free worship of Talos across his home province, where the Ninth Divine had once been a hero. Instead, he had lost everything. The Dark Elf Dragonborn known as Jaxius Amaton led the Empire's forces against Ulfric. One by one, the Stormcloak controlled cities fell to Jaxius and his legionaries. The Stormcloaks had lost the war.

Ulfric wearily pulled on the lean plate and strapped on his boots. Flickering movement caught his attention, and a shiver went down his spine. The Shrine of Kynareth was pulsing red, like an angry scar. The Goddess of the Sky had lost her most devout worshipers.

The downpour was fierce when Ulfric emerged geared up into the rear courtyard. The sword that had killed High King Torygg rested on his hip. He rubbed the pommel absently with his thumb as he crossed the courtyard. Ulfric ascended the ancient steps, and then the passage up to the Throat of the World was before him. The howling winds were deafening. He had never been up to the Throat before, though he knew of the pacifistic dragon that lived there. Arngeir had trusted him with that knowledge, but some part of him had hesitated to bring Ulfric to meet Paarthurnax, master of the Greybeards, in person. Some small shred of fear that the old rebel in him would return, perhaps. He may have to, if events are as dire as they seem.

The trek up to the Throat was treacherous, but Ivarstead, nestled at the foot of the mountain, was surely unsafe. The Thalmor would've had to pass through the town to get to High Hrothgar. No, this is the only path I can take. Ulfric cast a last glance back at High Hrothgar. Combined, he had spent over fifteen years at the temple. The gray pillars and battlements had become somewhat of a comforting sight to him. I won't see them again in this life. Ulfric turned to the winds. Clear Skies was one of the few shouts he knew, and the only way to reach the top of the mountain. Minutes ago, Ulfric had been a Greybeard in training, and the violent part of his life had been over. Now the Greybeards had been murdered in their own monastery, and Whiterun had been attacked along with the renowned Dragonborn. The time has come to take up my sword for Skyrim once more. This time, maybe for the last time.

" LOK VAH KOOR!"

Chapter Text

The trees blurred together as Teldryn ran. Runa followed beside him, slowly losing pace.

"You must keep up, girl!" he shouted, narrowly dodging a tree branch.

She only nodded in response, her face frozen in shock. Poor child, the sellsword thought, but quickly banished his thoughts of pity. They were still in grave danger.

Only the burning forest behind the pair allowed them to see the narrow path ahead. Teldryn had become quite familiar with these woods in his four years of service, but everything looked different in the destructive orange aura.

A bowstring twanged, and Runa gasped. A golden arrow embedded itself in a passing tree, and Teldryn heard distant movement behind them.

"Filthy n'wahs," he growled, and scooped Runa up while still running. She tensed for a moment and then rested her head on his shoulder. The smell of burning pine and smoke burned Teldryn's nostrils.

"Don't worry, little one," he whispered, unsure if she heard his words over the roar of the fires. The darkness of the night soon enveloped them as the sound of flames grew more distant. Still, Teldryn kept running. The Thalmor would not stop following them. The Dragonborn's child was too great a prize.

They couldn't go to Falkreath. The Thalmor would know it as the closest town, and be watching for their arrival. Jaxius had told him of an old ruin nearby, though, and warned to always keep Runa away from it.

He was going to have to break that promise. Shielding Runa with his arm, Teldryn broke through the treeline. The bridge to Falkreath cast a shadow over the forest surrounding them. Through the branches, he could see a pool of black liquid, and beyond that a circular door. He waited for five minutes in the underbrush, listening for sounds of pursuit. Runa breathed softly on his shoulder, in and out, in and out.

Once he was sure they were alone, Teldryn crept slowly and carefully towards the door. It was adorned with the eerie image of a skull, but the design was damaged. He supposed it might have had some magical enchantment once, but whatever power the door once had was long gone. He pushed the portal inward without fanfare.

Long ago, fire had claimed this place. Teldryn chuckled darkly to himself as he advanced through the passageway. Fire behind and fire ahead, just my luck. He set Runa down in the first bedroom he came across, off of the first chamber. The bed seemed functional if a bit charred. Once he was sure she was fast asleep, Teldryn collapsed into a chair and removed his chitin helmet. Running a hand through his mohawk, he sighed. How did it come to this? One moment, they were settling down for the night. Jaxius was telling him how the archery lessons with Runa were progressing. The housecarl, Rayya, was chopping firewood outside. Runa herself was fast asleep in bed. Then, the beating of an uncountable number of elven boots coming through the trees. The Thalmor hadn't even tried to approach by stealth. They never needed to.

The image of Jax's face still haunted Teldryn. "Go, Teldryn! Don't stop!" The sellsword had only seen fear like that in the Dragonborn's eyes once before, when he'd been preparing to face Miraak. Jax defeated the First Dragonborn. The last Teldryn had seen of his friend, though, four arrows pierced his body, and blood dripped from his heavy beard like a waterfall. Then Teldryn and Runa were rushing off the back porch, Lakeview Manor burning behind them.

His jobs always seemed to end this way, for one reason or another. Although what he had with Jax had long ago progressed beyond a simple business transaction, he couldn't help but follow the old lines of thought. A sellsword's life was not a sentimental one. His employer before Jax had died rushing into a bandit stronghold, outnumbered by a factor of ten. The Dragonborn had ordered him away from Lakeview facing many times those odds. Teldryn wondered if he would have obeyed had the child not been involved. The thought of a last stand against a horde of prissy supremacist elves, with Jaxius Amaton by his side...that wouldn't be a bad way to go at all.

Fatigue tugged at Teldryn, but he couldn't give in just yet. He rose unsteadily to his feet and looked around the scorched room. There was a hearth built into the side of the wall, but there was no firewood in sight and going outside was too dangerous. The chair could work as fuel, I suppose. I would have to sleep on the ground. Teldryn made the tactical choice that he wasn't yet cold enough to sacrifice his comfort. The rest of the room was covered in soot and the ashes of furniture long burned. Part of him wanted to explore the rest of the base, but he couldn't leave Runa alone. Not after everything they had been through in the last hours.

His eyes fell on the sleeping form on the bed.

"Jax, you damnable s'wit," he muttered under his breath. Sure, he had been a loyal partner to the elf for four years, and yes, Runa called him Uncle Teldryn, but to be left alone without direction or purpose was beyond frustrating. They had no gold, meager food, and the Thalmor undoubtedly hunted them. Worst of all, Teldryn had no idea what was going on. Was the assassination attempt on the Dragonborn an isolated attack, or were there other targets? The sensation of losing control made him want to punch a wall.

He recalled the day Jax adopted Runa from Honorhall Orphanage in Riften, shortly after they returned to Skyrim from the nearby island of Solstheim. Teldryn had kept watch over the horses, enjoying the warm day, while Jax went into the city to buy some supplies. When the Last Dragonborn emerged from the gates, he was carrying a small girl of eight years on his shoulders. Jaxius fell into the fatherly role like he'd been born to it. When the Dragonborn could not be there for Runa, Teldryn gladly substituted. He'd taught the girl how to spot a thief and tell directions using the moons. Theirs had been a happy family. A family forever lost.

A singed map of Skyrim on the ground caught his notice. Teldryn picked the paper up and brushed the ash off it. Slowly leaning back into the chair, his mind raced and his eyes analyzed. The Dragonborn still had many friends in this land. The Jarls were off the table; he didn't want anyone's political allegiances affecting Runa's survival. If the Dragonborn had been attacked, then High Queen Elisif was likely dead as well. There's no time to assume otherwise. Teldryn recalled a frosty relationship between Jax and the Companions every time they visited Whiterun, so no help there. The large mountain in the center of the map seemed to point at him. The Greybeards, maybe. But no. The climb was too treacherous, and a girl of thirteen years ascending the steps would draw too much attention. His gaze fell to the northeast of the map. Maybe we don't have to stay in Skyrim at all…

The family had not visited Solstheim in years, but Teldryn was certain Councilor Lleril Morvayn, the chief House Redoran representative on the island, would agree to shelter them. Dunmer did not often forgot debts owed to one another. They could leave from the port city of Windhelm and lay low for a while in Raven Rock, until the dust settled here in Skyrim. If the dust does settle, a troubling part of him murmured. That same part of him wanted to rush back to Lakeview and save his best friend. Teldryn thought of a nightmare he often had, of standing in a graveyard full of his old companions and employers. The image seemed to get closer to reality every moment.

"Damn your graveyard." he said to himself. The Dragonborn had tasked him with protecting this child, and that was what Teldryn intended to do. Worrying about his future would rob Runa of her present. Flattening the map against his chitin-covered knees, Teldryn began to plan the path to Windhelm.

Chapter Text

The weather seemed to become more violent every step Ulfric took on the path. He knew the Throat of the World wasn't much further now, but every small distance had become an enormous effort. The billowing wind made it seem as if Kynareth herself was trying to blow him off the mountain. The murder of the Greybeards and the Dragonborn had angered her beyond measure. Not even the power of the Voice had worked to clear this storm.

The smoke trail coming from Falkreath still burdened him. He could never think well of the Dragonborn, not after the War, but what hope did Skyrim have against the Thalmor without Jaxius Amaton? The Dunmer had become the most revered hero in Skyrim since Talos himself in recent years. First Alduin the World Eater's defeat, and then ending the Civil War, all in two summers time. The Dragonborn had done what countless armies and thousands of brave Nords could not. His songs were the most requested whenever Ulfric went down to Ivarstead in order to resupply. Skyrim would surely be devastated if they found out their idol had fallen.

Ulfric remembered one of the last encounters he had with Amaton, in the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm. The Dragonborn's greatsword was at his throat, and Galmar was slowly bleeding out beside him. He'd never forget his friend's blood-gurgling last gasps for air. Amaton had met Ulfric's eyes.

"Do you want to die like him?" the Dragonborn had asked, as if this was all just some inconvenience in his day. Ulfric had broken, bowing his head and submitting. I was a coward.

General Tullius, that wretched leader of the Imperials, yelled at Amaton for not dealing the killing blow, but the Dragonborn ignored him. His greatsword left Ulfric's throat, and he drew the rebel's chin up with one gray-skinned finger.

"You will go into exile, with the Greybeards on their mountain. No one will know you live. Soon enough, no one will care you died. If you ever draw a sword against Skyrim again, I will put you down, and then I will come back to this city and knock it into the freezing baywater one brick at a time." Ulfric would never forget the look of malice they exchanged before Tullius stepped forward with the gag. So much for your peace, Dragonborn.

After what seemed like ages, he reached the summit. Ulfric could barely make out the shape of a Word Wall, covered in the jagged script of the ancient dragon tongue, on the far edge of the clearing. Though the Dragonborn could draw power from the words and learn new shouts in seconds, the monument was useless to Ulfric. No Paarthurnax in sight. He trudged through the blizzard towards the ancient wall, struggling to stay on his feet. Ulfric wondered if the Dragonborn had once walked this same path. Arngeir was always telling him how time was a circle. The thought brought a low chuckle to his dry throat.

The buffeting of giant wings broke through the roaring winds. Ulfric was pushed into the snow by the force. Paarthurnax? He couldn't see much through the snow, but something large settled on the Word Wall. Ulfric struggled to rise, and then staggered forward. A red blur flashed briefly through the blizzard, and Ulfric found himself knocked backwards with unimaginable strength.

He could hardly draw breath. Sharp claws pressed into his neck, and a heavy weight pressed his torso down into the snow. Hot breath pulsed over his face, and the scent of rotten flesh made him want to vomit.

The dragon's crimson head materialized. Ulfric could see yellow eyes, filled with an ancient rage. He hoped it was not directed at him.

"You have come a long way to die, joor." The crackling voice came through clear despite the wind. All of this just to become a dragon's breakfast. "It has been too long since I last tasted the flesh of man."

Ulfric struggled to speak. The dragon, as if sensing his plight, slightly raised the foot off of his chest.

"Paarthurnax," Ulfric gasped.

In an instant, the dragon's teeth were at his face.

"Who told you this name?" it asked dangerously.

"I studied with the Greybeards," Ulfric forced out, "Arngeir told me of him."

The pressure left his stomach as the dragon reared back. Ulfric gasped and sputtered, greedily sucking in the cold air. He could hear the beast chuckling, a low deep sound. It brought to mind the footsteps of giants.

"I forget Paarthurnax keeps pets. I am called Odahviing," it said it in a booming voice.

Snow winged hunter. Arngeir's old teachings on the dragon tongue came back to Ulfric in a flash. He eyed the beast warily as he rose to his feet, shaking from the cold.

Odahviing looked at the Nord and inclined his head, like a confused child observing a new sight. And then, to Ulfric's amazement, the dragon pushed off the ground and took off over the side of the mountain.

Ulfric barely had time to process what had happened before a rapidly descending glowing shape appeared above him. He looked up at it, noting that the form was getting closer, and quickly trudged out of its landing zone.

A colossal burning tree hit the ground in front of him. Ulfric blinked, shocked, half-expecting Talos himself to burst out of the tree trunk with Ysgramor riding on his shoulders. Instead, Odahviing swooped down to land on the the Word Wall. Turning his head towards the storm clouds, he shouted:

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

The dark clouds began to reluctantly clear. A dragon's shout has more power over Kynareth than mine. Ulfric felt the winds dying down and the sun on his skin.

"If we are to talk, krah joor, I do not want your weak form expiring before we are done." The winged hunter told him. Ulfric thought he saw a glint of amusement in his yellow eyes.

The flames of the tree were not diminished by the remaining snowfall, some special property of dragonfire he guessed, and the warmth felt euphoric on his frozen face. He nodded in thanks and rubbed his hands together to get the blood flowing.

"Do you know where Paarthurnax is?" he shouted to Odahviing. "I have great need to speak with him."

"I have not seen the old one for three of the moons' cycles." The child of Akatosh shifted on his perch, as if troubled. "Not since the rule of yuvon gein began."

Ulfric frowned. The golden one. Some dragon phrase I'm unfamiliar with?

"The yuvon gein is another dragon?" he asked.

"The kiir of Krein." Odahviing said with distaste.

The child of Magnus. Now Ulfric was even more confused.

"The dragons came from Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time. Magnus is the god of magic, if my memory serves."

The crimson dragon chuckled again.

"Geh, joor, I thought the same. There is much gram surrounding the yuvon gein, much uncertainty. Bormahu, Akatosh, father, was absent from his creation."

That does not sound promising.

"And what of you?" Ulfric asked, mindful of the sword strapped to his belt. "Do you follow this Golden One?"

He could hear the Word Wall rumble as Odahviing's talons tightened in anger.

"I pledged my life's service to the last Dovahkiin. No other dov has power over me."

This gave Ulfric pause.

"You saw the smoke from Falkreath, then?" he asked. Maybe the Dragonborn got out in time.

A low growl came from Odahviing, like a hunter's dog sensing a predator.

"I saw the yol, yes. The sky is choked with the leavings of it." Ulfric was perturbed to see a trace of guilt in the dragon's shifting features. "The work of the Golden and his mortal allies. The Dovahkiin called for me, but I could not face the gold one in battle. His Thu'um is too dilos, too strong for me. I do not know what became of the Dovahkiin." Odahviing's head fell. "I have not heard his Voice since the siid yol started."

Third fire. Ulfric looked up sharply.

"How many fires did you see?" He knew about Whiterun and the Dragonborn's manor. What else had the Thalmor done?

"Three thus far, krah joor. The diist from the city in which I was imprisoned, the second from the Dovahkiin's place of power, and the siid from the Sky Temple, where those that hunt us dwell." Odahviing grumbled. "I was not so sad to see the third fire."

Of course. The Blades. Arngeir had never spoken much of the dragon hunters, disapproving of their violent methods, but Ulfric had a lot of time to read in his exile. The Thalmor and the Blades were ancient enemies. Their destruction meant one less defender against the Dominion. I'm running out of allies, fast.

Ulfric was jolted out of his thoughts by a distant roar. Odahviing tensed his wings on the Word Wall, preparing to launch off. "We have company, cold man. Vonun, quickly, lest you be seen and consumed."

He wasn't in any state to argue, considering earlier he had been defeated by one dragon's foot. An entire beast would surely be the end of him. Ulfric took cover under the smoldering tree trunk, digging under it slightly into the snow. There was a large flapping of wings as another of the dov approached and began to hover above.

"Klovokun!" Odahviing shouted from his perch. "What brings you here, to the old one's place of power?" The other dragon was the color of sand, and larger than Odahviing by at least a half measure.

The other dragon roared in apparent displeasure.

"The yuvon gein waits for you to join us, Odahviing. The fields of joor are ripe for the harvest."

"I cannot join the kiir after what he has done, nos murder Dovahkiin," Odahviing roared back, "My life was sworn to the Dragonborn."

The other dragon made a horrible grinding sound which Ulfric assumed to be laughter.

"You have failed in your duty, dii saqho fahdon. The Dovahkiin is fallen."

No. It can't be true. Ulfric pushed his way out from under the tree, emerging like a child from the womb. He drew his sword and planted his feet firmly in the snow.

"What do you know of the Dragonborn's fate?" he yelled up at Klovokun.

The dragon laughed again.

He said, "Is this your new zaam, Odahviing? You may want to work on his manners."

"Foolish krah joor." Odahviing shook his head slowly at Ulfric, as if disappointed. "You have made a very unwise choice, very unwise."

To Oblivion with these dragons.

"Tell me about the Dovahkiin!" he shouted, allowing the Thu'um to resonate his voice.

Klovokun roared in rage as the small shockwave impacted him.

"The Dovahkiin is dead, and you shall soon join him." The sand dragon's angry gaze fell on Odahviing. "And you, teaching our tongue to joor? Your bones will decorate the thrones of the new age."

Ulfric's new ally shot off from his perch, making a crimson path in the sky. He heard the sound of two great forces colliding, as if the moons were smashing together. Lowering his sword, Ulfric ran for the cover of the Word Wall. The boom of dragon shouts shook the mountain, and he barely held on to the aging monument.

The two dragons were a whirl of scales and fury in the open sky. Ulfric watched in awe as the brothers fought, teeth and talons giving way to elemental vexation. One dragon truly could have won the war for us. Maybe he should have listened to Galmar's suggestion to capture one.

There was a break in the battle, and the dragons circled away from each other.

"Surrender to me, gruth, and maybe the Golden One will have mercy on you." Klovokun shouted at his kin. Ulfric realized that the dragon was soaring towards him, and he renewed the grip on his sword.

"That cannot happen, sahlo zul," Odahviing replied, noticing Klovokun's proximity to Ulfric and flying fast to intercept.

He wasn't fast enough. Klovokun reached out with his clawed feet, batting Ulfric's sword away and grabbing him under the arms. He watched in shock as the ground disappeared beneath him and gave way to open sky. He could barely see the tops of the trees far below.

But he knew to remain in a dragon's talons was to face certain death. Whispering a prayer to Talos, Ulfric took a deep breath.

"FUS RO DAH!"

He shouted point blank into the belly of the dragon. Klovokun recoiled, releasing him involuntarily. Ulfric felt the open air rushing around him, and his eyes burned with tears. He turned over, and saw the rapidly shrinking shapes of the dragons fighting. He turned over again, and the tree canopy rushed to face him. Come on, come on. Kynareth give me strength.

The last shout Ulfric Stormcloak heard before impact was "Merkoorzaam!" It was the golden one's name, he realized with a detached horror. Summer elf slave.

Dovahzul Appendix

joor = mortal

krah = cold

yuvon gein = golden one

suleykaar = powerful

kiir = child

Krein = Magnus

gram = uncertainty

Bormahu = Akatosh

Laat Dovahkiin = Last Dragonborn

dov = dragon

yol = fire

Dilos = strong

zaam = slave

Diist, ziist, siid = first, second third

Vonun = hide

Klovokun = sand shadow

Paarthurnax = ambition overlord cruelty

Odahviing = winged snow hunter

nos fin Dovahkiin = attacking the Dragonborn

vaat = oath

dii saqho fahdon = my crimson ally

Gruth = betrayer

sahlo zul = weak voice

Merkoorzaam  = summer elf slave

Chapter Text

They set out an hour before dawn. Teldryn hated to use the main roads, but one look at Runa told him that they wouldn't be traipsing through any woods today. The girl's eyes were bloodshot, her face blotchy. He'd watched her awaken, and seeing the slow realization of yesterday's events take hold in her made his soul ache.

Ash rained down on them as they walked the road out of Falkreath Hold. Teldryn had come to tolerate ashfall from his many years living on Solstheim, but it didn't belong in Skyrim. Here it looked too much like the cataclysmic Red Year was having a second go of it. Teldryn wasn't old enough to have seen the eruption of Morrowind's Red Mountain, but the many days of dark skies in his childhood had told him enough.

"Are you hungry?" Teldryn asked. He had managed to forage some wild mushrooms and bag a rabbit on the way. The girl shook her head in reply. Well, I tried. There hadn't been much in the way of conversation on their journey so far. The sellsword could understand, of course. He had always been the fun uncle, telling her of his prior adventures or regaling her with tales of Morrowind. Teldryn had never dealt with a sad Runa, beyond toe stubbings and that sort of situation. Sometimes you just needed to give people space, he had come to learn. Do those same rules apply to a mourning child?

What a pair we must make. A weary Dunmer mercenary and a stricken child of thirteen years, drudging down the road to Whiterun. He still wore his chitin armor. The bugshell carapace and goggles were not exactly inconspicuous, but the only alternative was to leave the armor behind and travel in normal clothes. Maybe I'll trade it for some of that silly Nord armor if we find a merchant.

An elk broke out of the treeline. Teldryn stopped Runa with his arm and formed a fireball in his other hand.

"Be still, Runa. Our lunch has arrived," he murmured. The venison would be a nice change from the truffles and roots in their pack. To his surprise, however, Runa pushed his arm away.

"Don't kill it, Teldryn." she said in a quiet voice. "Please."

The sellsword nodded slowly and put out his fireball. At least she spoke words. The elk bent over to sniff at a flower. After a moment, the animal vanished back into the forest, unaware its life had been spared at the request of a tired young Nord girl. Guess I better get used to truffles and roots.

Tall grasses and bushes began to replace the pine trees as they walked on. Whiterun drew ever closer. Teldryn hated that they'd have to stop in the city, where they would be seen and noted and maybe even reported, but they had no supplies. The self-professed "Jewel of Skyrim" was their only option. Jarl Balgruuf was a great ally to the Dragonborn. Undoubtedly he would provide assistance to Jaxius's adopted daughter.

"Where are we going?" Runa asked, her eyes never losing the thousand-yard stare they had held since the sun came up. Someone that young should not have to look like that, Teldryn thought.

He replied, "Whiterun first, and then Windhelm. From there we can take a boat to Raven Rock."

"Solstheim." Runa said, and Teldryn heard a rising anger behind the words. "Why are we going to Solstheim?" Tribunal preserve me.

He chose his response carefully. "Solstheim is the safest place for us right now, sera. The Thalmor have no presence there."

"I don't want to be safe!" Runa stopped and her eyes regarded him with a frustrated resentment. "I want you to save my pa, but you've already given up!" The girl ran ahead, hands clenched into fists. Teldryn jogged to keep up. Damn, this armor gets heavier every day.

"Sera, your father told me I have to protect you," he said in a calm voice, "I have to make sure you're safe before going off on any rescue missions." Teldryn suspected she knew as well as he did there wouldn't be any adventures of the sort. The Thalmor last night had not been in the business of taking prisoners.

Runa slowed to a walk again, but spoke no more. Her eyes fixed stubbornly on some distant point and her mouth fell into a grimace. Teldryn was glad she had stopped running, but regretted her rediscovered silence had returned. Well done, you half-witted fetcher. He knew this journey would be arduous enough without the ire of a teenage girl directed at him. I wish Jaxius was here. The Dragonborn always had some calm word or complacent phrase to fix a situation. By Azura, his silver-tongue is why I'm here.

After defeating Miraak seemingly forever ago, Jaxius had invited the mercenary to join him back in Skyrim.

"Your help has been invaluable," his fellow Dunmer had said. They shared a table in the Retching Netch, quietly celebrating a job well done. "But I've many enemies who want to see my head on a spike. Skyrim can be a much deadlier place than this island."

Teldryn recalled the seriousness in the Dragonborn's eyes. They got to you, those eyes of his. "Traveling with me won't be easy, and it won't be pretty. Many of my former companions have perished by my side." The Dragonborn's gaze had fallen then. "I have buried too many of my friends, Teldryn Sero."

Friends. Teldryn had never made many friends in his life, only clients and targets. His existence had been a series of business transactions. Friends were for people who had time to spend mourning them, and his time was always running out. Jaxius was different, though, Teldryn had realized that night. They had become friends in the months they fought together on that frozen hell of an island. The pair traded stories and jokes over the campfire, and fought together like a well-oiled Dwemer construct. The Dragonborn charged in with his greatsword, batting enemies aside like they were made of parchment, and Teldryn set fire to that parchment from afar. Rieklings, reavers, all manner of combatant fell to their blades. Even a couple of dragons, if my memory serves.

He recalled the adrenaline that pumped through his veins after they defeated their first of the dov together. The great beast roared in terror as Jaxius's greatsword cleaved through scale and spine, and Teldryn watched it shudder and sigh in the throes of death.

"Amazing!" he shouted to the Dragonborn, panting from the exertion of battle. Jaxius smiled in response.

"You haven't seen anything yet, my friend." The dragon's scales began to crackle and shimmer, and Teldryn watched in simultaneous horror and awe as an otherworldly stream of power flew into Jaxius, like an ocean wave crashing into an unmovable rock. That was the moment Teldryn comprehended this wasn't just another job.

I'll never meet a being like Jax Amaton again. Teldryn picked up the scent of grass and fresh air through his helmet. They were out in the plains of Whiterun hold now. He disliked how open to attack they were, but at least they'd be able to see anyone coming. Runa remained silent and rigid beside him. I will be ready to talk when you are ready, sera.

They were passing a road marker when there was movement in the distance. He drew up his arm to stop Runa, and this time she didn't protest. At least fifteen individuals were coming down the path, elves judging by their lean stature, and they were lugging a heavy cart behind them. No Thalmor insignia or colors in sight, but that didn't mean anything. Sneaky as daedra, the Dominion.

"Should we hide?" Runa asked, a trace of life in her voice for the first time since yesterday's events. Teldryn shook his head and took her hand, continuing down the road towards the group.

"They've already seen us." he murmured. "Hiding now would only raise their suspicions."

Now that they were closer, Teldryn could see the front of the band was composed of a Bosmer and a Dunmer, and to his surprise their faces were vaguely familiar. That's Balgruuf's bodyguard. Muraleth or something. And that hunter from the market. He raised his hand in greeting as they approached.

The housecarl extended her arm and Teldryn locked wrists with her, exchanging a firm warriors handshake. He saw much grief in her tired face. Something is wrong here.

"The Dragonborn's companion and the Dragonborn's daughter." she said. There was an unsaid question in her words, but Teldryn gave her a heavy look and she prodded no further. If Jaxius wasn't with them on today of all days, he wasn't anywhere.

"Aye," he replied, "and you are Balgruuf's housecarl?"

She shook her head. "No longer."

Teldryn's eyes scanned the crowd. All elves, Dunmer, Bosmer, even Altmer.

"Some party invitation I didn't receive?" he asked, unable to piece together any logical explanation himself.

"Balgruuf was murdered at his feasting table last night," Irileth said, her voice cracking, "We believe the Thalmor were responsible. There were traces of poison in his wine cup. I failed him."

No, no, no.

"Who replaced him?" he heard himself ask. Teldryn's mind was elsewhere, imagining the gods laughing down at him from some Aedra cornerclub. We can't avoid stopping at Whiterun. Our supplies will not last.

"Hrongar." she replied in irritation, as if the name was a curse. Teldryn barely recalled a hulking figure present during the Dragonborn's visits to Dragonsreach. Balgruuf's brutish brother.

The pieces fell together.

"He banished the elves from Whiterun," Teldryn said. It was a statement, not a question. Irileth nodded grimly.

"His first act as Jarl was to ban all elven races from the city, to prevent any 'Thalmor spies' from striking again."

"How can we still go to Whiterun if elves aren't allowed in?" Runa asked, ever direct. Teldryn was wondering the same.

"I can just keep my helmet on," he replied, "and what the n'wahs don't know won't hurt them."

Irileth stepped forward and asked him quietly if they wanted to join the elvish caravan, evidently holding some respect for the fallen Dragonborn. Teldryn thanked her but refused. The more people that they traveled with, the more likely they were to be apprehended. Besides, they're going the wrong direction. Teldryn and Runa bid farewell to the elves and continued on.

The girl seemed to sense that Teldryn's helmet plan was a poor solution, but remained quiet. Soon, the grand city appeared in the distant plains. The keep of Dragonsreach poking into the sky seemed somewhat less impressive now that they knew Jarl Balgruuf lay dead.

More and more people passed them on the increasingly busy road, and a fair few of them gave Teldryn's armor curious glances. He could feel Runa getting agitated.

"They keep looking at you, Teldryn," she said, "They know."

This isn't going to work. His handcrafted chitin armor was too characteristic of Morrowind or at least elves in general. You didn't exactly see Nord warriors wandering around in armor made out of foreign insects.

Teldryn was about to grab Runa's arm and turn them around when a cloaked figure stepped into their path. Teldryn began forming a fireball in his fist, but the figure held up a placating hand.

"Please, please, Teldryn Sero, the last thing you want right now is to cause an incident on the road outside Whiterun as a Dunmer mage." The cloaked man's voice was melodious, and Teldryn could tell from his exposed skin he was Redguard. A Redguard that knows my name.

A guard was walking their way past the cloaked man's shoulder.

"Just follow me." The man urged, motioning towards a nearby farmhouse.

Oblivion take me. There was no other choice. Teldryn took Runa's hand and followed.

The barn smelled of manure and hay. The large doors swung shut, sealing their fate. Teldryn summoned his flames once more and pushed Runa behind him.

"Explain, now, or I will put this fireball into your wretched face," Teldryn snarled, "I'm sure those robes will go up in a second."

"My name is Nazir." The man backed away slowly, discarding his robe. "And I am your friend, trust me." Below the garment he was wearing typical Redguard clothes in the hue of crimson and black. Teldryn made note of the curved sword hanging on the man's hip.

"Fine, Nazir." Teldryn replied, his readied fireball casting flickering shadows on the barn walls."Who are you and how do you know my name?" Runa looked out curiously from behind him.

Nazir ambled over to a wooden pillar and leaned on it like a man taking a load off after a long day's work.

"We have a certain friend in common." he said cheerfully. Teldryn did not have to guess which friend he was referring to. Damn, Jax, what were you caught up with?

"Then you know about Lakeview." Teldryn replied, putting his flames out. Runa moved back to his side.

The playful expression on Nazir's face turned dark.

"We saw the smoke coming from Falkreath." His eyes flickered to Runa. "What happened exactly?"

Good question. For some reason Teldryn hesitated to say anything, like talking about last night would make it real. Like the barn door wasn't about to open, revealing Jaxius standing there with a trademark smile of satisfaction on his face and Thalmor ears hanging from his neck. He can't save us this time.

"The Dominion ambushed us in the night." Teldryn forced out. "There were...too many of them." Gods, why did I leave him? "Jaxius ordered me to retreat with Runa."

The Redguard nodded grimly.

"Sounds like something he would do." He drummed his fingers on his sword hilt. "Did you see him…?" Did I see him die. Teldryn felt some small measure of gratitude towards Nazir for not saying the word.

"No." Teldryn replied. I can't give them false hope. "But I've been in enough fights to know what happened to my friend in that forest. He's gone."

There was a pressure against his armor. Teldryn looked down to see Runa hugging him tightly. Her hot tears dripped down his chitin plate. He knelt down, unfastened his armor, and let Runa bury her head into his torso. It all really happened. Her body pulsed with heavy sobs and a heart-wrenching wail.

"Peace, sera." he whispered to her, setting his helmet aside. "Your father loved you very much." Teldryn's voice broke, but no tears came. I must be strong for this girl.

Nazir had turned to give them privacy, but his head turned sharply turned the barn door.

"Someone is coming," he muttered, and then slipped into the shadows.

The barn door opened with a hollow creak. A wiry and wrinkled old man stepped in, a rusty iron sword in his hand. His eyes searched the shadows and found the pair.

"No squatters!" he yelled, pointing the sword at their kneeling forms. His clothes marked him as a farmer, but Teldryn knew a dull blade in an unskilled hand was a nasty combination.

"We were just leaving." Teldryn replied, slowly rising. "Peace, sera," he repeated the words he had soothed Runa with. I don't want to kill you, old fool.

A confused expression took the farmer's face when the light hit Teldryn.

"Wait just a minute now." he said accusingly. "Elves are banned from the city - I'm getting the g-"

Teldryn never discovered if he was going to get the guards or the gourds, because Nazir's sword went through the back of the man's throat. The farmer gargled and choked, bright red blood making trails in the dirt like rainwater after a storm. He fell to the ground as Nazir silently closed the barn door. With friends like these, Jax, did you really need enemies?

He made sure Runa's head was still pressed into his chest before looking up at Nazir checking the man's pockets.

"Was all that really necessary?" Teldryn asked, his drawling accent accusatory.

Nazir shrugged and pocketed a gold purse.

"We couldn't have him remembering us later." He kicked the farmer's body into a dark corner of the barn. "Now," Nazir said, turning to them. Runa had finally calmed down. "Time to get out of here."

Chapter Text

Only when the frost started to numb his fingers did Ulfric realize he was alive.

Broken tree branches littered the ground of the forest. He grimaced at a particularly sharp-looking branch as he rose. Thank Kynareth for Feim Zii Gron. 'Become Ethereal' was the first shout Arngeir taught him the second time High Hrothgar became his home. Ulfric had thought it somewhat useless at the time - even after the Civil War, he preferred action to inaction. I owe the Greybeards more than I know.

Ulfric looked around while he brushed the dirt and grass off his cloak. No landmarks in sight; only miles of endless forest. The green was a welcome change from the years of near constant snow he had endured at the peak. From what little he had seen during the fall, Ulfric guessed he was on the southwestern side of the mountain, near Helgen and Fort Neugrad. Klovokun had thrown him far. Good. With the destination Ulfric had in mind, this was exactly the path he wanted to be on.

The Golden One. Merkoorzaam. Summer elf slave. The disturbing mantra repeated itself in Ulfric's head like a drumbeat from Oblivion. The two most powerful threats to Skyrim, dragons and the Thalmor, were now combined into a single horrifying menace. With this new information, Ulfric could think of only one place where he might find help: Sky Haven Temple, the headquarters of the Blades. The guild of dragon hunters was among those hit in the Thalmor attacks, according to Odahviing, but maybe there were some survivors yet. It was all he could hope for at this point.

The sun was partially obscured behind high branches, but he could make out its rough location. If the sun is rising in the east, and the mountain is behind me, then the road must be this way. Ulfric made his way through the trees, moving as quietly as possible. The empty leather scabbard thumped against his hip, a constant reminder of vulnerability. He felt naked without a sword by his side, and Ulfric lamented the loss of that sword especially. You'll get over it. A sword is a sword. Even if it was the sword that killed High King Torygg.

Even after all the years and all the blood spilled, Ulfric did not regret his infamous duel with the so-called High King. They'd both been nord men of equal opportunity. Ulfric hadn't been born Dragonborn, or blessed by the gods, or a vampire or werewolf. He simply used the powers he had, and they turned out to be stronger than any force Torygg could muster in defense. Skyrim's High King should be able to defend himself.

If a ruler can't defeat someone twice his age in a duel of arms, what hope did he have of saving his people from whatever dark power reared its head? That's why Torygg died in Solitude, and why Ulfric himself knelt down when the Dragonborn's greatsword was pressed against his neck at the end of the War. You showed more mercy than I, Jaxius Amaton. I hope you made the right decision, for both our sakes.

The dragon's words still nagged at him. "The Dovahkiin has fallen." What does that mean? Am I truly alone in this fight? Ulfric's contemplation was broken by the sight of a clearing past the treeline. He approached cautiously, on the lookout for any sign of life.

Ulfric almost chuckled when he saw the torn blue tents and withering banners decorating the clearing. The old Falkreath Stormcloak camp. He'd been here once before, after the dragon attack in Helgen. The equipment appeared weathered but intact. Apparently the camp's location had made it too obscure a target for the burning campaign inflicted on the other Stormcloak hideouts. He had only heard rumors of the horrible deaths the last of the Stormcloaks endured, but Ulfric's heart still wept for them.

Rest in Sovngarde, brothers. No one jumped out from behind a rock or swooped down from a tree when Ulfric walked into the camp. There are only ghosts here. There were no good weapons to be found, likely owing to scavengers, but he did find a rusty war mace under a collapsed tent. It was no king-killer, but it would have to do. King killers don't seem to last long in Skyrim, in any case.

Ulfric was looking for a path to the road when his eye caught on something out of place. A glint of polished metal among the decrepit remains of the camp. A warrior's shield. He approached it slowly, keeping an eye out. A dead campfire and a bedroll accompanied the strange artifact. The shield itself appeared to be well maintained. Classic Nordic designs adorned the front, but the craftsmanship looked odd to him. Where is your master, I wonder.

Ulfric's question was answered by an the point of an arrow pressing into the back of his neck.

"Do not move." A woman's voice, strong and with an interesting accent. His cumbersome mace swayed uselessly at his side.

"Be calm, sister." Ulfric said, hoping to appeal to her sense of Nord fellowship. The arrowpoint dug deeper into his neck. No fellowship, then.

"Turn around." she ordered, and the sharp pain left him. Ulfric slowly turned with his hands held up. The woman had the bow aimed at his forehead. She was blonde, muscular, and wore old fashioned Nordic rune armor. Twin war axes hung at her sides. Ulfric could almost imagine her as a Stormcloak general had she been around five years ago. I'll regret having to kill you.

"What were you doing with my shield, stranger?" she asked, the bow unwavering.

"I was passing through the camp," Ulfric replied calmly, "I saw that the shield appeared undamaged by time. It caught my attention."

The bow dropped, but he could tell she was still ready to put him down at a moment's notice. He wouldn't allow it, of course, and Ulfric would be prefer to not have to worry about the woman remembering him anyway. The Thalmor would begin their hunt soon enough. The less people that knew his path, the better. Forgive me, Arngeir. May this woman find happiness in Sovngarde. Ulfric let his arms fall to his sides. This would have to be quick.

Before he could draw in breath to shout, the woman spoke again.

"I am Frea of the Skaal." she said fiercely. "I search for the Dragonborn Jaxius Amaton." Ulfric breathed out, sighing. Why can things can never be simple. He couldn't cut down this woman without first finding out all she knew.

He extended his arm and they clasped forearms, exchanged a warrior's handshake. Ulfric noted her grip was strong. You may have proven a challenge after all, had it come to that. He knew the Skaal were a tribe of Nords living on Solstheim, but little more than that.

"I am Ulfric Stormcloak." he told her, but she showed no reaction to the name. The Skaal must be an isolated people. "I'm afraid I may have bad news for you."

Frea nodded wearily. This is a woman accustomed to ill luck. Frea picked up her shield and strapped it to her back. They sat down on tree trunks among the ruins of the tents, a welcoming softness in the morning frost.

"The Dragonborn's dwelling was attacked last night, along with several other locations across Skyrim," He told her. Frea sighed, looking down and shaking her head. "He is presumed to have been killed in battle."

She looked up, grief giving way to grim determination.

"The shaman told me something like this could occur. I will have to carry out my quest alone."

Ulfric huffed, leaning forward.

"Quest? Skyrim is not the best place to go on any quests in these times, Frea of the Skaal." He smiled tiredly. "Unless your quest is to kill Thalmor."

Frea raised an eyebrow.

"I do not know this word, Thal-Mor, but my goal is of the utmost importance." She regarded him like an adult speaking to an ignorant child. "The All-Maker himself set me to this task."

The All-Maker. I've not heard that one before. Maybe she refers to Akatosh? He'd left his own faith behind years ago. Ulfric had started a war over Talos, but his amulet to the Ninth Divine was buried with Galmar. He led his own destiny now.

"What's thisquest you are so eager to die on?" he asked her. Maybe our interests are aligned, island woman.

She didn't hesitate.

"The village shaman has seen the end of times coming, Ulfric." His name sounded odd coming out of her mouth. "The end is prophesied to start in this green land. I have come to defeat the monster that will begin the conclusion to our age."

The end of times. This must be a joke of some sort.

"I have bigger problems to worry about than foreign legends." Ulfric pulled his cloak tight around him and stood up. "I wish you luck on your adventure, Frea." He said dismissively, and then turned to find the path. I am losing daylight by the second.

"You can not run from fate, Ulfric Stormcloak," Frea called after him. "The Golden One will find us all in the final days."

He stopped in his tracks. The Golden One. Ulfric had lived too long to believe in coincidence. He turned back to Frea, his face hardened in resolve.

"I know of the creature you hunt."

Chapter Text

Teldryn Sero breathed a sigh of relief when the stone walls of Windhelm came into sight through the heavy snow. Never thought I'd be happy to see this damned cesspool of a city. He squeezed Runa's hand reassuringly, and her pace picked up a little. The girl had been slowing down since they passed Valtheim Towers. Rested feet are not often a luxury afforded to the hunted of this world, little one.

Their new ally walked beside them, unflinching despite the cold. Teldryn didn't trust a man who didn't shiver, wasn't natural, but his uneasiness regarding Nazir went deeper than that. The man was a killer. The truth of it was etched into his deceptively casual walk, his right hand always close to that scimitar, and most of all his eyes. Nazir's eyes were always watching, flickering this way and that, watching every corner and every rock and every tree, always ready for the unseen blade that would someday end him. Only a killer knows how easily one can join the ranks of the dead. This man bears watching.

"Let me speak if anyone stops us." Nazir told him as the group passed a farmstead. There were no people in sight, presumably due to the weather. Hopefully due to the weather.

"Fine," Teldryn replied. He was in no mood to argue, given the common attitude of Windhelm towards Dunmer. He had not been to the former Stormcloak headquarters since long before Jaxius found him in Raven Rock, but Teldryn doubted Brunwulf Free-Winter had undone decades of racism in the five years he had been Jarl. Hatred is a sickness not often curable.

"What is your plan exactly, when you get to Solstheim?" Nazir asked in that rolling voice of his, always tinted with a hint of mockery.

"My only plan," Teldryn said, "is to get the hell out of this doomed province before the Thalmor find us." Runa shuddered, and he squeezed her hand again. I will keep you safe, no matter what.

Nazir raised an eyebrow. "You must be joking if you think they will ever stop looking for you."

"What other choice do I have?" Teldryn replied sharply. "What do you suggest I do, personally hunt down every Thalmor in Skyrim and kill them myself?"

The Redguard chuckled. "As fun as that sounds, I have a different goal in mind. If we make it to Solstheim in one piece then I may share it with you." His eyes flickered to Runa. The message went through to Teldryn loud and clear: the girl needed to get somewhere safe before they tried anything. On that we can agree, n'wah.

The trio soon reached the stables and the bridge leading into the city. Teldryn noted the continued absence of any guards or citizens, and nervously glanced about. "I have a bad feeling about this," he murmured as they proceeded across the bridge.

"Yeah, I'm getting that too." Nazir replied. He let his hand drift down to his sword. Runa seemed unaware of their unease, looking curiously over the edge at the frozen waters of the bay.

Finally, a lone guard came into view, standing in front of the large iron doors leading into the city itself. He looked like the standard guard stereotype to Teldryn, although it was hard to tell under those helmets their kind often wore. The sellsword didn't like how their eyes were hidden; you never know what they might be up to.

"Halt," called out the guard as they approached, "no entry to the city except on official business."

Nazir stepped smoothly forward before Teldryn could speak. "I think you'll find everything in order," the Redguard said, handing the guard a piece of paper retrieved from some hidden pocket of his robes. The guard stared at it a moment. Teldryn guessed the shiver that went through the man's body was not entirely related to the weather. The guard looked up, as if registering them for the first time. He spoke shakily, "Yes, this looks fine. You can proceed into the city."

The iron doors swung open with an ice-breaking creak. Runa, Teldryn, and Nazir entered Windhelm, the latter two looking around for anything out of the ordinary. The city itself seemed to be bustling despite the inactivity they observed outside. Traders and citizens alike bustled through the snow-covered streets, and the homeless begged on the corners. Teldryn had seen many cities in his life, but they were all basically the same. There was only so much difference between people.

"It would be better if you two waited here while I booked a ship." Nazir suggested. They trudged through the snow to sit on the porch of Candlehearth Hall, the burning braziers providing a welcome respite from the cold.

"Just make it quick." Teldryn replied, eager to leave Windhelm before trouble found them. Nazir melted away into the crowds, disappearing completely from view within an instant. Damned assassin. The sellsword had no doubt at this point their Redguard companion was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. The red and black robes, the way he could slip away just like that, the fear he inspired in common men. Teldryn had read about the Dark Brotherhood long ago, back when he had considered joining the Morag Tong. In the end he had decided he could make better money on his own, without the enemies of the guild on his back.

If Nazir was Brotherhood, and he was helping Jax, Teldryn knew what that meant. Dark Brotherhood assassins do not have friends outside of their order. The thought of the great Dragonborn being a master assassin was troubling to say the least. Teldryn did not care about how many people Jaxius had killed, or if he served the Dread Lord Sithis. What burned Teldryn Sero most of all was he didn't know about it sooner. They were partners for five years. How could someone miss the fact their partner was a Dark Brotherhood assassin?

"Teldryn, could we get some food?" Runa broke him out of his thoughts. The girl still had pain in her eyes, but the sellsword was satisfied to see some warmth was returning. Life was too short to mourn Jaxius forever.

"Of course, sera," Teldryn said, "Let's see what we can find to eat in this filthy city." He took her hand and they walked to the marketplace, breaking through the crowds of shoppers and loiterers that seemed to inhabit every corner of the streets. Runa pointed to a particularly less-decrepit food stall and they made their way to it. The racks of tender meat sizzling over magefire made even Teldryn's stomach rumble.

"We'll take two of whatever those are." Teldryn raised his voice so the cook could hear him over the bustle of the city. He threw some of Nazir's coins to the man, and they found a nice bench to sit on and enjoy their meal.

"Shouldn't we have got one for Nazir?" Runa asked between bites, ripping into the meat like a slaughterfish stripping it's prey. Teldryn removed his helmet and followed her lead. I have to admit, the Nords are good at some things.

"Who says Nazir needs to know about this?" Teldryn replied, smirking at the girl. Runa laughed and he felt happiness for the first time since the incident. It has been too long since I've heard that laugh.

He was about to take another bite of the meat when he felt a hand fall on his chitin-covered shoulder. "Runa, what is-"

"You are Teldryn Sero?" barked a voice behind him, high and accusatory. The hand on his shoulder was golden skinned, and that meant they were caught. The voice continued droning on, but Teldryn had already stopped listening. You were dead the moment you put your hand down, sera.

He moved fast. One second, the Altmer was tightening his grip on Teldryn's shoulder, and the next, the High Elf's golden skin was burning and his face was melting and the haughty demands had given way to bloodcurdling screams. Teldryn was running, Runa thrown over his shoulder once again for convenience's sake. The marketplace was in a frenzy as the Altmer struggled to die, and they fell in with the other fleeing patrons. Teldryn's eyes flew everywhere even as they sped down the streets, searching for the golden armored blurs that would mean their certain death.

But they were lucky. Teldryn saw no more Thalmor before he collapsed into the Cornerclub, Runa falling off his shoulder as he panted on his hands and knees. The Dunmer in the bar rose to help, perhaps recognizing the armor of Morrowind Teldryn wore. Damned armor has to be good for something.

Someone pushed a glass of wine into Teldryn's hand, and he drank gratefully. He somehow found himself at a table, with Runa sitting beside him. The bar returned to normal, as if two strangers had not just fallen through the front door. Must happen a lot, I suppose. Ambarys Rendar, the owner of the New Gnisis Cornerclub, approached them.

"Nord trouble?" He asked, in a tone suggesting this type of situation occurred routinely.

Teldryn chuckled dryly. "More of an Altmer problem." He finished off the cup of wine.

A dark shadow passed over Ambarys's face. "A small group of them arrived yesterday." He said quietly, so the other bar patrons could not hear. "They went straight into the Palace, from what I heard."

Then it is worse than I thought. If the Thalmor controlled Windhelm, there was no way they were getting a ship to Solstheim, especially now that the Dominion was actively hunting them.

"Thanks for the news, Ambarys." Teldryn said, and slipped him a couple of Nazir's coins. The barkeep left them, and Teldryn turned to Runa.

The girl looked weary more than anything. The Dunmer mercenary could see the past few days were weighing heavily on her. "How are you doing, Runa Fair-Shield?" He asked with a tired smile. She did not return it.

"I wish my Pa was here, Teldryn." She said, blinking away sleep. Teldryn forgot they had been walking all day, and that he travelled with a girl of thirteen years, not Jaxius Amaton the Dragonborn. She is exhausted, you inconsiderate fetcher.

He waved Ambarys over. "Do you have any rooms?" Teldryn asked, suspecting they would be stuck here for the night at the very least. The Thalmor would tear the city apart looking for them, now that he had immolated one of their own.

Ambarys replied, "I only have one room left, and it's small."

"That will do nicely." Teldryn replied, counting out ten of Nazir's coins on the table. He pushed them into Ambarys's hands and then they were led up the stairs to the third level. Ambarys opened the door to what Teldryn could only describe as a large closet. Ten gold for this? We would be better off paying the horses to sleep in their stables. He held his tongue, though. Now was no time to be mouthing off.

"Tell me if you need anything." Ambarys said, and walked out of sight. Runa curled up on one of the cots in the corner. Teldryn soon heard the soft in and out of breath as the girl fell into sleep. It was as soothing to him as the scent of Lakeview Manor after a hard day adventuring. I must not forget that smell.

After a careful check of the room for anything out of the ordinary, the sellsword fell on to the cot opposite Runa. The cot was not the most comfortable thing he had ever slept on, but it was better than nothing. Sleep still eluded him, though. Thoughts of Thalmor busting open the door plagued his mind. The Altmer in the market had caught him off guard.

If the fool hadn't prattled on for a minute before being set ablaze, he could have slit Teldryn's neck in an instant. Bastard made me lose my helmet. He could imagine the chitin headpiece, sitting discarded in the empty market. Grendis Rolovo, the finest armorsmith in all of Morrowind, had specially crafted the full chitin armor set for Teldryn. Now he was losing it, one piece at a time.

Forget your helmet, s'wit. You've got people to protect. Teldryn could only hope Nazir was aware of the Thalmor in the city. If they grabbed the assassin, and he told the Dominion about a certain two travelling companions he had met, they could be in for a rude awakening.

Runa murmured something in her sleep. Teldryn sighed deeply, closed his eyes, and fell into oblivion.

Chapter Text

High Queen Elisif proceeded down the streets of Solitude like an angry lioness on a rampage. Her personal housecarl, Bolgeir Bearclaw, escorted her along with a compliment of elite Solitude guards. The morning sun cast a serene light over the streets, but nothing could deter Elisif's wrath.

"I'm sure there is some explanation for these rumors." Bolgeir said, perhaps in an attempt to convince her to return to the Blue Palace. Not this time, Bolgeir. She had bowed to them for five years, entertaining their sadistic whims, pretending to be the slow-witted airhead they thought she was. No longer. No longer would Skyrim bleed for elves that cared nothing for it and an Empire that had abandoned it.

"I'm done with their explanations." She replied, giving no ground. "They are going to leave my city or I will remove them from it." Her housecarl nodded gravely and said no more.

At Bolgeir's beckoning, guards on the streets joined the entourage as it moved down the wealthy district. Elisif wanted as many men as she could muster. Whether the Empire would stand with Solitude was yet to be seen, and she didn't want the Imperial garrison stationed here getting in her way. No one has to die, if everything goes well. Some part of her knew it would not go well, that it could not go well.

"Aldis and his men will oppose this," Bolgeir warned, as if reading her mind.

The Queen could barely think over the sound of the small army forming behind them, the practiced march of trained soldiers falling into the routines they knew so well. Aldis. The ranking Imperial left in Solitude had been courteous enough to her in the monthly city meetings. Elisif prayed to the Eight the day would not end with his corpse in a pile of bodies.

There may not be any other way, she feared. Not with the news they had received only hours ago, that could not possibly be true but for the fact that smoke trails had been spotted coming from the north. Jax's estate in flames. Balgruuf assassinated. Dragons sighted attacking settlements, after five years of only brief and uneventful appearances. And behind all of it, the reports of golden-armored elven strike teams perpetrating the crimes. That news frightened Elisif most of all. If the Thalmor were done fighting in the shadows, if they were openly assaulting Skyrim at long last, no amount of guards would be able to protect the frozen land.

The shadow of Castle Dour fell on the forming contingent. No Imperial soldiers manned the walls; Elisif assumed they were running to Aldis for orders on this situation. Citizens watched grimly from stone porches as the High Queen and her men moved past. She was reminded of Torygg's funeral ceremony, so long ago, when she had walked down this same street, tears running down her face. Back then Elisif had been adorned in black, but now she was wearing red, and swore her husband did not die in vain. Back then I was weak, but we can not afford hesitance now.

Finally, they arrived at the portcullis into the Castle courtyard. The gate was open, and they entered without fanfare. Aldis and his men stood assembled in front of the archery targets. The Imperials numbered at least thirty, but twice as many Solitude men stood behind her. You cannot win this, Aldis. "Have the men spread out and surround the Imperials." She ordered Bolgeir. He paused for a long moment before moving, but then began to yell out orders to the guards.

Aldis approached her, arms raised in peace. Her elite guards formed a circle around her, but she motioned them aside.

"What are you doing, Elisif?" Aldis asked, his expression one of weary resignation. He knows what has to happen. This would be so much easier if he was angry.

"I assume you've heard the news," She replied solemnly. "The Thalmor have overstepped their bounds for the last time."

"I can not conduct military operations based on fresh rumours." Aldis said, glancing around the courtyard. The Solitude force had now completely encircled his Imperials. "And I would think you better than to listen to said rumours."

Her patience wore thin. "I have verified reports of Thalmor agents openly conducting attacks against Skyrim's people." Bolgeir rejoined her side, hand rested on his sword hilt.

The Imperial Legate sighed. "I know about your reports, but my standing orders are to protect the Aldmeri Dominion based in Skyrim. Until those orders change, I can not let you hurt the elves."

The old Elisif, the one that did whatever Tullius told her and always deferred to her advisers, would have meekly returned to the Blue Palace by now. The Imperials know what they are doing, she would have said. No longer would she let her life be dictated by other people. Movement from behind Aldis distracted her. Above the courtyard, the door to the Thalmor Headquarters was opening. A lone Altmer moved to watch them over the balcony. She could not see the expression on the elf's face, but she suspected it was a smile.

Elisif met Aldis's eyes. She saw acceptance, and a deep sadness. "I'm sorry it has come to this, Aldis."

"It has been an honor to work with you, High Queen Elisif." Aldis gave her one last regretful look and then returned to his men, clasping forearms with each of them in turn. She could only imagine what he was saying to them. How do you justify dying for a group as horrible as the Thalmor? What kind of cause was that?

Bolgeir spoke beside her, "I think it would be best if you waited outside the courtyard, my lady." Around them, the Solitude guards unsheathed their swords and drew their bows, preparing for battle. Even with two-to-one odds, it would be a tough fight. The Empire did not defeat the Stormcloaks by guarding cities all day.

"No," Elisif said, "I want to see the men I put to death." Bolgeir drew his steel longsword, the rasp of metal cutting through the morning calm like a knife through butter. She saw Aldis reciprocate the gesture across the courtyard, standing vigil in front of his men. Her elite guards coalesced into a protective formation around her.

"Men of Solitude!" She yelled out, "I order you to arrest and evict all Thalmor agents active in the city." Elisif felt her heart trying to beat out of her chest. "Do not let anyone get in the way of justice."

The Imperials stood in front of the courtyard's stairs, preventing them from walking up to the Thalmor Headquarters. Let's get it over with, then. She saw her lead guardsman meet her eyes, as if asking for final permission, and Elisif nodded. There is no going back now.

Her men surged forward, attacking the Empire's soldiers from all sides. The sound of steel on steel deafened her, and the screaming that followed tore her heart into ribbons. This is exactly what they want. The Imperials were more skilled, but hopelessly outnumbered. Arrows flew into the red-armored division from all angles while the guards struck relentlessly with waves of swords.

Small rivers of blood ran down the cobblestone and beneath Elisif's regal shoes. Her guards shifted around her, constantly on the lookout for unseen threats. Bolgeir swiftly executed any Imperial who made it past the guards, lest they escape and call for reinforcements. The Altmer that had been watching them had vanished back into the Headquarters.

The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. The last few Imperials dropped their swords in surrender. Elisif noted sadly Aldis was not among them. "Take these men to the dungeons," she ordered, and the prisoners were taken away. The High Queen saw there were few injured as she walked through the bodies. There were mostly dead, or not dead. There are no winners in this fight.

"My Queen," Bolgeir called out. She found him kneeling over Aldis's body, the Legate pierced with multiple arrows. "He fought well."

"Yes he did, my friend." Elisif replied sadly. She knelt down and closed the Legate's eyes with a steady hand. "He was a Nord. I want him buried in the city graveyard, in a place of honor." The bodies of the dead were moved aside for now, placed in respectful formation in the center of the courtyard. There would be time to mourn later. Those men did not die for nothing.

The remaining soldiers of Solitude marched up the stairs to the Thalmor Headquarters, with Elisif and Bolgeir at the lead. She wanted to see the expression on their faces when she banished them from her city. They should be grateful I don't execute them for their crimes.

Bolgeir took down the door with a well-aimed shoulder charge, and then they were inside.

Elisif stepped into the Headquarters and screamed. Oh, gods. Her guards streamed into the room around her, but she was frozen in shock. The headquarters was bare but for one table, with Thane Erikur's decapitated head decorating the center. His eyes were glazed over, as if he had seen his death coming at the last second.

Her personal guard took point, their eyes scanning for hostiles. Guardsmen filled the room with swords drawn, eager to spill elven blood after their hollow victory against old friends. Elisif pushed them away, desperate to escape the room and Erikur's horrified eyes. She collapsed against a wall, sliding down to hold her head in her hands.

Bolgeir quietly slid down beside her, squeezing her hand in comfort.

"They've likely gone to the Embassy," he tried to reassure her, "we can have a hundred men there in an hour."

His words should have brought her happiness, but Elisif knew their chance at justice had come and gone. Solitude was their city, and it was the only place they could have defeated the Thalmor.

"No." she replied softly, "it's too late for that. Have the men tend to their wounded and then I want them all manning the walls." She sighed in regret. "I want to hold a city council meeting. Summon the Thanes and inform the Chief Guardsmen."

Bolgeir hesitated before replying, a rare display from the bold Nord. "Speaking of Thanes, my Queen...Thane Erikur disappeared from the Blue Palace shortly after we departed. He must have come here to warn the Thalmor we were coming."

She expected to be angry at the news, but felt only a hollow grief. Erikur had been a slimy man and a selfish advisor, but no one deserves to die like that. To have your life and death mean nothing in the end was punishment enough. Rest in peace, Erikur.

She rose with Bolgeir at her side, and moved to lean over the stone balcony. Below her, carts were being filled with the dead. What did they die for, I wonder. With Aldis lying in his grave, it was only a question of whether the Empire or the Thalmor would show up at their front gate first. Since Titus Mede's death, the Empire had been painfully lethargic, but she doubted they would ignore the actions she had taken today. Skyrim could end up like Elsweyr and Valenwood, abandoned by the Empire that had sworn to protect them. And the Draggonborn was rumoured dead...what hope did they have without him? If dragons had resumed their attacks, only he could stand against them.

Elisif remembered when the Dragonborn had delivered Ulfric Stormcloak's bloodstained war axe to her personal chambers. Jaxius Amaton had brought an end to the Civil War, but he had also avenged her husband's murder at the hands of that horrible man.

Oh Jax, what am I going to do without you. She could almost see his face, not grey like some lesser people would claim, but a peaceful ashen blue. It was hard to believe she would never see that face again. She could feel tears coming, but willed them away with no small effort. Elisif had done enough crying when the courier first delivered his news, and then again when she saw the smoke over Falkreath. I must be strong now, for Solitude.

"Queen Elisif," the leader of her elite guard, Jarmak, approached them slowly from the open door of the Headquarters, as if struggling to process something. There was a distant shock in his voice. "We found this in his mouth." He handed Elisif a damp piece of parchment, and then walked off shaking his head.

Elisif read the paper, horrified.

Dear Elisif of Solitude,

I am the newly appointed Thalmor Emissary in charge of eliminating Skyrim as a threat to the Dominion. I was the one who cut off Thane Erikur's greedy little head, and more importantly I was the one who orchestrated the death of the Dragonborn.

I know you are smarter than my colleagues give you credit for. The reason Jaxius Amaton's ashes fertilize my flower pots rather than someone else's is because I do not underestimate my opponents.

This is my job, and I do it well. I advise you not to surrender to the Empire or the Dominion. My work does not often present challenges, and I grow bored in my middle age. The challenge you represent is a unique opportunity for both of us to enjoy ourselves.

Before I go, let me make you a promise. I vow to you we will meet in person before this is all over. You will not see me in the golden army that will come to your city, as I work best in the shadows. Worry not, though, Elisif the Fair. I am sure we can arrange something soon.

It could even come to pass you will prove a greater challenge than your dead lover. That would be an interesting development indeed.

With love,

Emissary Stoker

Chapter Text

Ulfric crept over the rocky ledge overseeing the town. Frea shifted beside him, surprisingly stealthy for a tribal warrior. He still only had a rusty mace for a weapon, but it would have to do.

"What is this place?" Frea asked, looking down on the ruins of Helgen like a child observing some great wonder. Ulfric had picked up on her naivete quickly since their first meeting several hours ago, and planned to exploit it if necessary. Now, however, was not the time.

"It was an old Imperial outpost settlement," Ulfric murmured to her, "destroyed when the dragons returned half a decade ago." He deliberately left out the fact that he had been present during said destruction. The less Frea knew about him, the better. Ulfric had a feeling she wouldn't respond well to the news that her friend the Dragonborn had banished him to the top of a mountain.

"It appears that reavers have made a home of your settlement." Frea whispered, pointing down to a group of men emerging from the main tower. Ulfric could see they were bandits from his first glance, the ragged armor and makeshift weapons a dead giveaway. It's about time I sharpened my martial skills.

"We will have to deal with them if we're to sleep here for the night." Ulfric said, and motioned for Frea to follow him down the cliffside. They slid down in measured bursts, careful not to make too much noise.

They crouched around an opening in the stone wall, perhaps created by Alduin's attack or a side effect of time. No matter. Whatever created the hole, it was their way into Helgen. Ulfric held up a hand to stop Frea before they entered.

"I saw ten men going into the keep." he said, "and there are probably three or four still in the tower. We'll take the tower together first." His deep voice brokered no room for argument. Frea nodded and they entered the town of Helgen, one of them for the first time.

The pair approached the tower on opposite sides, catching the sentry off guard. Frea buried her axe into the man's neck, silencing him before he could cry out. Now comes the hard part. They rushed into the tower, Frea sprinting at two men sitting by a fire while Ulfric ran up the stairs. He heard the clash of steel beneath him and wished the Skaal good luck, and then he was at the top of the steps. The sounds of the night sky filled Ulfric's ears as he turned to meet the lone warrior who stood vigil.

The bandit wore dwarven armor, and a pair of swords adorned his hips. Perhaps a true challenge for a change. Ulfric drew his mace, the heavy weight an unfamiliar sensation. His opponent reciprocated, twirling his swords skillfully as they circled each other.

"Can you fight, or are those swords just for your circus routine?" Ulfric taunted, feeling his old battlefield adrenaline returning. His last fight had ended with the collapse of the Stormcloak rebellion. He didn't figure this one could go any worse.

The bandit lunged, his twin swords flying towards Ulfric. He barely managed to dodge, pushing the bandit away with his shoulder and delivering a heavy blow with his mace. The bandit caught the attack between his blades, deflecting it easily.

They circled each other again, watching and waiting for the chance to strike. Ulfric could still hear the sounds of battle down the stairs, where Frea was still fighting.

Ulfric took the offensive this time, swinging his mace at the bandit's ribs. The vagabond dodged away, swinging one sword down at Ulfric's exposed wrist. The old rebel deftly twisted his body, grabbing the bandit's arm and pulling it backwards with all his strength.

He heard bones break and the bandit screamed, his left sword clattering away. Ulfric brought his mace down on the back of the bandit's neck, sending the man sprawling to the ground. All too easy.

The bandit clinged to life, his body twitching in the glow of the moon. Ulfric kicked the man's helmet off, grimly noting that it was a Nord he was sending to the afterlife. I thought I was done killing my brothers when the Dragonborn sent me to High Hrothgar.

"Wait!" the bandit yelled as Ulfric drew his mace back. A frantic realization filled the raider's bloodshot eyes. "Ulfric, Ulfric, I fought with you!"

Ulfric let the mace drop to his side, his resolve hardened. The man's back was surely broken, and he could not have Frea discover his true identity.

"I'm sorry, brother." he told the man, the sound of Frea ascending the tower steps reaching his ears.

"No, please!" the man pleaded, blood running from his ears. "I was a Stormc-" The bandit spoke no more when Ulfric's mace impacted with his skull, killing him instantly. Frea appeared at the top of the steps a moment later, her armor covered in blood.

"You're unharmed?" Ulfric asked. Frea glanced at the bandit's corpse, her facial expression betraying nothing. "I am fine," she replied, "and the reavers downstairs live no more."

"Well done." Ulfric commended her. He tossed the rusty mace aside and picked up one of the dead bandit's swords. "Now we just have to deal with the ones inside the keep."

They reached the keep doors without further incident, and crept inside without anyone noticing them. Ulfric could see four men sitting at a table in the next room, and the sound of voices down the stairs to the dungeon.

"Now." Ulfric murmured to Frea, and they ran into the next room. The men at the table barely had time to open their mouths before they were dead, Ulfric's sword and Frea's axes making short work of them.

"You are a skilled warrior," Frea commented, wiping blood off her axe while they caught their breath. "I'm glad to be fighting beside you."

Ulfric chuckled, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're not bad yourself, Skaal girl." Frea smiled at him and Ulfric felt a shiver of guilt go through his stomach. I regret that I have to deceive you.

"Let's deal with the rest of this scum." Ulfric suggested, and they made their way downstairs to the dungeon. The bandits down here must have heard the fight upstairs, as they fell on the pair with swords drawn. Ulfric grunted when one of the blades sliced through his cloak, narrowly missing an arm. Frea caught one of the swords with her gauntlet and sent it clattering away, it's owner soon meeting the business end of her axe. Ulfric caught the other bandit in the back of the knee, and then the throat, quickly ending his life.

The last bandit crouched cowering behind a table of potions, his sword discarded. Ulfric shook his head in disappointment before swiftly decapitating the man.

"There is no place in Skyrim for cowards." He muttered, now searching the counters for extra food and herbs. They would need more supplies if they were to make it to Sky Haven Temple without stopping anywhere.

"The fearful in this world would do better to hide in their homes. A life of banditry is one of danger and risk." Frea replied while tossing potatoes into her pack.

Soon after, they were sat around a hearth, the bandit's rabbits cooking steadily on a spit. Frea removed her cumbersome armor and instead wore some normal clothes they found in an old dresser, from when Helgen Keep was still inhabited.

"I have never been this far south." Frea admitted, wiping sweat from her eyes. "Your Skyrim is a very warm place."

Ulfric laughed, slowly turning the spit as they sat relaxing. "I suspect that you're the first one to say so, Frea."

He leaned back, the pains of the day leaving his shoulders. "How did you come to know the Dragonborn?" He asked, deceptively casual.

Frea sighed, her tone taking a reflective turn. "I helped him to defeat a great evil that was afflicting all of Solstheim. The Dragonborn was victorious, but at great cost to the Skaal."

It seems that Amaton was more busy than even I realized. "And what cost would that be?" Ulfric prodded.

The Skaal's eyes fell, an old sorrow returning to her. "My father, Storn, was murdered by the very darkness that threatened our land."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Ulfric replied sincerely, "It's often the greatest of men that are taken from us in times of struggle."

"Thank you for your words." Frea slid a rabbit haunch off the spit and bit into it. "And what of you, Ulfric Stormcloak?" Her eyes flickered to him. "Did you ever encounter the Dragonborn in your travels?"

He washed some rabbit down with a swig of water. "I was not so fortunate, no. I've only heard the stories and drinking songs." Frea seemed to accept that, making no more conversation until she rolled over to fall asleep.

Ulfric picked his teeth with a rabbit bone, the flickering embers of the fire sending dark shadows over the stone chamber walls. He thought of his first meeting with Jaxius Amaton, and how easy it would have been to cut the Dragonborn's throat had he known what was coming. Galmar would still be alive, for one. Without Jaxius to lead them, the Imperial Legion would have been unable to stop the Stormcloak Rebellion. Ulfric would be High King, instead of a tired old man on the run.

Not that it mattered now anyway. The Dominion was openly attacking Skyrim, and without an Emperor to lead it, the Empire would do nothing to help them. If Ulfric knew it would come to this when the Dragonborn's greatsword was at his neck, he would have chosen to die then. Better to go to Sovngarde with your spirit strong than linger around like a restless ghost. That's all I am, just a draugr waiting for someone to stick a sword through my belly.

He recalled the ascension to High Hrothgar with the Dragonborn. Ulfric had worn a hood around his neck until they were out of Ivarstead, so that no one could know the Rebel King yet lived. Jax tore it off when they were out of view, stuffing it into some hidden pocket.

"Why let me live and then make everyone think I'm dead?" Ulfric had asked, bitter in his defeat and confused at the Dragonborn's mercy.

Jaxius gave him a contemptuous glance. "I want to keep you around in case the Stormcloaks decide to take up swords against Skyrim ever again." The setting sun reflected off of the Dragonborn's greatsword. "The sight of their great leader reduced to an aged monk is a more powerful deterrent than any threat I can make."

The kin of dragons was more right than he could know. Ulfric saw it in that tower bandit's eyes, moments before the mace fell. The man had once taken the Stormcloak name as a title of honor, and now their leader was a greying defeat. Jaxius Amaton had destroyed the Stormcloak ideal by letting him live in disgrace, and no amount of Arngeir's teachings could turn Ulfric back to what he was before. All he could do now was try and save what was left of his homeland before Skyrim was forever lost.

Chapter Text

Teldryn was jolted awake when he felt a hand clamp around his mouth. Nazir straddled him, the assassin's knees pinning down Teldryn's arms. The room was pitch dark, but Teldryn knew it could be no one else. So this is how I die, between the legs of a half-rate cutthroat.

"I see you've been busy, my friend." Nazir whispered to him, his white smile nearly shining in the darkness. "That kill in the market was Brotherhood-quality work."

The assassin must have seen the realization hit Teldryn's eyes. "Oh yes, I know that you know what I am. You haven't stopped looking at me like I'm going to murder you in your sleep since we entered this fair town."

He could hear Runa snoring softly beside them. Jax, I've failed you. Teldryn prayed the murderer would be merciful enough to spare the daughter of the Dragonborn, at the very least.

"Fortunately for you, though," Nazir continued, "I am not in the business of killing people who are friends with my friends." The hand left Teldryn's mouth, and he felt the pressure on his arms depart as Nazir rose to his feet.

"You ever do something like that again, I won't be the one getting murdered in my sleep, fetcher." Teldryn growled, pushing himself up and letting a hand drop to the sword at his side.

Nazir grinned. "Sure, sure, I look forward to it." His eyes flickered to Runa. "For now, we need to say goodbye to this wretchedly cold city."

Teldryn crouched down to shake Runa awake, cursing the assassin under his breath.

"Teldryn?" Runa mumbled, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "What's goin' on?"

"We have to leave Windhelm, Runa." Teldryn told her. "The Thalmor will have closed the docks. Solstheim is no longer an option for us."

"Good." Runa replied firmly, kicking her covers off. "I didn't want to run anyway."

Before the dust could settle again, they were out of the Cornerclub and into the midnight darkness. Teldryn left five more of Nazir's coins on the bar counter for Ambarys. Such a generous fellow, that Nazir.

"We can slip out of the city using the dock entrance," Nazir whispered as the trio crept down the silent Grey Quarter streets. "One of my business partners left a rowboat for us to cross the bay."

"Business partner?" Teldryn chuckled harshly, ducking around a corner. "I wasn't aware assassins were quite so sociable."

"You'd be surprised." Nazir held up a hand to stop them from turning the next corner. "Wait, the dock gate is up ahead." The killer disappeared into the night.

Runa shivered under Teldryn's arm. "How did Pa know a man like Nazir, Teldryn?" she asked quietly.

I'm not ready to have this conversation. "Your father interacted with many unique types of individuals, sweetheart." He deflected. "I mean, look at me."

"That's not the same at all." Her grip on his arm tightened. "The way Nazir killed that farmer...it's like he's not even a real person."

I'm glad we can agree on that. "You just stay close to me, sera." Teldryn ran a hand through her golden hair. "Nazir is our only friend in the world right now."

Before Runa could reply, Nazir materialized from the darkness like a slaughterfish from the surf. Bright red blood covered his hands, and the dagger strapped to his chest dripped with gore.

"Sorry for the delay." The assassin motioned for them to follow. "The guard was a real bleeder."

To her credit, Runa didn't make a noise as they moved past the massacred guardsmen and through the dock gate. I suspect she may see worse before this is over.

The wooden boards of the dock steps creaked dangerously under Teldryn's feet. "I hope you are certain about us being alone out here." He murmured to Nazir, eyes flickering left and right. "The last thing I want for breakfast is an arrow in my back."

"We're alone." Nazir replied, barely audible over the gentle burble of water against the dock. "But...something isn't right."

Tribunal preserve me. On the other side of the dock, Teldryn heard the sounds of movement. Something big was heading their way.

"Move!" He pushed past Nazir, Runa already in his arms. He could see a rowboat tied to the end of the dock, so close and yet so far away. The salty air stung his eyes and burned his lungs. Nazir ran beside them, breathing heavily.

"Teldryn!" Runa screamed, catching sight of whatever chased them. "You gotta run faster!"

A second later they fell into the rowboat, Nazir's sword quickly separating them from the dock. They pushed off, putting precious distance between themselves and their pursuer.

Calm moonlight hit the docks, and Teldryn saw the monster for the first time. "Oblivion take me…" he murmured, not believing his eyes. Where they had stood only moments before towered the most immense Argonian he had ever seen. Ivy scales like plate armor covered the colossal beast, and a steel warhammer the size of their rowboat crossed it's back.

"Focus!" Nazir yelled at him, and Teldryn began rowing in earnest. All three of them were rowing now, so eager to be away from the monstrosity.

And yet when Teldryn looked up at the docks again, the Argonian had vanished.

"Where did it go?" Nazir spoke the question on Teldryn's mind, and for the first time since they met Teldryn saw fear in the assassin's eyes. If he's afraid, we're doomed.

The sellsword's mind raced. If the beast had gone to alert the Thalmor, they had only moments before golden arrows would be raining down. He twisted to Runa to tell her to take cover under the gunwale, and saw a horrified realization coming to pass.

"It's in the water, Teldryn." The girl began to shake in fear, her oars clattering against the side of the boat.

Of course it is. Teldryn cast a fireball back towards the docks, illuminating the water as it went. An enormous green shape was gaining on them, and fast.

Their rowing seemed impossibly fast now, and yet he knew it still wouldn't be enough. Argonians were known for being very proficient at one specific skill. "Any ideas, Brotherhood?" Teldryn asked Nazir, half-joking as sweat ran into his eyes. Nazir shook his head and replied, "I'm out of tricks. It looks like we're going to have quite the fight on our hands."

"It won't be a fight," Teldryn snarled back, "and I don't want to end up dinner for some dragon's half-brother." You have to think, Teldryn. Jaxius put Runa's life in your hands. The clanking of bottles broke his concentration. Wait a second…

"Runa, are there any bottles under the gunwale?" He could hear the girl rummage around, and then emerge with a case of firebrand whiskey. That may be our way out of this.

Teldryn twisted his body and shot another fireball towards the docks. A sapphire behemoth briefly flashed into view. The Argonian was getting closer, so close Teldryn could hear the smooth ripple of water as it swam.

"Nazir." He said quietly. "Sooner or later our green friend is going to resurface. When he does, I need you to throw that case of whiskey at him."

The sellsword and the assassin met eyes. "If you happen to miss," Teldryn continued, "we will all regret it for the rest of our very shortened lives."

Nazir nodded, his countenance serious for a change. Runa shifted the case of whiskey into his lap and took cover under the gunwale. The repetitive beat of the rows and the whistling of the wind faded from Teldryn's mind, and then he could only hear the flow of water behind them. The Argonian was almost upon them.

The bay water erupted, and everything seemed to happen in slow motion. Teldryn saw the beast, impossibly huge against the moonlight, soaring towards the boat. The wine case smashed against its chest, filling the air with the smell of cheap booze. Teldryn drew his arm back and shot the fireball, knowing this could be his last moment alive.

A savage roaring burst Teldryn's eardrums, and a colossal fireball briefly rendered him blind. The burning Argonian fell to the side of the rowboat, splashing them with a wave of freezing water.

"Row!" Nazir yelled at Teldryn, breaking him out of his stupor. "I don't want to stick around to see if that bastard's got any fight left." The sellsword complied, his eyes never leaving the water behind them. I have a feeling that isn't the last we will see of that beast.

They all piled out when the rowboat hit the shore, eager to be back on dry land. Teldryn watched the bay waters while Nazir pulled their packs off of the boat. Runa shivered in the midnight cold, and Teldryn pulled her into his arms protectively. We couldn't have taken refuge in a warm city, for a change.

"What in Oblivion are you doing?" Teldryn demanded to know, watching as Nazir pushed the rowboat back off the shore. The bay current soon took hold, pulling the vessel back into the dark waters.

"Old sailor's trick," Nazir replied, pulling a pack over his shoulder, "don't want the Thalmor to know where we decided to land."

The shifty Redguard took point, waving for them to follow. "We're going to have to make camp in the woods for tonight. The roads aren't exactly safe anymore, and I want to be as far away from that Argonian as possible."

"Any clue where that monstrosity came from?" Teldryn asked, following closely with Runa. He suspected Nazir knew more about their pursuer than he was letting on.

"I might have an idea, but I hope I'm wrong about it." Nazir pushed some branches aside, letting them enter the forest before him. The trio walked into the darkness, out of sight and hopefully out of danger.

"Why don't you share with the rest of us?" Teldryn suggested, tiring of Nazir's constant wordplay. This little adventure is going to end with one of us at the end of a blade.

"My idea sort of ties in with the plan I wanted to share with you when we reached Solstheim."

Nazir paused for a moment, looking around the trees before continuing on. "I think our large lizard friend might be working for the new Thalmor Emissary in Skyrim."

"This is presumably the same Emissary who decided Lakeview Manor would look better as a scorched crater?" Teldryn asked, connecting the dots.

Nazir smiled tightly as he dodged a low tree branch. "Now you're catching on. We've been hearing talk this new guy has a special enforcer, someone who can quickly get things done without asking any questions."

Teldryn picked Runa up to step over a large log blocking their way. "I don't know about getting things done, but he certainly wasn't asking any questions."

"Here." Nazir said, when they came across a reasonably large clearing between the trees. "The surrounding forest should block anyone from seeing our campfire's smoke trail."

"I don't relish my return to sleeping outside." Teldryn threw their packs down, collapsing on the forest ground. "Runa, be a dear and go collect wood. Uncle Teldryn is very tired."

"How the mighty have fallen." Nazir teased, taking a seat on a rock. The assassin's eyes followed Runa as she gathered wood into a pile.

"Any plans for where we are going now?" Teldryn asked, half-hoping Nazir wouldn't answer. If he is taking us where I think he is taking us, I won't be able to hide what Jaxius was from Runa any longer.

Nazir smiled, that damned smirk of his endlessly mocking. "Ah, yes. I think we have reason enough now to go to Dawnstar." The sellsword sighed, turning over so he wouldn't have to look at the damned killer. "Cheer up, Teldryn Sero. Sanctuary awaits."

Chapter Text

In Elisif's memories, Jaxius Amaton was alive, and he was holding her in his arms.

"I don't want to get up today." she murmured, pulling the covers tight around them. "They can run the city themselves for a day, surely."

The Dragonborn's hand rubbed her shoulder, warm and comforting. "I've had that same conversation with myself many times," he confessed. "Although I'm not sure there's anyone who could kill dragons for me."

Elisif laughed, pulling Jax closer and rubbing her nose against his scratchy beard. "Maybe we can trade," she suggested. "You nod at the suitors all day and pretend to listen to Erikur's latest complaints, and I'll go hunt a giant lizard down and eat its soul."

"I'm definitely terrified of doing one of those things." Jax groaned and ran a hand over his face, opening his eyes to the sunlight streaming in her bedroom windows. "Sometimes I wish I'd been born a cabbage farmer."

The High Queen rolled out of bed, stretching languidly. She could feel Jax's eyes on her as she walked to her wardrobe. "I have a meeting with Ambassador Elenwen today," she said, pulling out a dress to wear. "Even after all this time, that woman frightens me."

Jax frowned, his countenance darkening. "The Thalmor have been especially quiet recently. I'm going to have to keep an even closer eye on them."

She chuckled, bending over to pick up her regal shoes. "Shouldn't their silence be a relief? I haven't received a missive ordering me to draw and quarter all Talos worshippers for months now."

The savior of Skyrim pushed himself out of bed. "A howling wolf can't sneak up on you, love." Jax pulled on his leather boots, strapping them with a practiced hand. "It's the quiet hunter you have to watch out for."

Elisif steadied herself in front of the bedroom door, taking a deep breath. Jax came up behind her, wrapping a hand around her waist.

"I won't see you for a while," Jax confessed, leaning against the wall. "I want to head back to Lakeview for a week or two and spend some time with Runa." Her heart sank, but Elisif understood. Many responsibilities competed for the Dragonborn's attention, and she was only one of many.Teldryn shouldn't be a full-time babysitter, after all.

"Time to face the wolves, then." she said, smiling at him. Their lips met and they kissed, sharing a last moment before the oncoming storm.

If only I'd known it would be the last moment with Jaxius Amaton that I'd ever have.

"My Queen?" Bolgeir's voice broke through her thoughts like a warhammer through a glass sculpture. "Are you well?"

Elisif sighed, staring out her window at the lethargic city streets. Only lonely cobblestone roads remained where there had once been so much activity and life. So many of her citizens had left Solitude since the incident at Castle Dour, most of them Imperials and the other races that depended on the Empire for their livelihoods. She couldn't blame them.

"Yes, Bolgeir, I'm perfectly fine." Elisif smoothed her skirts and rose from her chair. "Is everyone here now?"

Her housecarl nodded as she picked up her crown from the bedside table, placing it carefully on her head. "Chief Guardsman Haywir had to finish setting up some new patrol routes, but everything is in order."

They proceeded down the gray hallways of the Blue Palace, silence dominating the still air. Elisif could not recall a time when her city had been this empty, and it tore at her soul. Torygg would have gone mad had he ever seen Solitude in such a state. For once, the name Solitude was no longer an ironic title.

When they reached the old council chamber, she found all four of her advisors sitting around the stone table. Thane Erikur's seat was empty, as was Aldis's, serving as a disquieting reminder to the rest of the group. Elisif took the seat at the head of the table, and Bolgeir sat beside her. Let's get to it, then.

She cleared her throat. "I'd like to get right to the point of this meeting, so we don't waste any time. As you all know, several days ago we suffered a series of attacks across various holds. The Dragonborn's estate was assaulted, along with Sky Ruler Temple and Whiterun."

"Sky Ruler Temple?" Steward Bryling interjected. She had taken Falk's position after he resigned to marry her. How things have changed. "The headquarters of the Blades, correct? An isolated dragon hunter's guild seems a strange target."

"Not when you're the Thalmor," Court wizard Sybille Stentor suggested darkly. "They're the only group I know of that could perform this sort of operation so smoothly."

Viarmo, headmaster of the Bard's College and citizen advisor, shook his head in disbelief. "The Dominion wouldn't dare attack Skyrim so openly. The peace treaty with the Empire…"

Chief Guardsman Haywir chuckled harshly, running a hand through his dark beard. "The Empire hasn't been the Empire since Titus Mede was assassinated. We all know it, we're just too afraid to admit it."

"I share a mind with Sybille on this matter," Elisif said. "We have to assume the Thalmor carried out these attacks." Her gaze darkened as she met the eyes of each of her advisors in turn. "And we have to assume we haven't seen the last of them. Haywir, share your plans with the rest of us."

Haywir leaned forward, his chainmail clinking against the stone table. "We obviously can't rely on the Empire for defense anymore, owing to our attempt to capture the Thalmor Headquarters. At the same time, we don't have enough men or weapons to protect the entire city."

"Sounds perfectly hopeless," Sybille commented, and Elisif had to agree with her. Did I doom Solitude with my attack on Castle Dour? Jaxius would have done the same thing, I'm sure of it.

The guardsman continued undeterred. "We're going to start a volunteer militia to help protect the city, and bring in the guards from the docks and Dragon Bridge as well."

"What of the people living in Dragon Bridge?" Bryling asked. "We can't leave them unprotected against the Dominion."

Elisif interrupted, "The people of Dragon Bridge will be moved into Solitude for the time being. It's the best we can do in a hopeless situation. Headmaster Viarmo, could the Bard's College spare any beds?"

Viarmo snorted. "Spare beds, my queen, is something we are in abundance of in the College. Students have been leaving in droves the past few days."

She regretted the College was suffering because of all of this, but music came second to people getting the resources they needed to survive. "Solitude is truly in your debt," Elisif told him, truthfully.

The meeting was interrupted by a courier entering the room, silently passing a couple of missives to Steward Bryling. The Nord warrior read the letters as the rest watched, her eyes wide with shock.

"What's happened?" Elisif asked, "Surely the situation can't get any worse than it already is."

Bryling shook her head. "A trader made his monthly journey up to High Hrothgar to deliver food and supplies." Her voice shook as she continued. "He found the Greybeards...massacred. The town guards say it looks like the elves did it."

Around the table, Elisif's advisors reacted to the news. Haywir, a Nord through and through, dropped his head in grief. Sybille frowned deeply, a strong display of emotion from the typically cynical mage, and Viarmo sighed as if in long suffering.

The Greybeards. Elisif had never met the celebrated monks in her years as Jarl, but she knew how dear they were to the Nord people. Even Torygg, anti-traditionalist as he was, had spoken of them with reverence in his voice. They had trained the Dragonborn, helped to guide him on the path to save Skyrim. And now they were dead. The people of Skyrim will not accept Jax's death and the Greybeards being murdered in the same weak. There will be riots.

"Bryling," Elisif spoke suddenly, the seed of an idea growing in her mind. "I want to send letters to all of the Jarls, at once. Invite them to a formal gathering to discuss recent events. Maybe we don't have to fight the Thalmor alone."

"With pleasure, my Queen." Bryling waved an aide over and began whispering orders into his ear, putting the plan into motion.

Sybille interjected, ever blunt. "Elisif, the Jarls will not come to Solitude no matter how nicely you word your requests. A supposed ally of the Empire has committed unspeakable crimes against Skyrim. Solitude is, or was, the seat of power for the Empire in Skyrim. They will think it's a trap." Her yellow eyes flickered with amusement. "I know I would."

"You're right, of course." Elisif's mind raced, trying to thinking of an alternative meeting place. Somewhere neutral, with no semblance of political influence.

"Whiterun, then." she decided. The city was centrally located, and Jarl Balgruuf had been a decidedly on-the-fence player in the Civil War. She didn't know much about the new Jarl, his brother Hrongar, but he undoubtedly shared some of his deceased brother's better qualities.

"The Empire and the Dominion will view your gathering as a provocation, my Queen," warned Viarmo. "Especially after the incident at Castle Dour."

"The Empire is something we no longer have to worry about." Bryling murmured, reading the second message. "This missive was supposed to be for Legate Aldis. The Elder Council is pulling the Legion out of Skyrim and suspending all military operations in the province."

Haywir slammed his fist on the table. "They've abandoned us, after everything! The backstabbing milk drinkers are leaving us to the elves!" Viarmo looked up sharply, taking offense.

I suppose it's better to be abandoned then attacked. "Then we are truly alone in our fight against the Thalmor." Sybille shook her head in disappointment.

"This makes the Whiterun gathering even more important," Elisif said, her resolve hardened. "If Skyrim is to fight the Dominion alone, we need to come together as a people."

Bolgeir spoke up, an unusual action from the usually stoic housecarl. "If anyone can save us, it's you, my Queen."

Elisif smiled wearily. "I'm glad I have your confidence at the least, Bolgeir. You are a loyal soldier and a worthy friend." Maybe my only friend left still breathing.

Bryling finished preparing the letters and passed them to Elisif for her signature. She accepted ink and quill from an aide, and her advisors quietly filed out of the room as she signed the letters. Bolgeir left to stand outside the chamber, perhaps sensing she wanted to be alone once more.

She set the quill down, rising to stroll over to the window overlooking the palace gardens. The thistle and nightshade swayed in the breeze, indifferent to the struggles of their native land. She envied them their ignorance. What was it Jax had said? Sometimes I wish I'd been born a cabbage farmer.

The Empire was leaving Skyrim. The thought boggled Elisif's mind, like as if someone was telling her that the mountains and trees were leaving as well. The Empire had saved Skyrim from the rule of Ulfric Stormcloak, and given her the High Queenship. She still remembered the day General Tullius left, resigning his position in order to settle down somewhere. He had been changed by the war, and by the Emperor's assassination at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood. They had all been changed. If an Empire can win a war against half a country of nationalistic hardened warriors, why couldn't they protect their leader from a long dead gang of cutthroats?

For five years the Elder Council had neglected to choose a new Emperor. Titus Mede left behind no heirs, and the right to rule was hotly contested in the upper echelons of Cyrodiil. Every decision was second guessed, and nothing had been accomplished since that fateful day out in the Solitude bay. All the while, the Dominion pushed their boundaries, testing what they could get away with. The Elder Council was too busy fighting each other to see the Elven dagger hovering behind them.

And now, Skyrim suffers because of it. Jax is gone, and so are the Greybeards, and Balgruuf, and the Blades. The Dominion had scarred Skyrim irreparably, and Elisif knew in her heart her country would never truly recover. But maybe we can survive. She shook her head, clearing out the dark thoughts, and turned to leave the room. There was a gathering to plan, and not much time to plan it.

Chapter Text

Ulfric was awoken by the sound of a twig snapping. He slowly blinked himself into lucidity, noting that Frea slept soundly in the bedroll beside him. Their campfire had long since died into ashes. The forests of Falkreath Hold were a strategically advantageous place to travel unnoticed, but they also left one very open to ambush.

He rolled to his feet, leaving Frea to her dreams. The sound of her waking would alert their enemy he had been noticed, and Ulfric worked better alone anyway. Only Galmar had ever meshed well with him in a team. And Galmar is dead now, the fallen Stormlord thought as he slipped into the darkness.

He waited, listening for signs of movement. Ulfric recalled the hunting trips of his early childhood, and the patience required to apprehend one of the elusive elk of Eastmarch. Never had much patience for patience. Maybe that was part of the reason he was sent to the Greybeards. Another twig snapped, and Ulfric advanced quickly.

"I would not move if I were you." Ulfric held his sword to the man's back, the point finding solid purchase in the oiled leathers. The only noise in the forest was the slow breathing of the two warriors, and the gentle rustle of wind through leaves. "What is your business lurking beside my camp, friend?"

"I mean no harm to you and yours," the man replied gruffly, raising his hands. "I'm trackin' a wanted man through these woods. Smelled the campfire, thought it might be who I was lookin' for."

Then the Thalmor must know I live, after all this time. "Who is this criminal you seek so aggressively?" He wanted to confirm his suspicions before sending the man to Sovngarde.

"A Dark Elf fella in that shell armor they wear, and some little girl travelling with him." The man chuckled. "They want the girl alive, but I figure I'll have some fun with her and tell 'em the elf cut her loose before I got 'em."

A Dark Elf and a girl. The bounty hunter could only being referring to Teldryn Sero and Runa Fair-Shield, the partner and child of Jax Amaton respectively. Ulfric didn't know how he felt about the fact they still lived. He had only heard of Teldryn through occasional talk in Ivarstead, but he knew any friend of Jax was surely an enemy to the exiled leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion. Still, they had never wronged him. Good luck, Teldryn, and let's hope we never have to meet.

"Ulfric?" Frea's voice called out into the forest, and Ulfric was momentarily distracted. The bounty hunter spun and delivered a powerful right hook to Ulfric's face, sending him reeling to the forest ground, his sword falling away. Ten years ago, Ulfric would have barely flinched at the blow.Defeated by a common vagabond. How demeaning. The sharp steel of a dagger pressed into his unprotected throat.

"You call out to your friend, that pretty armor of yours gonna get real messy," the hunter whispered to Ulfric, his breath reeking. Frea's voice called out again, and then again farther away. They waited several minutes more before the Skaal's footsteps faded entirely from earshot, along with her calls.

The hunter's face was gruesome and satisfied in the dim moonlight. Ulfric knew he could kill this man with a single phrase if he wished, but the dagger at his throat was a definite deterrence. Besides, the sound of his Shout would alert anyone within a three-mile radius of his location, including Frea. The longer she went without knowing his true role in Skyrim, the better.

"All right then, up with ya." The dagger didn't leave his throat as the hunter circled around to face Ulfric's back. His wrists throbbed with pain when the vagabond tied a rope tightly around them. "I can tell you're a real clever one, so I'm not taking chances. You move where I push you, and you keep all your important parts on the inside."

Ulfric staggered forward a step at a time, the dagger a painful constant against his windpipe. His captor continued to talk in a low voice, muttering of bounties and luck gone bad. Just my good fortune I am taken prisoner by the most mouthy bandit in Tamriel.

"I'll bet that armor will fetch a good price on the black market." The hunter said, running his free hand over Ulfric's pauldron. "What is it, ebony or somethin?" I'm surprised a man of this magnitude can recognize ebony armor. Maybe my captor is more than he seems. In any case, Ulfric couldn't ask any questions. The cold steel of the dagger was an effective conversation stifler.

"No one crosses Belyon and gets away with it, let me tell you that." His captor's rancid breath said into his ear. Belyon, then. It is good to know the name of the man you put to death. I will not soon forget yours. Ulfric was tempted to use the Become Ethereal shout just to see the look on Belyon's face before he met his doom. But this man was unsteady and overeager. The slightest excitement on Ulfric's part could mean his demise, and he did not come all this way in life to die in a forest at the hands of someone who was still nursing when the Dominion sacked the White-Gold Tower.

I play along, for now. I can only hope Frea will track us down before I'm forced to act regardless of the consequences. The longer they spent in Falkreath, the more time the Thalmor and Merkoorzaam had to carry out their plans. Somehow, Ulfric couldn't see himself making it to Sky Ruler Temple in the hands of Belyon the Bandit.

They walked for hours, in slow, stilted fashion. Whatever judgement Ulfric could have passed about Belyon's hygiene and moral compass, the man never let the dagger waver from his throat. This isn't a bandit who loses his prisoners. The sun was breaking over the horizon when a small building finally came into view.

"I've been thinkin' the grey skin and his girl ain't worth the trouble anymore," Belyon muttered, close behind him. "Some of the other hunters the elves sent after them, scariest folks I ever seen. A lizard taller than any High Elf I've ever seen, and as built as an Orc's mother. Don't want to get in the way of something like that."

If Belyon met personally with Thalmor, he might have information I could use. Ulfric would have to take him alive if possible. They reached the door to the small building when Belyon halted. The dagger left Ulfric's neck for only a second, and then a blindfold was around his eyes.

He felt the bandit's hot breath in his face. "Listen here, I don't want any trouble when we go inside Pinewatch proper. There's a lot of people like me in there, and not a lot of people like-" The sound of an arrow impacting flesh interrupted Belyon. The bandit screamed in pain and Ulfric felt blood hit his face.

"I need him alive, Frea!" he yelled, hoping the Skaal was within earshot. He heard Belyon collapse moaning against the wooden door, but thankfully no more arrows followed. A moment passed before the blindfold left his eyes and his hands were freed from their bindings.

"Are you unharmed?" Frea asked him worriedly, her bow at the ready. Belyon breathed slowly on the ground, an arrow piercing his stomach and blood leaking from his mouth.

"I'm fine, but we need to move, now." He could already hear the signs of movement from within Pinewatch, no doubt Belyon's bandit companions coming to investigate. "Help me carry him. I believe he has knowledge of our common enemy."

The two Nord warriors effortlessly lifted the smaller man, quickly making their way up the hill. Ulfric almost dropped Belyon when he saw what waited over the crest. "By the All-Maker…" Frea gasped. "I did not believe it could be true."

Lakeview Manor lay before them, or at least what was left of it. Rubble and debris was scattered around for what seemed like miles, and the stone walls of the house had totally collapsed. The library tower lay on it's side, burnt books pouring out of it like some sort of grisly wound oozing pus. Dragonfire still burned brightly in places, and enormous craters dotted the landscape. No one could have survived all of this. Not even the Dragonborn.

He heard the door to Pinewatch opening behind them. "Hurry," he said to Frea, and they descended down to the ruins of the Dragonborn's estate. A fallen bookshelf provided temporary cover, but Ulfric could hear harsh voices coming their way. Belyon started to struggle, weakly calling out to the bandits.

"Quiet," Ulfric said to him, "or your friends will not find you in one piece." His eyes searched for an escape route out of the small wasteland. The voices were getting closer, and they could not hide behind a bookshelf forever.

"There," Frea whispered, pointing to a soot-covered hatch in the ground. A cellar. The pair grabbed Belyon and moved to the hatch as quietly as possible, angling their path so as to avoid being seen from anyone up the hill. Ulfric grabbed the metal handle and pulled with all of his strength, the joints in his arms popping from the strain. The hatch opened with a hollow creak. They slid Belyon down the ladder and closed the opening behind them with only seconds to spare.

Ulfric braced himself against a child's practice dummy, panting from the exertion. Shor's bones, I'm getting old. Frea looked around the cellar wondrously. "To keep a forge and workbench beneath his very home...I had no idea Jaxius was a man of such wealth." She wandered around the cellar, regarding each animal head and display stand with reverence.

He smiled grimly in response. "Saving the world tends to earn you a few gold now and then." Belyon lay panting against the wall, blood slowly pooling beneath him. You better not die before telling me what I need to know, milk drinker.

"Who were the elves that hired you?" Ulfric asked, nudging the bandit with his boot.

"Black robes, gold skin." Belyon wiped blood from his mouth with a trembling hand. "D'int give names." The Thalmor. That much I knew already.

"Where did you meet these elves?"

Belyon struggled for a bit before responding. "Camp near Rorikstead." He groaned in anguish. "Got prisoners there or somethin." Interesting.

There was one more thing he needed to know. "Did the elves say anything about what they're planning? Any mention of a next step?" If the Thalmor had a weakness, it was their overconfidence. They might not consider hiding an overheard conversation from a lowly bounty hunter.

The dying bandit had faded past the point of usefulness. "They were talkin' about Amaton, how he went," Belyon's words concerning the Dragonborn slurred as blood trickled from the corner. "Said he cried out for a girl in the end. Ain't that somethin, I said to myself. Ain't that somethin." Belyon's last utterings were followed by a final bloody cough, and then he breathed out one last time.

Ulfric felt Frea's hand on his shoulder. "He is gone, then?" she asked quietly. He nodded in response, feeling the weight of the past few hours pressing down on him. I have spent too much time in rooms with dead men for company.

"We can take a brief rest here," he said, pulling a dusty chair from a corner. "The bandit's friends will need a while to settle down." Frea picked up an old sheet and placed it over Belyon's body, saying some old words in a language he did not know. Must be a Skaal prayer of some sort.

He had almost dozed off when Frea's voice jolted him back into reality. "Ulfric, I found a book with your name on it." She was crouched near a bookshelf, discarded volumes sitting beside her. "I did not read it yet, do not fear." She tossed a small brown journal at him and turned back to her discoveries. Ulfric's blood ran cold when he read the neat elven handwriting on the cover. Thalmor Dossier: Ulfric Stormcloak.

The sound of Frea flipping through books and the cloying scent of Belyon's fresh corpse faded from Ulfric's mind. He turned the first page as if in a trance. He was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. Asset. The word burned in Ulfric's consciousness, taunting him like a torchbug just out of arm's reach. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. The full extent of his failure was beginning to dawn on Ulfric. His hands trembled as he turned the next page, dreading what followed but knowing he must continue.

After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact. Proven his worth. Proven his worth. Images that were blocked out before rushed into Ulfric's memory, pictures of clandestine meetings in the dark alleys of Windhelm with cloaked figures wearing golden ears. He had followed their orders without question.

The Thalmor had controlled him, they had controlled all of it. His eyes ran down the page, more out of sheer willpower than desire to see the words. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example where an exception had to be made - obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.Ulfric hadn't been fighting for Skyrim's freedom, he had been playing into the Dominion's hands. They had wanted the war. All of the dead Stormcloaks and Imperials, all of the ruined families, it had all been for nothing. Galmar and Rikke had died for nothing. I'm so sorry, my friends.

The book fell from Ulfric's hands, and he rose shaking from his chair. Frea looked up, a frown creasing her brow.

"What troubles you, Ulfric?" Her eyes dropped to the discarded journal. "What did the book say?"

He said nothing to the Skaal, but turned to grab his sword from it's resting place next to Belyon's body. Ulfric gave Frea one last glance and then walked to the ladder, grabbing the bottom rung with steady hands. "You can not leave me!" She shouted behind him, but her words barely registered in his hearing. "I can not defeat the Golden One alone, Ulfric Stormcloak!" The name burned in Ulfric's ears like a curse as he climbed. I'm going to finish what I started, for Galmar and for the rest.

Chapter Text

Teldryn Sero tugged down the bottom of his face mask with a lazy sort of grace, sipping the bottle of sujamma like a fine wine. The Retching Netch was as slow as ever today, and the alcohol barely helped keep his spirits up. The Dunmer sellsword hadn't had a patron for months now; the inactivity was wearing him down. Might be time I bid farewell to Raven Rock. No business means no no gold coming through.

Truth was, Teldryn's last patron had sort of shaken him up inside. The man had been a real traditional Nord fellow, face paint and the works. The kind of person with animal heads hanging from their bathing room, you know the type . Teldryn had last seen him running into the biggest bandit encampment he had ever encountered, with a wild grin on his face. That kind of madness was completely alien to the mercenary. There comes a point when you have to balance your life against that of your patron, and decide which you value more. Teldryn had made his choice.

The bar door opened with a creak, and a tall Dunmer wearing some sort of bone armor entered. The thin layer of ash that covered everything on Solstheim had not yet tainted the elf's skin, so Teldryn knew he wasn't local. A Dunmer outlander, not an uncommon sight around here. Maybe visiting a family member or delivering a message from the mainland.

Teldryn watched with bored interest as the Dunmer walked in his direction. The stranger's eyes swept across the room as he moved, assessing the people at the bar and all of the possible exits. No novice, then. This is a man who has made mistakes in his life, and plans to avoid making new ones.

"Hello," the Dunmer said in greeting, "Are you a mercenary, by any chance?" Teldryn started to get a strange feeling in the back of his mind, a tingling sensation he had never felt before.

Focus, you fetcher. This could be a job in the making. "Teldryn Sero, blade for hire. If you have the coin, I'm at your service." The sensation was getting harder to ignore now. Shouldn't have had that damned third bottle.

The Dunmer nodded grimly. "That is good to hear. I'm in need of a guide on Solstheim while I search for a man who wants me dead. Are you any good with a sword?"

"Ah, yes," Teldryn replied, struggling to think straight. His head felt like it was being shaken by a giant. "The best swordsman in all of-" The sellsword gasped and fell to his knees, holding his head in pain. The other Dunmer crouched down, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Is something wrong? I can heal you if you're injured." This is just stupendous, I've botched the job before it's even started. He wrenched his helmet off and tossed it aside, eager for some relief from the pain in his head. Teldryn raised his gaze to meet the other Dunmer's, and then it all fell together.

"Jax?" he asked distantly, the words seeming to come from someone else's mouth. Recognition dawned in the stranger's eyes, horrified recognition of many past years and many fallen foes. Do I know this man? What's going on?

"By the Nine, Teldryn.." Jaxius collapsed on the floor opposite him. Teldryn noticed out of the corner of his eye everyone else had vanished from the Netch. This isn't really the Retching Netch at all, is it. "I'm dead, aren't I? It's all coming back now…"

He was right, it was coming back. Months upon months of memories came flooding into Teldryn's mind, erasing the pain he felt and turning it into a shocked singularity of renewed consciousness. I'm with Nazir and Runa Fair-Shield, and we are walking through a forest. This is not the world I know.

When he looked up at Jax again, the Dragonborn had adopted an expression of deep acceptance. "I remember now, Teldryn. I've been torn between different planes of Oblivion ever since my death at Lakeview. I managed to break through into Vaermina's realm and access the veil of dreams." He shook his head vigorously, as if clearing out the cobwebs. "We don't have much time before they come for me. What I'm going to tell you is very important."

Teldryn barely understood what was going on. His mind was buzzing with restored memory, and it felt as though he were talking through a cloud, his words coming slowly. "Jax," he said, eyes wide. "What happened? You need to come back, I can't handle all of this damned mess you left behind on my own. We were supposed to be partners."

Something that might have been guilt flashed through Jax's eyes, but it was gone so fast Teldryn didn't have time to think on it. "We don't have time for that, my friend. You need to listen carefully now." He cast a worried glance over his shoulder, as if something was lurking behind him.

"Did you really have ties to the Dark Brotherhood?" Teldryn asked, dreading the answer. Did you really hide it from me for five years, never mentioning it at all?

Jax dropped his head in shame, something Teldryn had never seen him do. "I was their Listener. I don't expect you to know what that means, but suffice to say I was in a very dark place at the time." A flinch of emotional anguish went through the Dragonborn's face. "Please don't tell Runa. I can't bear the thought of her knowing what I was."

"How could you hide something like that from us?" Teldryn was surprised at the ire in his own voice, at the feelings he had been keeping down for so long. "You were the closest friend I ever had, and you were lying through your teeth the entire time!"

The Dragonborn couldn't even meet his eyes. "I left the Brotherhood just before I came to Solstheim. I didn't want to dwell on what I had done. On what I had become."

The bar door slammed open, and a horned devil creature with black skin entered with a crash. Tribunal preserve me. Jax began speaking shakily, forcing words out as the Dremora advanced on them. "Teldryn, you cannot trust Nazir. He's going to use Runa as bait to catch the new Thalmor Emissary." The sellsword could barely hear him over the rush of hellfire starting to consume the bar.

Teldryn rose and drew his elven sword, summoning a fireball in his other hand. Jax turned to face the Dremora, hands hanging by his sides.

"I've sent another message like this to one of my old friends," Jax said, not looking at a him. "She's going to find you when you awake." The Dremora roared and swung his axe down into the Dragonborn, too quickly for Teldryn to react. The weapon cut a shadowy scar down the Dunmer's chest, covering him in shadow.

Jax turned and spoke once more before fading into ash. "Take Runa and flee to Morrowind if all else is lost, Teldryn. I'm so sorry."

The walls of the Retching Netch collapsed into mist, as did the Dremora before him. Teldryn was falling into blackness, and then a blinding light appeared in his vision.

Then he was sitting on a rock around a campfire, accepting a bowl of toadstool soup from Nazir. Runa was still asleep, resting on a bedroll a short distance away. Teldryn was back in reality, back in the forests of Eastmarch, and his friend Jaxius was back to being dead.

"Anyone in there?" Nazir asked, stirring his own soup. "Looked like you dozed off for for a moment or two." As always, the Redguard assassin's voice held a tinge of mockery, as if the idea of Teldryn sleeping was a novel concept.

"Just thinking about how much I need to bathe." Teldryn commented, sipping his soup. He was careful not to look at Nazir any differently than before. Now that I know what you plan, s'wit, it is even easier to hate you.

"Don't worry, the Sanctuary has heated baths." Nazir snorted. "That was Jax's answer to my request for a torture chamber." Teldryn thought he heard a hint of resentment in the killer's words.

The soup fell from Nazir's hands and splattered on the ground. He had his scimitar out in a flash and was on his feet before Teldryn could lower the spoon from his mouth.

"We're not alone," Nazir muttered, circling to survey the forest around them. Teldryn rose carefully, drawing his elven blade. Jax's friend has arrived, it seems. Now all he had to do was keep Nazir from killing said friend before they could speak. Although I wouldn't mind the opposite occurring.

"Runa," Teldryn said loudly, "you need to wake up now, sera." The girl awoke silently and rolled to her feet, undoubtedly used to quick awakenings at this point. He grabbed her arm and their supply bag and moved away from Nazir. I do not trust that scimitar not to find us tempting targets.

"What is this?" Nazir asked sharply, his eyebrows flaring. "I'm not laughing, sellsword. I thought we had an agreement."

Teldryn and Runa had almost backed up to the treeline now, and Nazir was slowly advancing on them. Damn, this could get messy in a very short time.

"We've decided your companionship is no longer in our best interests, fetcher." Teldryn summoned a fireball in his off-hand, and pushed Runa backwards with his elbow.

"If he gets too close, Runa, I want you to run into the forest," He murmured loud enough for her to hear. "And don't look back, no matter what you hear."

There was a disturbance in the trees on the other side of the clearing. Nazir spun quickly, raising his scimitar in challenge. A woman emerged from the brush, an attractive girl with skin like fresh milk and glowing eyes of the rising sun. She wore a black cloak to obscure her features, but Teldryn knew what she was from the moment he laid eyes on her. For being friends with an assassin and now a vampire, the award for strangest bedfellows goes to Jaxius Amaton. Next he'll have me meeting with a cave troll.

"I'm going to assume the person not dressed in assassin's robes is Teldryn Sero?" the girl called out, holding a hand over her eyes to block the sun's glare.

"He is I, sera." Teldryn called back. "I'd wave, but my hands are currently occupied." Runa shivered beside him, perhaps wary of the new arrival. Children and vampires did not usually mix, in Teldryn's experience.

Nazir looked between them rapidly, slowly spinning with his scimitar held at the ready. Poor s'wit must be very confused at this stage. Somehow, Teldryn couldn't find it in his heart to pity the befuddled assassin.

"I'm Serana," the woman said. "I am...was a friend of Jax Amaton. He came to me in a vision, I know that sounds insane, but I'm here to help you."

Teldryn gestured towards Nazir with his sword. "This n'wah was also a friend of Jax. Get him and his sword out of here and we can raise the possibility of going with you."

"I'm afraid none of that is going to happen," Nazir said coldly, dropping all pretenses. "The Sacrament has been performed. We need the girl to lure Stoker out into the open. It's nothing personal." He began advancing on Teldryn, spinning his sword in a practiced style.

A fight it is, then. Teldryn was about to push Runa into the forest and prepare to stand his ground when a thunderbolt of lightning hit the assassin from behind. The scimitar fell from Nazir's hands and he collapsed to his knees, screaming in pain. Serana rushed past, kicking him over as she went. Nazir's groan of pain was music to Teldryn's ears.

"Time to leave," she exclaimed, pulling Teldryn and Runa into the forest. The trio retreated at a healthy pace, putting a fair distance between them and the agitated assassin they left behind.

"Why not just kill the fetcher?" Teldryn asked, panting from the exertion. "Oblivion knows he's done enough to deserve it."

"The Dark Brotherhood is not a group you want to have as your sworn enemy," Serana advised, "especially if you're on the run from half the province."

Makes sense, I suppose. Doesn't mean I have to like it. The forests and trees of Eastmarch decreased as they ventured further into the Pale, giving way to snowy flatlands. Teldryn pulled his cloak around Runa, missing the warmth of his helmet. The start of a fierce blizzard was underway.

"Do you have a destination in mind, sera, or are we going to walk until the cold takes us?" He asked Serana, who seemed unaffected by the frosty weather. Never thought a day would pass where I envy a bloodsucking undead.

"There's an old base nearby I've been using," she said, as visibility decreased around them. "We can hide there until the snow clears up." Further conversation was soon impossible due to the howling winds. Teldryn reached for the vampire's hand, which seemed as cold as the snowflakes furiously falling upon them, and hoisted Runa around his shoulders.

They were soon trudging uphill, knee-deep in the snow. Teldryn could barely make out a wooden building through the blizzard, standing high and proud on top of the hill. Serana led the line, pushing open the door and ushering them inside. Teldryn breathed in relief as they fell into the relative warmth of the structure, letting Runa slip off her shoulders.

"What is this place?" He asked, moving to a chair and warming his hands at the hearth. Even after all of his time spent in Solstheim's northern regions, the cold did not touch Teldryn any more lightly.

Serana pulled the door closed and began to shutter the windows as Runa took the chair next to him. "It used to be the Hall of the Vigilance, before my father's vampires hit the place. Don't worry, I'm not exactly allied with them."

"My pa wasn't friends with anyone who killed innocent people," Runa informed her, brushing the snow off her clothes. "He kills any vampires who attack our house. Why didn't he kill you?"

As blunt as her father. Teldryn didn't scold Runa for her questions, because he wanted to know much the same. The Dragonborn Teldryn knew loathed the undead, citing them as abominations that never should have existed. He had fought in the Great War as a healer for the Legion, Teldryn knew, and that had influenced his distaste for the unnatural creatures.

"I'm very sorry for what happened to Jax, sweetie." Serana took the chair opposite them, resting her elbows on her knees. "He told me he had a daughter, but never mentioned much beyond that. What's your name?"

"Her name is Runa Fair-Shield," Teldryn interrupted, "and you haven't answered her question." An unnerving thought had entered the sellsword's mind, and was nagging at him. He knew, of course, that vampires were often masters of illusion magic. Was it possible his vision of Jax was nothing but a trap inserted in his mind by this Serana woman, so he would trust her more easily? A ferocious blizzard raged outside, and they were trapped inside a small building. If they tried to escape, the vampire could just wait until they froze and then suck their bodies dry.

Serana replied, "I know this all seems crazy, but I'm on your side. Jax helped me stop a plot by my father to put out the sun forever. He wanted vampires to have dominion over the day and night."

Teldryn snorted. "Sounds a little dramatic, sera. When did Jax have time for this in between stopping the end of the world and the Civil War?"

"It all happened very fast. We didn't really have a lot of time to stop my father before he carried out his plan. Two or three weeks, maybe." She chuckled mirthlessly. "Seems like forever ago now."

Stopping a dark plot to spread darkness across Tamriel. That does sound like Jax.

"Just before you made your presence known, I had a vision of our dearly departed friend." Teldryn said. "He told me you were coming. You had a similar experience, I'm guessing."

Serana nodded. "Yeah, that's how I knew where to find you. I was hiding out here when he came to me. It was weird, like a dream contained in a single waking second."

Runa exclaimed, "Wait, you both talked to my pa? What did he say? Did he say anything about me?" Her voice became quiet. "Is he coming back?"

"Your father told me he loved and missed you very much," Teldryn lied. "We didn't have much time to talk, I'm afraid. I don't think he can come back, sera."

"He has to come back." Runa's voice cracked and she turned from them, a tear running down her cheek. "He didn't come to see me."

Teldryn's heart broke in two. There was nothing he could do or say to comfort her, and it destroyed him. Not for the first time, he felt anger at Jaxius for leaving them all alone. He should be the one wiping her tears away. Of course, Runa wouldn't be crying if that was the case.

"Actually," Serana said, "there might be something we can do about that."

Filthy bloodsucking scum. "How dare you give the girl false hope," Teldryn snarled. "Jaxius is passed from this world. I can see why you might have some confusion in that regard, but my friend is dead."

"It isn't false hope." Serana replied assertively. "We had more time to talk, and Jax told me there might be a way for him to return to Nirn. It will be very hard, but it's possible."

Runa looked up at the promise, but Teldryn put a placating hand on her shoulder. "Every instance I've heard of people coming back from death, they haven't been the same after. Present company included." He squeezed Runa's shoulder. "We want to remember him as he was, not bring him back as an abomination."

The vampire ignored his jabs, continuing on. "I don't know what the ritual does exactly, but I'm almost completely sure it has no affect on the returned person. It's an all or nothing kind of deal."

"Explain, quickly."

"Alright, but know I'm not completely brushed up on this process myself. There is this realm called the Soul Cairn, where the souls of people caught by soul gems are sent."

"Jax was caught in a soul gem?" Teldryn interjected. "I thought only dragons could take the souls of other dragons."

"That's what I thought too. Apparently, the Thalmor have a dragon in their arsenal now. They transposed his soul to a gem somehow. I can only guess why, and none of my guesses lead to anything particularly pleasant."

None of this is making sense. "If Jax is trapped in this 'Soul Cairn', how he is also in the planes of Oblivion?"

"That's the tricky part. Akatosh didn't exactly appreciate his promised Dragonborn being taken from him, and pulled him from the Soul Cairn. The Ideal Masters, who rule the Soul Cairn, are pulling back, and every Daedric Prince who ever gave Jax power are pulling too. His soul is being torn apart between the planes."

Runa shuddered against him. "What can we do, then?" Teldryn asked, feeling hopeless. This was going way beyond Thalmor and assassin guilds.

"Until Jax's soul has settled somewhere permanently, he can still be brought back. We have to get the gem with his soul in it before the Thalmor use it for whatever dark plot they have, go to the Soul Cairn and convince the Ideal Masters to let him go, and hope he can resist the pull of Akatosh and the Daedra."

He laughed harshly. "Which part of that plan is the tricky part, exactly? We don't even know who has the soul gem, and I don't have the slightest idea how you expect to get to the Soul Cairn."

But it was too late. "We have to do it, Teldryn. We just have to." The golden-haired girl looked up at him with eyes of desperation. The idea of Jax coming back had been planted in Runa's head, and Teldryn could see she would never forgive him if he didn't try. He had to admit, a thread of hope was running through him as well.

"I already have getting into the Soul Cairn covered," Serana told them with a confident grin. "The gem is another story."

Wait a moment. "Nazir said something about a Stoker. Could be a lead to the Thalmor leadership." Teldryn knew it was a long shot, but it was all they had.

"Sounds somewhat promising," Serana admitted. "The trouble is how we're going to find this Stoker. There are so many Thalmor all over Skyrim now, it'd be like trying to find a golden needle in a golden needle stack."

"Maybe we can talk about that particular hurdle tomorrow." Teldryn could feel fatigue pulling at his eyelids, and he knew Runa must be twice as exhausted with her young body. They hadn't had much time to sleep since Windhelm.

Serana caught his meaning. "That's not a bad idea. We have the start of a plan, now. That's enough for one day."

There were still some undamaged beds from when the Vigilant's lived in the building. Teldryn tucked Runa into one of them, and joined Serana by the window. Sleep well, sera. There are many hard days ahead of us. He was happy to send her to sleep with good thoughts for once.

"Do you really think this plan of yours has any chance?" He asked quietly, so Runa wouldn't hear. It would crush her all over again to hear that it's impossible to bring Jax back.

She sighed. "I truly don't know, Teldryn." Light from the hearth cast their shadows over the building walls, creating stories out of the silhouettes. The vampire really was trying to help them, Teldryn realized. Maybe he was being too hard on her.

"We have to try, for Runa," Teldryn resolved. "I could never look her in the eyes again if there was a chance to bring Jax back and I didn't take it."

Serana placed a hand on his shoulder, and he tensed involuntarily. "You're a good person, Teldryn. Runa is lucky that she has someone like you taking care of her. I know how hard it can be to be an orphan in a world like this."

"I do my best to do right by her." Teldryn replied, feeling awkward. "It's the least I can do." Serana smiled at him, and he felt a nervous shiver go down his old spine. Calm down, you old s'wit. This isn't the time to get excited over a woman's smile.

"Think I'll turn in now." He said, pulling away from her somewhat reluctantly. The blizzard had finally stopped, and the first rays of moonlight came in through the window, illuminating Serana in their glow. The sellsword decided that she wasn't too hard to look at, for a bloodsucker.

"Goodnight, Teldryn." Her smile stuck with him as he pulled his boots off and slipped into bed. Stronger thoughts intruded, though, thoughts of Jaxius coming back from beyond death. The idea terrified and elated all at the same time. A primal part of Teldryn knew that dead things should stay dead, that messing with mortality was the path to darkness, but his heart just wanted things back to the way they were. They could rebuild Lakeview Manor, maybe with a stone wall. Hire some lookouts in case the Thalmor felt like trying a second time. Build a bar in the cellar, move that ugly smith to the yard. Teldryn fell asleep thinking of years gone by and days ahead. 

Chapter Text

The High Queen found the training yard empty when she arrived. The Solitude guard had taken to using the more equipped facilities at Castle Dour, Haywir had told her. All the better. Elisif preferred to train alone, away from false praise and prying eyes.

Jaxius had gifted her a sword several months ago, a short elven blade by the name of Repentance. She swung the weapon at the training dummies with practiced strikes, her style sharpened by continued practice and the initial teachings from Bolgeir Bear-Claw. The Dragonborn himself had not been so adept at small blades, preferring greatswords.

One particularly precise thrust left a training dummy spilling oats on to the cobblestones. Elisif couldn't help but imagine Jaxius dying in place of the dummy, bright red blood taking the place of falling cornseed. Emissary Stoker's letter constantly haunted her mind, filling her with dread whenever her thoughts turned to the state of the world. I have to kill him.

"Well-struck, my Queen." The amused voice of Sybille Stentor came from behind her. "Cornfields from here to Riften will come to fear your name."

Elisif smiled despite herself, warmed by her friend's light mockery. Everyone else in court tiptoed around like frightened deer, eager to gain favor and careful not to draw her anger. Only Sybille spoke to her truthfully, as a friend. Maybe the only friend I have left.

"Please, Sybille, you know you can call me Elisif when we're alone." She moved over to a new dummy, resuming her practice. "I tire of that word, Queen. I hear it so much it's beginning to lose meaning."

The court mage took a seat on a nearby stone bench, brushing oats off of her robes. Sybille's eyes were as inscrutable as ever, hidden behind an orange glow.

"The carriages are packed and ready, and the royal guard are prepared to depart." Sybille remarked. "This moot of yours is actually happening, Elisif. We've already received word the other Jarls are on their way to Whiterun."

"That's good to hear." Elisif cut the arms off of the mannequin, twirling Repentance about. "If nothing else, Balgruuf's assassination has brought them together. The man was respected throughout Skyrim." She wiped the sweat from her brow. "I miss him."

"Speaking of which," Sybille said, "I've received disturbing reports from my contacts in Whiterun. Evidently, the upraised Jarl Hrongar's first act was to ban all elves from the city. He claims the safety of Whiterun was compromised by their presence."

Elisif paused mid-strike, disquieted. "We can't afford to isolate each other, now more than ever. The Dominion wants us divided." The morning sun began to peek over the castle walls, casting rays of light over the pair. "I'll have to speak to Hrongar about letting the elves return."

"Good luck." Sybille replied honestly. "I've lived in Tamriel for a long time now. When people are threatened, they return to their old ways. Nords especially. Acceptance and diversity don't often have a place in wartime."

"Hrongar will just have to learn, then." Elisif sheathed Repentance, the elven blade sliding quietly into the leather scabbard. "The old ways died with the Greybeards, and Jax."

Elisif made her way through the city before they left, bidding farewell to her citizens. Viarmo, headmaster of the Bard's College, gave her a tearful hug goodbye. Taarie and Endarie, the Altmer owners of the Raidiant Raiment, gifted her a new dress to wear at the moot. The cloth was soft and pliable, the color of fresh sunflowers intermixed with crimson hues from Morrowind. The ashy scent reminded her of Jax, although of course she didn't tell them that.

"It's beautiful, Taarie." Elisif ran her hand down the dress, goosebumps running across her arms. "I am forever in your gratitude."

Refugees filled the streets as the High Queen made her visits, a sense of fear and hopelessness permeating the air. Elisif talked to as many as she could before she departed, hearing horrific tales of hidden attacks at midnight, golden blades stained with blood, shadowy murder-squads attacking the innocent from seemingly out of nowhere. The recountings were too prevalent and similar to be mere rumors. She would have to make it a point at the moot to increase road patrols across the province.

Finally, the royal entourage assembled at the Solitude gate. Years ago, Ulfric Stormcloak had left through this passage after murdering her husband. Now Elisif was riding through to try to save Skyrim from total destruction. Hopefully her quest would end more successfully.

The foreboding iron doors shuddered open. Elisif, Sybille Stentor, Bolgeir Bear-Claw, and ten soldiers of the royal guard lumbered out of Solitude in two horse-drawn carriages. Her guards encircled the carriages on horseback, ready to defend their Queen from any threat.

Steward Bryling and Chief Guardsman Haywir were left in charge of Solitude in Elisif's absence, to coordinate the incoming refugees and prepare for any Dominion attacks. Elisif prayed the walls of Solitude would still be standing stand when she returned. The city was all she had left now. Without it, the prospect of falling on her sword seemed frighteningly attractive to the weary royal.

"So this is it." Sybille said, sitting beside her in the lead carriage. Bolgeir was in the compartment behind them, planning their route, but Elisif preferred the fresh air. "I haven't left the city for a long time."

"I just hope there's a city to return to after all of this." Elisif replied. "If even one of the Jarls refuses to stand with us against the Dominion, all may be lost."

"Perish the thought." Sybille nudged her on the shoulder. "No matter what, we're getting out of this alive."

A morbid thought crossed Elisif's mind. She might have to ask something very demanding of her friend. "Sybille, if the Dominion should try to capture me..."

The mage seemed to catch her meaning immediately. "I don't know if I can make that promise, Elisif. I've never killed one of my friends in cold blood, not even to save them from the Thalmor."

As if I wouldn't suffer a worse fate from their torturers. But Elisif didn't say that. She didn't want to alienate the only friend she had left. "Let's speak of brighter things," she suggested, as the entourage took the turn into Dragon Bridge.

The sun was touching the horizon when they reached the bridge into Hjaalmarch Hold. Distant figures had appeared on the road ahead and behind them, so Elisif had called the entourage to a halt. Bolgeir climbed out of the carriage and scouted with a small telescope.

"Golden armor," her housecarl confirmed. "Ten coming in from the rear, and twelve from the front." Bolgeir's features remained as stoic as always, but Elisif could sense his anger. "I'm sorry, my lady."

"Don't be." Elisif dropped from the carriage, Sybille quickly following. "We knew this was a likely outcome of our choices." Her hand dropped to the sword at her side. "My choices."

Bolgeir nodded, and began to direct the royal guard in a defensive formation around the carriages. Five horses faced either direction, ready to charge at the approaching Thalmor. Elisif took a deep breath and drew her sword, the air around them growing thick as Sybille summoned magicka.

"Can't say I haven't been looking forward to frying a few Thalmor," she commented, static electricity crackling around her hands. Elisif pushed forward through the guards, watching as the elves marched towards them. She imagined the Greybeards had seen much the same before their end. Bolgeir stood beside her, sword drawn and ready.

The Thalmor halted ten meters ahead, golden armor glistening in the sunlight. A black robed Justiciar broke from their ranks and strode towards them, his shoulders thrust forward in righteous indignation.

"You are Elisif, former High Queen of Solitude, yes?" The Justiciar didn't bother waiting for a reply. "The Dominion has ceased to recognize you as leader of the province following your illegal actions against the Imperial army. You are to be brought to Summerset Isle for questioning."

Elisif did not waste time with niceties. "I'm not going with you. Move your men aside or we will be forced to use violence."

"Move my men?" He huffed. "Did you lose your ability to count with your title, cow? Even riding those snorting beasts, we posses superior numbers and strategy. Our lightning bolts will tear through your lines in short order."

The elf spoke the truth, and Elisif knew it. She also knew her men would die for their ruler without a second thought.

Bolgeir seemed to sense her intention. "Don't do it, my Queen." His stare never left the Justiciar, but his voice pleaded with her. "Better for us to die defending you then watch you be taken."

The Altmer rolled his eyes, seemingly growing bored of their encounter. "If it's death you want, we will be happy to oblige. Men, kill them all. Leave the girl."

Elisif was about to charge forward when a sharp whistling rushed past her ear. A steel arrow had embedded itself in the Justiciar's forehead. The Thalmor charged forward as another force hit them from the side, and then the Queen was lost in a crowd of fighting men. She saw a man dressed in the armor of a wolf, and a red-haired woman shooting arrows point-blank into elven bodies.

A golden sword swung towards Elisif, and she deflected it with Repentance. Her attacker followed up with a thrust that she deflected to the side, and then she was swinging Repentance into his neck, over and over again. Arterial blood splattered her face, burning her eyes and running into the corners of her mouth. The elf collapsed to the ground, choking to death on his own sanguine fluid. Time seemed to slow down as Elisif watched the man die, the man who was dying because of her. She narrowly avoided being impaled by another Thalmor when Sybille intervened with a lightning bolt.

The battle was over in less than a minute. All of the Thalmor lie dead or dying on the ground, their moans of pain slowly becoming less frequent. Elisif could not seem to focus on anything but the dead elf in front of her, who had grown impossibly pale in his demise. This is what it was like to kill someone. This man had lived through who knows how many decades of life, with his own goals and ambitions, only to come here so he could die by her sword.

Bolgeir was suddenly there, shaking her shoulders. "My Queen, are you alright? I was separated from you in the fighting."

Elisif struggled to find her voice. "Yes, I'm quite fine." The words seemed to be coming from someone else, someone who had not just taken a soul from this world forever.

A black-haired man stood beside Bolgeir, wearing the same wolf armor she had seen on a fair few of their saviors. War-paint covered his face, not managing to cover up the scars of many battles.

"High Queen Elisif," the man greeted her respectfully. His voice was dark timber, fierce and brooding. "I am Vilkas, Harbinger of the Companions. The warriors of Jorrvaskr are at your command."

Companions. The warrior clan of Whiterun. She scrambled to get her thoughts in order.

"We are eternally in your debt, Vilkas." Elisif stammered in reply. The royal guards and Vilkas's shield-siblings began to drag the Thalmor bodies off of the road, putting down any survivors as they went. "I fear we would have been defeated without your help. What brings the Companions so far north?"

Vilkas's brow furrowed in vexation. "I'm sure you've heard the new Jarl of Whiterun has banned all elves from the city. Several of my shield-brothers and sisters were among that number. We could not abandon them, so the Companions have left Whiterun until the elves can return."

"I promise to talk to Hrongar about this matter when we reach Whiterun." Elisif felt tired, and gross. A dead man's blood was drying on her face. She didn't want to talk to this wolf-man anymore.

"My Queen, I suggest we make camp here for the night. It's much too dangerous to travel in the darkness in times like these." Bolgeir suggested, perhaps sensing her fatigue. She nodded assent and the housecarl began shouting orders at his men, moving the wounded and assembling tents from the carriages.

Elisif drifted away from Vilkas and found herself sitting in the grass, looking out at the river Hjaal. The water looked so black with the sun down, like the deadly nightshade that grew outside the Blue Palace. She heard someone walking up to her, and then a wet cloth was wiping the blood from her face.

"Thank you, Sybille." The mage sat down beside Elisif, their shoulders touching through the tall grasses. "I'm sorry I didn't find you after the battle. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Elisif. I'm worried about you." Sybille's voice was comforting after the clashing of steel from earlier. "You've never killed anyone before." It wasn't a question.

"It was so horrible, Sybille. I tell myself I'm stronger now, I have to be strong for my people, but..." Elisif's voice cracked as she fought back tears.

"Hush, dear." Sybille's arm circled around her neck, pulling her into a hug. "You're not alone in this fight. You have me, and Bolgeir, and much of Skyrim still stands behind you."

They rested in comfortable silence for a time, like only two close friends can, the absence of words not creating a divide between the two but bringing them closer together. Bolgeir quietly approached to bring Elisif to her tent, and she went with him without protest.

When the High Queen pushed her tent flap aside, she found someone waiting on her bedroll. Can't say I'm surprised. Their meeting had been inevitable, and now was a good a time as any to get it over with. Emissary Stoker was in a meditative pose, golden eyelids shut and hands clasped together. A simple leather doublet covered his chest, and a fur hood obscured most of his elven features. Elisif sat down across from him, knowing that this man would've killed her already had he wished her dead.

"I told you we would meet in person, Elisif. I had hoped to wait a bit longer, but the actions of my subordinates accelerated matters." Stoker's voice lacked the high-pitched haughtiness of most Altmer, his rolling tone instead giving the impression of a wise scholar or monk.

"You killed Jax." Elisif said, all political niceties and genuine curiosity falling away in the face of this man who had done so much harm to her. "You murdered him in cold blood."

"Murder is a strong word. I was just doing what I was ordered to do, Elisif. Serving my people. Serving the Dominion. There was nothing personal in it."

Elisif's hand fell to her side, silently feeling around for the concealed dagger she kept there. The only light came from the moon shining through the tent's canopy, hopefully not enough illumination to expose her movements.

"Do you want to see Jaxius?" Stoker asked, cocking his head. "I brought him with me, you know. Can't trust the Dragonborn being left with anyone else."

"What are you saying?" Stoker's word were making her sick, a confused dizziness running through her head. The hilt of the dagger felt so cold in her fingers. "You killed him. You said you did."

Stoker reached into his robe, pulling out a black soul gem. The crystal was glowing with a pulsing ethereal light, Elisif saw with disbelieving eyes. The Emissary held the soul of Jaxius Amaton in his hand.

"By the Eight..." Elisif brought a hand to her mouth. "You couldn't even let him die, you bastard? It's not enough to just murder him, you have to tear his soul from his body?"

The soul gem disappeared back into the folds of Stoker's robes, so quickly that Elisif was scarcely sure the crystal had been in the first place. A dark shadow had fallen across the Emissary's face.

"I really don't enjoy how you're making this so dramatic. I offered him a chance at surrender, you know. Not my fault if the prideful fool would rather die than be taken prisoner."

Elisif felt the dagger slip into her hand, still hidden under her long sleeve. She summoned all of her mental energy towards the thought of Stoker lying dead, her dagger through his throat. Jax would be avenged, along with countless others. Her arm shook, and the dagger slipped from her hand on to the ground.

Stoker's eyes flickered to the glint of moonlight on steel. An animal rage passed through his countenance, the likes of which Elisif had only seen before on rabid dogs before they were put down. The other side of Emissary Stoker came out and leapt at Elisif, pulling her into a choke hold. She felt his tall body cover her like a suffocating sheet.

"That wasn't very friendly at all. Count yourself fortunate you lost the will to use that dagger." His voice in her ear had lost all of the calmness and civility of before. There was a harshness and anger Elisif associated more with scorned lovers than devious Altmer. "You seem determined to make this an unpleasant meeting, so fine, we'll do it your way."

His knee pressed into Elisif's back, stretching her body painfully. Stoker stifled her groans of agony with a golden hand on her mouth. The scent of expensive lotions filled her nostrils, his fingers soft, the skin unbroken.

"I'll tell you what's going to happen." He whispered to her. "I'm not going to kill you in this tent. I'm going to see you again, in Whiterun. Next time, we will sit and talk like civil people." His knee pressed down and Elisif grimaced against his palm. She could feel his furious stare digging into the back of her head, judging and final.

The pressure left her back, the tent flap rustled, and she was alone again. Elisif rolled over, gasping for air. Only the pain in her spine and the fading scent of leather left any sign of Stoker's visit. I nearly killed him. He had truly been shocked at the appearance of a weapon on her part. She would have to do better next time. Sit and talk like civil people. How could she let a chance like that slip by her? The Queen felt like her old self was slowly returning. New Elisif would not have dropped the dagger.

For now, the Whiterun moot was her priority. Elisif would need her rest for the road tomorrow. She closed her eyes and pretended to sleep, hoping to fool her racing mind into submission. Deep inside, some part of her knew sleep could not come tonight. There were wolves prowling about far more dangerous than Vilkas and his Companions, and Elisif had just made one of them quite cross.

Chapter Text

Ulfric walked through the night and into the morning, only pausing briefly to drink water from a stream. His legs throbbed in protest and his vision was starting to blur, but nothing could deter the exile from his target. Rorikstead was only a mile or so away now. There would be Dominion soldiers there, waiting for his sword to fall on them.

The best outcome he could hope for now was a quick and honorable death. Ulfric knew Sovngarde was almost certainly closed to him now, with all he had done. The blood of the Civil War was on his hands. Thousands of widows, hundreds of orphans, so many good men lost for the Thalmor's idle amusement. Jaxius had told him on their way to High Hrothgar that Skyrim's fighting population would take decades to recover. I was so blind.

A tree root caught his foot and Ulfric tripped, falling to the ground. His sword fell uselessly away, and he breathed heavily, wiping the sweat from his eyes. When he blinked them open again, Frea was standing over him. The tribal had traded her Nordic carved armor for a lighter dragonplate set, he saw, and a sword of similar making was clasped to her hip.

"Ulfric Stormcloak." Frea's voice was that of a disappointed parent speaking to their child. "Do you seek death? Many dark ends lie on this path."

"I seek an end to pain." Ulfric groaned, his legs refusing to work again. They had given up on him the second the opportunity presented itself. If only this Skaal was as unfaithful. "Skyrim has suffered my existence long enough."

Frea sighed in exasperation. "The fate of our world depends on the success of our mission, Stormcloak. All of our lives are difficult. We do not have the time for you to weep about times past."

He laughed harshly. "And what do you know of my past? You've no idea of the horrible things I've done."

The Thalmor dossier fell next to his head, the yellow pages well-worn. Ulfric almost shuddered at the sight of the small book. The thought of a bundle of pages destroying his mind would have been laughable five years ago. I thought I was so infallible. We all did.

"I read the book, Ulfric," Frea said quietly. "I think I understood most of it, and I am sorry for what happened to you. You were being used against your will. You did not know what you were doing."

"I knew enough." All of the fight had gone out of his voice. "Let me die fighting the Thalmor. It's the only just end left to me."

An armored foot came down on the dossier, crushing it into the leaves. Looking up, Ulfric was dimly surprised to see Frea was furious with him.

"You are the most arrogant man I have ever met, Ulfric Stormcloak. You think you are the only one who has suffered in this world?"

"I make no claims-"

"My only family are hundreds of leagues away, and they will die if my mission is a failure. These elves are just people." A single angry tear ran down her cheek, a glint of water so small Ulfric was not sure he had seen it at all.

"They are just people, but the Golden One is a monster who was formidable enough to defeat the Dragonborn. Unless we can triumph against him, the end of all things is coming to our world."

Ulfric closed his eyes, remembering Legate Rikke's words to him in the Palace of the Kings. The final battle had come to a head. Tullius, the Dragonborn and Rikke had drawn swords against Ulfric and Galmar.

"Leave, Rikke." The rebel king had said. "We were friends once, fighting against the Thalmor. There's no reason for you to die in this fight."

"A true Nord never fears death. It's the how and why of it that one needs to consider." Rikke had told him. A minute later, Ulfric's sword had gone through her breastplate and into her heart. It was his greatest shame now that he knew the truth.

Why do I want to die fighting one camp of Thalmor? More will just replace them. Frea sounded truly frightened of facing the Golden One alone. Ulfric had betrayed Rikke's trust, he had betrayed all of Skyrim, but maybe there was some atonement he could make before the end.

"Very well." he said simply. "I won't abandon you in this fight, Skaal. But I'm going to need a while before we move again."

She nodded and sat down beside him. The morning sunlight broke over the mountains of the far Reach, casting deep shadows over the plains. Neither of them made any move to retrieve the discarded dossier. Some things were better left buried, in the end. He rested his head against the grasses and slept.

Several hours later, Ulfric looked up from his thoughts to see Frea returning to their meager campsite.

"How many did you see?" he asked, handing her a flask of water. The tribal looked exhausted after the long mission.

Frea nodded gratefully, drinking from the flask. She paused to wipe water from her mouth. "Many golden elves, Ulfric. Maybe two dozen."

He had figured as much, so her scouting report was not entirely disheartening. "Anything else of note? What's become of the villagers?"

Her eyes darkened. "They have been enslaved. The elves have put them to work, making great machines of battle."

This was the news Ulfric feared. They are preparing for a siege. Solitude, maybe. Or Whiterun. He recalled his own unsuccessful siege of Balgruuf's town, thwarted by the Dragonborn and his personally trained regiment of Legion soldiers. The Dominion would have a much easier time of it without Amaton around.

"We have to take the village," Ulfric said. There would be no use in defeating the Golden One if they turned around to find Skyrim in ruins behind them. His country would not survive another military campaign against her.

"I am in agreement." Good. Frea had the makings of a good soldier. When faced with an impossible task, one does not question what they must do. They needed to take the camp, so they would take the camp.

"We'll have to move quickly if we want to take them all out." Ulfric said. "I've won battles with worse odds."

She responded, "The frontal attack is not always the wisest, Ulfric. I had another idea on my way back."

He chuckled. "I have fought in wars since I was a whelp, Skaal. I doubt there is much you could teach me."

Frea raised an eyebrow at him. "You lost your last war, yes? That is what I thought. Remain still and let me think."

She took her pack off, and began rummaging around in the pockets for something. After a moment she came up with a small pouch.

Then she said, "I read another book about you during my pursuit. It said you can Shout like the dragons, like Jaxius could. Is this true?"

Ulfric nodded. "I trained with an order of monks in my childhood. I returned there after the Civil War." The word 'returned' sounded a lot better in his head than 'forced into exhile on penalty of death'.

"This is good. I hope your skills have not waned." She drew open the pouch and rich gray ash pillowed on to her palms. Ulfric knew with a certainty it came from Solstheim; only the Red Mountain burned hot enough to produce such fine cinders.

Her hands reached for his face and then she was rubbing the ash in, coating his skin and beard with the stone colored dust. Ulfric coughed and she huffed in irritation "This will be a lot easier if you do not move." she said.

"That would be a lot easier if you would explain what you're doing."

Frea ignored him and continued applying the ash, getting more from the pouch as she worked. After a few minutes, she stopped and stood back, surveying him. After a few seconds of thought, Ulfric caught on to her plan.

He complimented, "Clever. I think we'll need more than this to fool the elves, though."

"Hmm. You are right. Your light hair stands out too much in the gray."

A small stream ran through the plains about a yard away. Ulfric walked to it and pulled up handfuls of dark mud, caking them into his hair and slicking down the unruly mass. He applied more for several moments, sinking the ick deep into his blonde locks.

When Ulfric finished, he stood back to look into the stream. The face that looked back was utterly unrecognizable. I look like I fell into Oblivion and dug my way back to Tamriel.

He looked up at Frea and she cocked her head. "Perhaps from farther away it will work."

He sighed. "It will have to. Let's think about how we should do this. If even one of the elves looks too closely, all of this will come to a very quick end."

The once rebel-king looked over the ridge. Below him, the town of Rorikstead existed in a state of tortured complacency. The many farms around the town had been converted into slave pens, lined with spikes and stinging nettles. Injured and exhausted prisoners mulled around the pens, glancing up at the blue sky, as if that free and open arena could pull them up out of their bindings. Ulfric saw more people than he suspected lived in Rorikstead, confirming the rumor that the Thalmor were using Rorikstead as a prisoner camp.

Whatever tavern had once existed was pumping smoke out of burned holes in its roof, the industrial clanging of blacksmiths and machinery reaching his ears so far away. The 'machines of battle' Frea was talking about. The door to the tavern opened and a Nord pulling a cart emerged, struggling to keep the swords and horseshoes from falling off his wheeled burden. All around the former village, armored Thalmor patrolled among the rabble. They walked in orderly straight lines, hands to their sides in perfect imitations of each other, sharply contrasting with the filth and misery around them.

Now is a good a time as any. The sun was now behind Ulfric, so the elves wouldn't be able to see him very well without getting blinded. As least, that is what he and Frea hoped.

Ulfric climbed up and stood on the ridge, revealing himself to the town below. No one looked up to notice him yet, but that would change in but a moment.

He sucked in breath, and sealed his fate.

"FUS RO DAH!"

His shout reverberated off the rocks around Rorikstead, amplifying his voice into a frightening crescendo.

The shockwave hit one of the lines of Thalmor patrols, crashing against their golden armor and sending their bodies flying away. Even from the ridge, Ulfric imagined he could hear the crunch and crack of their bones.

He watched as the remaining Thalmor patrols scrambled into action, assembling into two rows even before the dust had settled. Five more elves ran out of the tavern to join them. The prisoners pointed and shouted up to him from their pens, their excited voices drowning out the clanging of the Thalmor assembly.

"I have returned!" He used the Thu'um to enhance his voice, shouting down at the village. The Thalmor lines shifted in place, a great sign of unease from the disciplined soldiers. Ulfric knew who he must look like from afar. Ashy skin, black hair, wielding the ancient power of the dragons. No one else living had such a skill. The Thalmor were right to be frightened. Their greatest foe in Skyrim had returned from the dead.

"Hold, men!" The black-armored leader of the elves yelled from the front of the lines. "Jaxius Amaton lives no more! We must bring justice to this impostor!"

They feared even to speak his title. Seven broken Thalmor bodies littered the town, giving testament to the claims of false imitation. The elves in the lines looked up at the ridge as if in disbelief, touching their swords nervously. Ulfric had heard of the massacres of the Thalmor Embassy and Northwatch Keep. The Dragonborn had exacted a bloody crusade against the shadowy group for years, rooting them out from wherever they hid and leaving their bodies to the wolves.

"You burned my home!" Ulfric shouted down. "You murdered my allies and my companions! Did you imagine there would be no retribution!" The force of his words nearly knocked the Thalmor off of their feet. Even the black-armored leader looked around as if seeking reinforcements, making no further reassurances to his men.

An arrow flew from seemingly out of nowhere to strike a Thalmor on the outer lines. The man fell to his knees, choking on his own blood before collapsing to the ground. A second later, another arrow flew from a different direction and hit another elf. Frea is doing her part.

"Every second you remain in this Nord village, another one of you will die! I have brought many men with me, and they have all lost someone to your purges!" The Thalmor pressed tigher together as the arrows continued to rain on them, sometimes missing but most times not. The leader yelled at someone to bring him a horse, his head constantly turning to search for hidden assassins.

Time to finish them off. Ulfric drew in breath again and focused toward the grouped Thalmor.

"Zun Haal Viik!"

The lines broke as the disarming Shout shuddered through them, sending their swords clattering away. The unarmed Thalmor ran for the road, leaving the weapons behind them in their terror. The leader began to gallop away on a horse until an arrow caught him in the back and he hit the ground flying. Whatever discipline the elves might have had left died with their leader, and their screams thudded off the rocks seemingly as loud as Ulfric's Shouting. Frea kept shooting until the last soldier had disappeared from view, a trail of golden bodies leading away from the village.

"I can't believe that worked," he murmured to himself, looking down at the liberated village. Frea had climbed down from the rocks and was opening the slave pens. He found the path down to the village and joined her, wiping the ash from his eyes as he went.

"You can't imagine how grateful we are." A man in torn noble robes was saying to Frea, presumably the former leader of the village. The released prisoners were freeing the others and picking up the elven weapons, ready for a resurgence of Thalmor.

The noble turned to Ulfric as he approached. "And the Dragonborn. I'm Rorik. Everyone thought you were-" He fell quiet. "You're not the Dragonborn."

Ulfric had used the remainder of his water flask to wash the ash from his face and the mud from his hair. When he looked up from dusting the ash from his armor, the noble was looking at him with a disquieting shock.

"Ulfric Stormcloak." The name hang between them like a dark oath, promising a wicked end to all who spoke it. "I never forget a face. You came through Rorikstead after murdering Torygg. I thought the Dragonborn snipped your head off."

He didn't defend his duel with Torygg. The time for that had long passed. "I was not so fortunate. My past is behind me now. I exist only to serve Skyrim."

Rorik laughed, the act shaking his worn body like the wind blowing against a gnarled tree. "That's what you said when you came to recruit men from Rorikstead six years ago. Those men never came back. People don't change, Ulfric, least of all you."

The tired man sighed and glanced around the village. "We're in your debt, of course. You can stay as long as you like, help rebuild if you wish."

Frea interjected. "I am sorry, kind Rorik. We are on a mission to defeat the Thal-Mor and the Golden One that serves them. We must be moving forward, always."

Rorik looked up sharply. "This Golden One of yours wouldn't be a dragon, would it? Biggest dragon I've ever seen passed by here not three days ago."

"Which way was it going?" Ulfric asked. This was the first news he had heard of Merkoorzaam since Odahviing first mentioned him on the Throat of the World.

"Northeast, if I remember right." Rorik motioned for them to follow. "There's someone who can probably tell you more. Come with me."

He led them into the tavern. On one side of the building, the injured and sick were being tended to. Ulfric was impressed with how quickly and effectively the village was recovering. I had forgotten how resilient Nords can be.

"The Thalmor brought what was left of the Blades here for questioning." Rorik didn't have to mention what kind of questioning they received; the barbed torture hooks and various implements lining the bar counter were evidence enough. "Only one of them is left, I believe."

A ruined old man lay collapsed against the south wall. Fresh scars decorated his frail body, the floorboards under him soaked with blood old and new. No one attended to this casualty; one glance at the poor wretch and you knew nothing could be done. His only treatment was a bottle of wine clutched in one small hand. Ulfric regretted he had chosen to disarm rather than kill the lines of Thalmor.

"His name is Esbern." Rorik said quietly. "And he doesn't have much time, so be quick with your words, Stormcloak." He left them alone with the man to help tend to the wounded.

Ulfric knelt down and spoke gently to the man. "Hello? Can you hear me, kinsman?"

Esbern's eyes opened. One of them was opaque, as if he had been blinded somehow. There was a hollowness in his vacant gaze that unsettled Ulfric.

"Dragonborn? Is that you?" He said the title with a croaky reverence. The thin traces of ash and mud still on Ulfric's face must have confused the old Blade. Or, more likely, his mind has been broken beyond repair.

He swallowed and glanced at Frea. She considered for a moment and then nodded.

"Yes, it's me, Esbern."

A thin chuckle came through Esbern's broken teeth. "We heard Lakeview Manor was attacked. I feared all was lost, but now..."

"What happened at Sky Haven Temple?" Ulfric asked. Esbern's hands were rhythmically clenching and unclenching. Whether in pain or excitement, who could know.

"A great golden dragon. Twice the size of Alduin, and unnatural. Our enchanted weapons had no effect on it." Esbern groaned in long-held anguish. "We might have escaped, but the Thalmor attacked from all sides. All were lost. Delphine was burned alive by the beast's blue fire."

He paused for a moment before continuing. "These events do not follow any prophecy or legend I know. The elves have tapped into something beyond our understanding or control. I fear our world is coming to an end."

"You said they tapped into something." Ulfric said, desperate for more information. "What do you mean?"

The last Blade closed his eyes and said nothing for a minute, and Ulfric began to think he had passed. Just as he was about to move, however, Esbern spoke again.

"The dragon glowed with a blue aura. Fire seemed almost like magicka. Magnus is the Original Spirit of the magical ways, but he has spawned no dragons."

Odahviing had called the Golden One the "child of Magnus." Ulfric wondered if that description was more than it seemed.

"If this beast is related to Magnus, than there is only one place you can go for answers." Esbern's words became weaker as he spoke, fading to a thin whisper.

"The College of Winterhold." Ulfric said, his mind racing. He had no idea of the College's role in all of this; between the Dragonborn's death and all that had happened, the forgotten city of Winterhold had vanished from significance.

"Yes." Esbern whispered. "Go to the mages, Jaxius. Learn how to destroy this golden one. You are the only hope Skyrim has left."

The old scholar closed his eyes and said no more. Frea said a quiet prayer to the All-Maker. Ulfric shook his head and lifted Esbern's body around his shoulders, walking slowly out of the tavern-turned-workshop-turned-sickroom. What a waste of life. They would have to set out north as soon as possible, reach the College before any more good people were lost to the Thalmor and their dragon.

The pair found a lone tree standing vigil not far from the village. Ulfric dug a deep hole, careful not to sever any roots, and they placed Esbern's body in the grave. The sun had fallen when Frea finally tossed the last bit of dirt into the pit, smoothing the top over to make it neat.

"All-Maker. Take this fallen soul into your care, and give him peace as he becomes one with the land. Esbern returns to you to be born anew. He is ready for the passage from one form to the next." Ulfric kept his head bowed in respect as Frea spoke her words. He did not understand most of what she said, but he could understand the importance of the prayer.

They walked back to the village. Rorik had promised them bedrolls for the night, as thanks for their act of heroism in saving Rorikstead.

"You are no longer troubled by your past actions?" Frea asked as they walked the road. Ulfric pondered for a moment before responding.

"I will always remember the manipulation of the elves, Frea. A part of me has been lost I can never truly recover." Galmar and Rikke would haunt his dreams until he died, Ulfric knew. Ghosts followed him wherever he went.

"I think I understand. You know it is not all your fault, but it feels like it is regardless."

He nodded. "The Thalmor did not kill hundreds of fellow Nords for a cause that was never there. They just had to point me in the right direction, whisper the right words in my ear."

"We all have the potential for evil inside us, Ulfric Stormcloak. I will be by your side to help guide you on the path to redemption."

He smiled at her wearily, the light of Rorikstead approaching them. "I could ask for no greater ally, Frea."

They reached the town, and were soon asleep in their bedrolls. In the morning, the long road to the College awaited them, along with all the challenges yet to come.

Chapter Text

"Teldryn! Come quick!"

Runa's yell shocked Teldryn into action, and he was on his feet in the blink of an eye. He ran towards Runa's voice, fear and horror turning his blood to ice. Branches rushed past his face, and he was suddenly reminded of running from Lakeview, golden arrows flying around him. What if something has happened, what if the Thalmor found her oh gods what if that Argonian is back what if I lost her I would not survive-

He broke through the treeline into the clearing. Runa stood with her hands on her hips, looking over a small pond.

"We can go swimming!" she cried, ecstatic. The adrenaline left Teldryn and he was left standing dumbstruck at the treeline. Serana came up to his right, panting from exertion. Their campsite was at least a minute run away. He had sent Runa out to collect firewood, and she had found a swimming hole instead.

"Try not to yell at her, Teldryn." Serana advised him. "It's the first time I've seen her happy since we left the Hall."

The spellsword breathed out slowly, his shoulders slumping into a relaxed state. Serana nodded approvingly and took his arm, leading them towards Runa. A week had passed since he met Serana, but they had developed a rapport he found comforting.

"Quite the pond you've found," he said to the girl, resting a hand on her head. And quite a pond it was. The water was a clear azure, and no bothersome insects swarmed the surface or harassed the three.

"So can we go swimming? Can we please?" Her voice was too hopeful for Teldryn to ever dream of denying her. She could ask him to fall on his sword and he would be dead before the words left her mouth.

"You can go swimming, yes." Runa leapt into the pond, soaking Teldryn and Serana with a wave of blue water. The vampire laughed in delight as Teldryn dripped miserably, running his hands through his mohawk in a meager attempt to fix it.

"You know, Teldryn," Serana said, wandering behind him. "You might be happier if you had more fun every once in a while."

"I'm very happy when I'm dry." He grumbled, giving up on his hair. "I much prefer a nice warm bath to this poor excuse for a-" Serana gave a great push from behind and Teldryn was balanced on the precipice of falling or standing his ground. He met eyes with Runa floating in the pond and begged with his eyes, but she just slowly shook her head. Raising her hand, she gave a thumbs down. Serana slammed into him and then Teldryn was underwater.

He surfaced to the sound of feminine laughter. Serana had fallen in after him. The two girls were pointing and giggling at his mohawk, which had fallen to the side in a very unprofessional manner.

"Satisfied with yourselves now?" He asked, crossing his arms. The water was up to Runa's shoulders, but it only reached his chest. The girls swam around him, splashing intermittently. He sputtered in protest, wiping the water from his eyes.

"Oh come on, Teldryn." Runa said. "You don't have to be such a grouch all the time."

Grouch? Oh, that does it. Teldryn slicked his mohawk back, adopting a predatory pose. The girls kept laughing at him until he attacked, grabbing Runa around the waist and throwing her in the air. She fell screaming into the water, sending up a great splash that soaked them all.

"I don't know what you're laughing at," Teldryn said, floating towards Serana. "You're next."

The vampire huffed in amusement. "If you're half as good as swimming as you are at falling, I have reason to worry."

Teldryn lunged for her, bringing his arms around in a crushing bear hug. Serana ducked under his arm and pushed off his chest with her legs, sending him flying off in a spray of bubbles.

"A vampire that can swim," Teldryn said, surfacing after her brutal counter-attack. Runa swam circles around them, occasionally throwing lilypads towards Teldryn's head.

"Perks of growing up on an island, I guess." Serana replied, backstroking while watching the sellsword carefully.

"I spent my childhood in the city of Blacklight. It was on the coast, but not many people swam."

"It's so sad what happened to Morrowind." Serana went under for a second, resurfacing near Teldryn. "There were so much beauty in the province before the Red Year."

"I would like to have seen it." Teldryn said quietly, recalling the ash and devastation of his homeland. He could not equate the choking subexistance that he had seen with the descriptions of Morrowind before, before the Red Mountain erupted and destroyed so much of his home.

Serana's arms came around his shoulders and Teldryn tensed for a moment out of reflex. Then he relaxed, and the vampire squeezed him reassuringly. It just feels so nice to be held by someone.

"You carry so much on yourself, Teldryn." Serana whispered into his ear, so that Runa would not overhear. "You can't let yourself be consumed by it all, or the Thalmor win. You aren't alone anymore."

He closed his eyes and floated back into her arms, her chin resting on her shoulder. They said nothing for a moment, and for that moment everything felt right in Teldryn's world. He forgot for a time that his best friend was dead and that his killers roamed the countryside, murdering and torturing the innocent.

"I really do enjoy your company, sera." Teldryn murmured, his eyes still closed. "I'm glad that we are traveling together."

"Me too." Serana rubbed her fingers in circles on his shoulders. "But get ready. I think Runa is about to ambush us."

He smiled, moving from Serana's arms to face the troublesome girl head-on, his eyes narrowed in mock-anger. The greatest swordsman in Morrowind will not be bested by a girl of thirteen years.

Runa's eyes widened and she gasped, pointing at Teldryn. He cocked his head, dropping the predator act.

"Come now, Runa, I'm only playing after all." Teldryn felt the first seeds of uneasiness sprout in his stomach, and he slowly turned. Five men stood on the shore of the pond, two of them with bows drawn and aimed. Serana was frozen in surrender.

"What do we 'ave here?" The leader asked, a burly Nord with one ear missing. "Greyskin havin' a bit of fun?" His tone was jovial, but his eyes focused on Teldryn with a furious intensity.

"We're just passing thr-"

"You kidnap these girls, these poor Nord girls?" The leader snapped at him. "We heard what you done."

The man to his left, a skinnier bald Nord, nodded gravely. "Jerro speaks true. Your kind murdered the Dragonborn. Right in his bed, I heard. And the Greybeards as well."

"The Dragonborn was an elf, you morons!" Serana interrupted, hands curled into fists. The Nord with the bow aimed on her tightened his grip.

"He was an elf, aye. Not like you, though." Jerro gestured to Teldryn in disgust. "You with your pointy hair and your bug armor. The Dragonborn was a true Nord, and you folk killed him."

"I was the Dragonborn's partner." Teldryn said quietly, knowing his words were meaningless. "Teldryn Sero, blade for hire."

This seemed to make the leader even angrier. "You think that's funny, don't ya? Fille, Selon, pull him out."

The two Nords not wielding bows came around to the pond edge, daggers in hand. The men with bows made a target of Teldryn's head, so he wearily tread to the shore and the Nords pulled him up.

Serana pulled Runa towards her and covered the girl protectively, turning her back to the bandit archers. There's nothing they can do for me now. Teldryn knew that if Serana made a move to attack, the Nords would fill her with arrows in a heartbeat, race be damned. And Runa would be caught in the line of fire.

"Faithless greyskin." Jerro came around the pond and wrapped his hand around Teldryn's throat, drawing the sellsword up to his eyes. The bandit's breath smelled of cooked meat and juniper berries.

"Teldryn!" Runa yelled out, but Serana shushed her. Teldryn was glad. If Runa started crying for him, then he was not sure he would not start crying as well. And why not? There were worse ways to go then sharing tears with the Dragonborn's daughter.

The hand around Teldryn's throat tightened, and he gasped. Going to run out of air. "Why did you come here, huh?" Jerro barked, spit flying from between his gritted teeth. "Skyrim is for the Nords. You shoulda stayed where you came from." Can't think.

Jerro threw him to the ground, and Teldryn coughed and gasped for breath, convulsing on the ground. The bald Nord kicked him in the stomach and the pain almost blinded the sellsword. Another bandit began to kick and Teldryn's world was reduced to bright flares of agony and nothing else. He felt a rib break. The pain began to fade away as well. He saw Serana's face, heard her words: "You aren't alone anymore."

The sharp crack of electricity filled the air, and someone screamed. Teldryn could smell ozone. He opened one eye a bit. One of the bandits beating him was now on the ground, smoke rising from his fallen body. Serana was being dragged to the shore, Jerro waiting angrily with a knife in his hand. Runa was shrieking, holding on to the vampire's hand despite everything. Teldryn saw it all as if through a veil, as if this was all a bad dream. He wanted to go to sleep, but Runa's screams kept him awake. No. Have to protect her. The last of his willpower gathered, Teldryn reached into Oblivion and summoned an atronach of flame.

The creature materialized behind Jerro and shot one fireball into the Nord's greasy head. He saw Jerro hit the ground, soon followed by the two of his friends holding Serana. The two kicking Teldryn reached for their swords, but another ball of flame engulfed one and Serana's lightning consumed the other. The former fell on top of the sellsword and he groaned in pain.

"Teldryn!" Serana ran from the pond and fell to her knees, pushing the dead bandit off of him. Runa ran to her side, and Teldryn rolled over with a cry of pain.

"Gods.." Tears filled Serana's eyes as she surveyed Teldryn's body, and Runa was crying now as well. He saw this all from a detached point of view, like he was watching someone else's life balance on the edge of the void.

Teldryn let his eyes fall shut, but all of a sudden a warm euphoria embraced him. He could hear the melodic hum of a healing spell, the golden beauty shining through his closed eyelids. Then Teldryn fell into darkness, and felt no more.

Serana stood over the fresh grave, glad to be done with this exhausting business. For three days they had rested at the pond while Teldryn recuperated. The sellsword had advised her to bury the bandits lest their bodies attract wolves or other predators to their camp. This was the last of them, the bearded Nord. Serana could still feel the bruise his harsh grip left on her arm.

"Finished, then?" Teldryn asked, limping forward to slide his arm around her waist. The disturbed recollections of the days before could not stand up to the warm feeling Serana felt at the Dunmer's touch. I came so close to losing him.

A vampire's life was a solitary existence. All of her life, Serana had been plagued with feelings of abandonment and loneliness. First her father, then her mother, and then the Dragonborn himself had left her in one way or another.

"Feeling better, sera?" Serana said, casting an amused glance at Teldryn.

"Much better, thanks to you." He replied. "And don't say sera. It's a Dunmer word, you have to be a Dunmer to say it."

"Fine, then." Serana crossed her arms. "I won't tell you any of my secret vampire words."

"Suggesting that I don't already know them." They turned and started walking back to camp. "I am a well-travelled man, Serana."

"Tell me some of them, then. I yearn to hear the language of my people."

Teldryn shook his head gravely. "I would have to check with the vampire council first. I'm not sure you're allowed to know." Typical.

They reached the campsite, where Runa was watching the treeline with the attentive eyes of a hunting eagle. The bandit ambush had shaken her greatly, Serana suspected. Poor girl.

"Time to get back on the road," Teldryn said to Runa, slinging a pack over his shoulder. "I want to reach Morthal before sundown."

They broke camp in minutes, and found the road again as the afternoon sun crested over the mountains of Hjaalmarch. Serana watched Teldryn limp with growing worry, unsure if her healing had completely fixed the man.

The vampire reflected on their quest. The Thalmor Embassy was their target, and hopefully the soul gem locked within. The soul gem of the Dragonborn.

She reminisced on her first encounter with Jaxius Amaton. Their friendship had been a hard-won affair, thanks in a large part to the Dragonborn's distaste for anything undead in nature.

The look of cold efficiency on Jax's face was burned in her mind forever. On that fateful day, she had fallen out of her coffin prison in Dimhollow Crypt. Before Serana could utter a word, Jaxius was raising his greatsword to cleave her in half.

Only a quick roll saved her life, the sword sparking off the stone with an ear-bleeding clang. He ran at her to finish the job. A thickly armored fist sent Serana reeling to the ground, and then the sword was at her neck.

"Wait!" She cried. "Just wait a minute! Please!"

A note of annoyance ran through Jax's features, but the sword did not leave her neck.

"Speak." He permitted, his voice rolling thunder.

"Okay," Serana's heart threatened to beat out of her chest. This is it. This is the end. "Okay. You're going to kill me. I've accepted that now. But-"

The sword bit into her neck, drawing a line of blood.

"But!" Serana screamed. "I just need to tell you something, a dying wish, please!"

The grim Dunmer had considered for a moment, a flicker of recognition running through his eyes, or maybe she imagined it. The sword left her neck, and he listened to her explanation about Harkon and the sun, and they left the crypt together.

And now she was walking across Skyrim with two fugitives to save the man. It was amazing when Serana thought about it, how time changes people and how friendship could overcome prejudice. Jax was dark on the surface, closed off and military, a living weapon. Only his close friends had seen what lie beneath, the caring heart, the fear of loss. We're coming, Jax.

"Serana." Teldryn's voice was clipped and alert, breaking through her clouded mind. "Someone on the road. A minute away, maybe."

The three moved to hide behind a roadside boulder, Runa safely tucked away between them. Serana started gathering energy, preparing to fire bolts of lightning if needed. Teldryn drew his sword, the sharp rasp of metal a disquieting sound in the calm tundra air.

A single man proceeded down the road, leading a goat with a rope. His golden skin marked him as Altmer, and his simple leather doublet said trader. Just a merchant, it looks like.

Teldryn crept back to the road when the merchant rounded the corner. The sellsword raised a hand in greeting and Serana watched the stranger, ready for surprises.

"Happy greetings, friend!" The mer called out, waving in response. Teldryn nodded almost imperceptibly and Serana came out from behind the boulder, Runa in tow. I don't think he poses much of a threat.

"Make that friends." The merchant amended, smiling at the appearance of the two. "I do hope you don't plan to rob me. I have nothing of worth to you."

"You have nothing to fear, sera." Teldryn sheathed his sword and Serana relaxed. "We're on our way to Whiterun, going to visit some family." The lie didn't shock Serana. The man looked harmless enough, but many good men have died because of false assumptions.

"Ah, ah, me too!" The merchant's goat bleated as its owner shook in excitement. "You heard they're holding a moot there? I can't wait to see all the other traders that arrive!"

"A moot?" Teldryn asked sharply. "To what end?"

The merchant continued smiling, oblivious to Teldryn's displeasure. "The High Queen wants to gather all the Jarls to talk about the Thalmor attacks, I figure. Not sure though, not really my area of expertise."

"Elisif is alive?" Teldryn exclaimed. He turned away in distress, clenching and unclenching his fists. Serana could see great turmoil in his features, and she reached out a hand to comfort him.

"Last I heard, yup." The man reached into a pocket on his doublet and took out a glowing gem the likes of which Serana had never seen. "Plan on making this a gift to her. Jewel of the Lake, one of my family's more treasured heirlooms."

"Wow, that's pretty," Runa watched the jewel with entranced eyes. "Why are you givin' it away for?"

He chuckled at the question, the jewel softly bouncing in his hands. "I want to make sure the Queen knows my family is loyal to Skyrim first. Can't be too careful these days."

"Makes sense." Serana said, similarly impressed with the gemstone. The glow was almost ethereal in its power, and even seemed familiar somehow.

"Well, we must be moving on." Teldryn said, still looking bothered from the news of Elisif's moot. "Good luck on your journey, friend."

"Farewell!" The merchant gave them one last smile before passing by with his goat in tow, soon leaving them alone on the road once again.

"I thought that if Jax was hit, surely the Thalmor would assassinate Elisif as well." Teldryn ran a hand through his mohawk, pacing in a circle. "I can't believe she's alive. This changes everything."

"How, Teldryn?" Serana asked gently. "The Embassy is west, and Whiterun is far to the north. We'd have to go weeks out of our way."

He growled in frustration, slamming a fist on his thigh. "I know, damn it all. Elisif probably thinks I'm dead too." His eyes flickered to Runa, and an idea seemed to surface.

"I could send Runa to Whiterun," he mused. "Elisif would keep her safe. Far better than I have, in any case."

"No!" Runa yelled, crossing her arms. "I'm not leaving you, Teldryn! You said we're in this together."

"Maybe I could run and find that merchant, get him to take her." Teldryn's fingers thrummed rhythmically against his chitin-covered thigh as he thought out loud. "He won't know who she is. I could promise him payment delivered later on."

"We shouldn't split up, Teldryn." Serana interjected. "Jax asked you to protect her, not to send her away when you grow frightened." The words were harsh but truthful. I'm sorry to have to say them.

Teldryn shook his head, fingers thrumming faster. "I couldn't protect her. Those Nords, they would've caught her without your help. I failed!" His yell echoed off the plains, chilling Serana's spine.

"There were five of them, Teldryn." Serana said softly. "And they ambushed us. We had no weapons or armor. No one could expect you to win against those odds."

"Jax would have." Teldryn's head fell. Serana's heart ached for the sellsword. His voice fell so only she could hear. "If Runa dies, I won't be able to go on, Serana."

"I know." She said, drawing Teldryn into a hug. His chitin armor was cold against her cheek. "But that isn't going to happen, Teldryn. We'll protect her together, and soon Jax will be with us. There is no safer place for her to be right now." Runa groaned in disgust at the public display of affection.

He nodded, letting out a deep sigh. "You're right, of course. I'm just worried about what might happen." He said nothing for a moment, letting his eyes glide across the distant plains. "Let's move on."

Heavy mist fell on the trio as they drew closer to Morthal. Gnarled and weathered trees took the place of the tall grasses, and the humidity made breathing in harder. Who would choose to live in a place like this? No wonder that Morthal is the smallest Hold capital in Skyrim.

They were deep into the swamp when Teldryn held up a hand. "Stop. Something's wrong."

Serana put a protective hand on Runa's shoulder, looking for predators or the sight of some distant enemy. She was nothing. "What is it, Teldryn?"

"Be quiet for a moment."

The sound of the marsh consumed them, chirping bugs and croaking frogs temporarily holding domain over their world. Serana heard nothing of importance, and certainly nothing alarming.

"Teldryn?" Runa asked, equally confused as to why they had stopped.

Teldryn looked ahead uneasily, his hand dropped to his sword. "We should be hearing the lumber mill. The town is just around the bend, very small and useless, except for the damned lumber mill."

"Okay, I guess." Serana didn't really see the big deal. Maybe the workers were on break or something. "Want us to wait here?"

He nodded and proceeded away into the swamp, presumably to enter the town from a different angle. Serana watched his lithe form vanish into the mist, shivering despite the cloying warmth.

"Serana." Runa said, her voice a comforting sound in their alien surroundings. "When we get my pa back, will he be the same?"

The vampire hesitated, simultaneously not wanting to crush the girl's spirit but also not wanting to completely lie. "I really don't know, Runa. Nothing like this has ever happened before, to my knowledge."

"Nothing like what?"

"Well," Serana explained cautiously. "A lot of different gods and divines are trying to claim your father's soul. The pulling from so many directions might be affecting Jax somehow."

Runa pursed her lips. "I hope he's the same. I really really do."

Serana patted her shoulder comfortingly. "Me too, Runa. Me too."

Another five minutes passed before Teldryn reappeared from the mist. Serana saw immediately that whatever he found in Morthal was very severe. A haunted expression claimed his face.

"What is it?" She asked, grasping his forearm. "What happened?"

Teldryn shook his head. "They're all gone. The Thalmor have done something monstrous."

"What, Teldryn?" The sellsword said nothing, but beckoned for them to follow. Serana walked carefully through the fog, one hand guiding Runa, eyes fixed on the thin path ahead. Soon enough the mist dissipated and they beheld the town.

Morthal had been sunken. Every building was distinguishable only by its roof extruding from the mud, and Serana suspected some had disappeared completely. To her growing horror, Serana saw arms and legs coming out of the sludge, fleshy gravemarkers for the formerly living citizens of Morthal. The sinking must have been swift and absolute for so many to die so quickly. Who knew how many people were buried completely, stuffed with ooze and left forgotten?

"How do you know the Thalmor did this?" Serana heard herself say, although her mind was still trying to process what her eyes saw. Runa squeezed the vampire's hand tightly.

"Follow." They went with Teldryn around the border of the town, careful to avoid stepping inside its deadly boundaries. Around the crest of a sunken house, Serana saw what Teldryn intended to show them. By the Divines…

A man's head and shoulders grew out of the mud like a grotesque plant. His chin was slumped forward on to his chest, and his eyes were glazed over as if in great contemplation.

"I'm back, sera." Teldryn said, and the man's eyes snapped to them. "Can you please tell her what you told me?"

The man's voice was croaked and weary. "It happened three days ago. One moment I was climbing up the mill stairs for my next shift, and the next moment the ground fell out of Morthal. The town was gone in five minutes. The water mixed with the falling dirt and took everything down with it."

Teldryn knelt down with a canteen of water and held it to the man's lips. He put his head back and drank gratefully, exhaling after the last sip. His voice suddenly turned bitter. "Last night, a band of Thalmor came into the town. Their leader wasn't dressed like the rest of them, had some leather armor and a hood. He was leading a goat with him, to test if the ground ahead would hold his weight. I could see them but they couldn't see me. He said that the experiment was a success, that they should return to the Throat. Don't know what any of it meant." The man coughed for a long time.

Serana gasped. "That Altmer merchant…"

Teldryn said nothing, but she could almost feel the rage glowing off of him. Runa gasped too after a moment, slower to grasp the connection between the man's words and the day's events.

"We could still catch him," Serana said, adrenaline pumping through her veins. "If we leave now and move fast we could still catch him, Teldryn."

"No." His voice was flat and broken. "He's hidden away by now. The merchant act was so he could get by us unscathed. We'll never find the n'wah now."

None of them said anything for a long moment. The man watched them with unthinking eyes, resigned to his fate. Runa stared at the ground, presumably dealing with having passed within arms' reach of her father's killer.

"He showed us the soul gem." Teldryn finally said. "The arrogant bastard dangled Jax right in front of our eyes."

"I know." Serana's mind raced, trying to think of another way. "There's no use going to the Embassy now. We know where the soul gem is, and we know that we'll never find it unless Stoker lets us. We have to go on to the Soul Cairn."

Teldryn turned away, looking over the sunken town. "What use is that without the soul gem? Can Jax return without his soul?"

"Maybe," she replied. I wish I knew what I was doing. "Maybe, in a weakened state."

The sellsword grimaced. "Alright. Then that is the only path left to us."

Serana took Runa and headed back for the road, leaving Teldryn with the sunken man. She knew what had to happen, and the sound of Teldryn's sword unsheathing reached them even as they walked away.

"Do you know why Teldryn has to do what he's doing?" She asked Runa, wanting to make sure that the girl's opinion of Teldryn was not discolored.

She nodded. "The man shouldn't be left to die. Teldryn can give him a quick and clean death."

"Right." Serana sighed, regretting having to live in a world where someone so young grasped the meaning of a mercy killing. As she herself knew, little girls did not often stay innocent in this cold and unforgiving province.

Teldryn rejoined them when they reached the road, cleaning the red off of his sword with a practiced hand. He bowed his head to her, and she nodded back, and they left the destroyed town of Morthal with Runa between them.

Chapter Text

The royal entourage grew larger the closer they got to Whiterun. At first Bolgeir had grimaced at the sight of the outriders and mercenaries, bringing the royal guardsmen closer to the carriages to shield Elisif. Eventually, though, the swelling number of tag alongs forced the guards to spread out.

Elisif rode at the front of the lead carriage with Sybille, hoping to present an open confidence to the people of Whiterun. How would it look if the High Queen arrived to the moot tucked away in a dark carriage, hidden from the eyes of her people? No, Elisif wanted to see the people she was fighting so hard to protect.

Men and beasts from all across the province were gathered around the city, Elisif noted as they continued on. Even from the east bridge she could see many tents and camps clustered around the walls. The colors of Whiterun, orange and black, were joined by the symbols of five other holds. She was pleased to see nearly every Jarl was in attendance.

More and more patrols passed the entourage every mile they traversed. Elisif couldn't help but see them as a reminder of why they were all here, the mammoth in the bedchamber so to speak. Many of these people were gathered in Whiterun for protection from the Dominion.

"I don't see the colors of Windhelm," Sybille remarked, squinting into the distance at the tents ahead.

"That's strange," Elisif said. "And worrying. Brunwulf was always a close ally to us. I fear to think what could keep him from the moot."

"Maybe he is just late in arriving." Sybille's words did little to comfort her. Windhelm was one of the largest cities in Skyrim, second only to Markarth and Solitude itself. Jarl Brunwolf Free-Winter's absence was disturbing to say the least.

"My Queen," Bolgeir said, emerging behind them from the carriage. "We're about to reach the city. You should prepare anything you need."

"Thank you, Bolgeir." She switched places with her housecarl, slipping into the cabin as he took her seat.

The air inside the cabin was unpleasantly stuffy after breathing in the open air of the Whiterun plains for so long. Elisif changed quickly into her gown for the moot, prepared by the Altmer sisters of Radiant Raiment.

A full length mirror stood against the side of the cabin. Elisif examined herself critically, rubbing the dirt from her hands and shaking the pollen from her hair. She had to present a collected attitude to the people who would be watching, as well as the other Jarls.

And maybe a certain High Elf. Emissary Stoker had told her they would meet again in Whiterun. Elisif didn't see where he would fit in an opportunity between her attending the moot and then resting for the night in Dragonsreach. The palace would be protected by her royal guards as well as the upper echelon of the Whiterun forces, combined with the men every Jarl brought with them. There was no way Stoker could get close. And yet, the uneasy feeling at the base of her spine would not abate.

She squared her shoulders and breathed out slowly. All right. The slow-moving carriage fell to a halt beneath her feet. Bolgeir knocked on the cabin door twice and Elisif knocked once back, the familiar code bringing some small comfort. The housecarl entered without fanfare.

"We're right outside the stables," he explained briskly. "Eight of the royal guard will escort us into the city and up to Dragonsreach. Two will remain behind to guard the carriage."

"Very well, Bolgeir. I trust in your judgement."

She was moving past him to exit the carriage when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Elisif involuntarily tensed and a gasp escaped her.

"Apologies, my lady," Bolgeir said, handing her Repentance. "I don't want you going anywhere without this."

"Thank you," she murmured, fastening the leather-sheathed elven sword to the belt of her gown. The weight of the sword felt like a heavy anchor, a constant reminder of what she might have to do with it. Her first kill, the Thalmor soldier from a week ago, was still burned into her mind.

Elisif shook her head to clear the intrusive thoughts. Now was no time to be reflecting on past actions. If this moot was to be any success, she would have to push forward full steam ahead.

She pushed open the back door to the carriage. The sunlight of the Whiterun plains blinded her for a moment and she had to shield her eyes. When she could see clearly again, the sight of tents and camps in every direction left Elisif in temporary awe. There must have been double the population of Whiterun gathered outside the city. Groups of men were walking around distributing food, and little children ran around playing games. She saw elves, and beasts, and men most of all. She could smell food cooking on open spits, and the general thrum of the masses was almost overpowering. Even as Elisif's awe waned her worry grew. Jarl Hrongar did not have enough men in the Whiterun guard to protect all these people, let alone feed them for any long amount of time. The plains were surely overhunted by now.

She stepped down the carriage stairs, eight guards quickly forming a circle around her. She could not see around their armored backs. They started moving into the crowds towards the first gate, Bolgeir and Sybille soon appearing beside her.

"These people are very afraid." Sybille remarked, walking closer to Elisif so she could hear. "You can almost taste the terror in the air."

"I'd prefer not to," Elisif responded.

The first stone arch of Whiterun passed over them, and the noise of the crowd faded to a steady thrum in the background. Elisif could not help but feel relief. Despite her newfound confidence over the past five years, large crowds still brought about a minor stress. The Emperor's cousin, Vittoria Vici, had been murdered in a crowd not long before the man himself met his end at the Dark Brotherhood's hands.

"The High Queen approaches!" Bolgeir yelled out, and the Whiterun guards stationed on the walls straightened out of respect. The scent of many bodies close together had been overtaken by the coppery odor of forges at work, animal skins being tanned, metals bring melted into raw iron. There could be no question any longer this city was preparing for war.

The entourage finally reached the great wooden doors of Whiterun. A massive steel crossbar was drawn across the entryway, freshly forged judging by the unmarked metal.

"You can't really begrudge them for wanting to feel protected," Sybille commented. "After everything that's happened."

"You're right, of course." Elisif murmured quietly. "I just can't help but think..."

"The doors didn't stop the Thalmor before." Sybille finished her thought morbidly.

After a moment of shuffling guards and shouted commands, the crossbar was drawn up with the grinding of chains and a hollow roar of straining steel. Elisif wondered again at the effectiveness of a fortified door when the Dominion was said to have dragons on their side.

The wooden doors creaked open, and then the city of Whiterun was before them. When I leave through these gates, the fate of Skyrim will be sealed, one way or another. Bolgeir motioned the royal guard forward and the group proceeded. A loose ring of Whiterun guards materialized to escort them through the city. Elisif gently pushed through the armored men to reach the front, so she could see the city for herself.

They had last visited Whiterun a year ago, on her annual circuit of the Hold capitals to surmise the current state of Skyrim. Back then it had been a bustling city of trade, full of life and a variety of people from all across Tamriel. She had made note of Jarl Balgruuf's management policies to improve her own back in Solitude.

Whiterun now could hardly be called a city at all. Thickly armored guards patrolled in groups of four, but apart from them and the iron workers, Elisif could see no one else on the streets. An eerie silence dominated the town, broken intermittently by the harsh clanging of steel and iron. She could almost hear her own footsteps against the weathered cobblestone.

All the shops and storefronts of Whiterun were boarded up and closed, but one large establishment on the first hill had been burnt down completely.

"Guard," Elisif called out, gesturing to the blackened shell and halting the entourage. "What was so important about this shop that the Thalmor considered it a target?"

One of the Whiterun guards shifted awkwardly, his expression unreadable under the iron helmet.

"Was the 'Drunken Hunstman', my Queen," he responded. "And wasn't Thalmor burnt it down."

"I don't understand. Was there an accident?"

"Elisif," Sybille said, exchanging glances with Bolgeir. "The Drunken Huntsman was an elven-run establishment."

"Oh." Elisif replied, feeling slightly dumb and very tired. "Oh, I see now." She was beginning to think Hrongar might have banned the elves for their own safety rather than out of prejudice.

Before long they were in the Wind District. Closed shutters and dying gardens greeted them, dark reminders this was a town in mourning. Jarl Balgruuf had been a much beloved leader, Elisif knew, and Skyrim would never be complete again without him in Dragonsreach.

"The moot will start in an hour," Bolgeir informed her as they walked past a particularly sad looking plot of flowers. "We should make haste to Dragonsreach, my Queen."

Elisif nodded, straightening her crown and increasing her speed to a brisk walk. The guards around her increased speed to match.

They passed the grave of the Gildergreen without comment. She couldn't bear to look at the blackened and gnarled tree trunk for too long, or the wounds of that horrible night would start bleeding anew. At this meeting of Jarls from every Hold in Skyrim, Elisif could not afford to show weakness. Some of these people will be ready to tear me apart.

The stairs up to Dragonsreach were a pain on her shoes. "I thought you had to walk a while that way for the Seven Thousand Steps." Sybille grumbled. Elisif stifled a nervous giggle, and then they were at the doors to the Jarl's palace. Bolgeir stepped forward to talk to one of the guards, and a minute later the group entered Dragonsreach.

The Queen felt disoriented for a second as a flurry of movement and sounds consumed her senses. More than a hundred guards of multiple colors filled the hall, intermixing with stewards and aides from all the nine Holds. The Whiterun men who had escorted them fell away and merged into the crowd, disappearing to some other assignment. She felt Bolgeir take her hand but she shook him off.

"Don't treat me like a child, Bolgeir." Elisif snapped, maybe a bit more harshly than she originally intended. The housecarl backed off respectively. I can not look coddled to the other Jarls. I have to look like I'm in charge. She set off purposefully into the mess of people, four of her guards creating a small shield around her. Sybille was at her side, a comforting against the controlled chaos of Dragonsreach. There was still twenty minutes or so before the moot would begin.

"I spoke to one of our agents on the way up, Elisif." Sybille moved closer so the Queen could hear. "The Jarls of Hjaalmarch and Eastmarch never arrived."

Igrod Ravencrone and Brunwulf Free-Winter. She knew Ravencrone as an eccentric individual, but also knew the Jarl of Morthal cared deeply for her people. Brunwulf was just as concerned for the people of Windhelm. If they are not here, it is not by choice.

"Do we have any idea where they are?" Elisif asked, pausing to shake hands with a minor noble and smile pleasantly.

Sybille moved closer and her voice dropped to a loud whisper. "Our people in Windhelm say no one has left the Palace of the Kings since the night of the attacks. We think the Thalmor have control of the city."

It made sense, tactically. During the Civil War, Windhelm had been the seat of a rebellion that considered the Dominion an enemy to Skyrim. The Thalmor would be sure to destroy any new insurgence before it could begin anew.

"And Morthal?"

Sybille glanced away, excusing herself as they nearly bumped into a crowd of guards. "No word from Morthal for weeks now. Our man in the town has gone quiet. I think they might have been hit, Elisif."

Terror threatened to send Elisif's heart beating out of her chest, and she breathed in and out carefully. Morthal was not far at all from Solitude. Killing the Dragonborn, massacring the Greybeards, even poisoning Balgruuf, those were tactical strikes. The Thalmor were removing the potential threats to their organization. Attacking Morthal would be the start of something different. The start of an invasion.

"Okay." She replied out loud. Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath was glancing at her from the refreshments table, trying to avoid eye contact through the crowd. Time to get some answers from this weasel. "Thanks for letting me know, Sybille. Excuse me for a moment."

Elisif pushed her way briskly through the throngs of people, her guards struggling to keep up. Several nobles glanced at her rudely, but Elisif had to sacrifice her politeness for the time being. Siddgeir saw what was happening too late and failed to escape.

"Jarl Siddgeir!" She exclaimed in delight, placing a hand on the nervous man's shoulder. "I'm pleased you could make it. How was the trip from Falkreath?"

He chuckled, the muscles in his scrawny shoulders tensed in stress. "The journey was perfectly average, my Queen." His eyes flickered from side to side, searching for an escape. "How was your commute from Solitude?"

"An average journey?" Elisif asked, ignoring his question. "You must have been very fortunate, Jarl Siddgeir. I've received several reports that many Thalmor have been seen operating out of your Hold."

"Oh, well, heh." Siddgeir replied, his voice cracking. "My housecarl and personal guard are very well trained, I'll have you know. No one would dare accost the Jarl of Falkreath on his own roads."

"I don't know about that. They attacked Jaxius Amaton at his own manor, if you remember. Surely you have had some skirmishes with Thalmor agents since that night?"

"The Dragonborn's death, yes, an unfortunate incident. My best men are investigating the matter, have no fear in that regard. I'm sure it was all just a big misunderstanding."

Elisif's hand tightened into a fist on Siddgeir's shoulder, and the small man let out a small groan of pain. The Queen felt an anger she had not felt since Toryyg's murder, a focused rage at this pathetic worm who dared to call Jax's death a "misunderstanding." Jaxius had told her years ago that Siddgeir was a friend to the Dominion, that he admired their power.

"My Queen," Siddgeir complained, his whiny voice grating on her ears. "You're hurting my arm."

She released Siddgeir's shoulder, stepping back to compose herself. This moot is bigger than Siddgeir and I. There will be a time for justice after this is all over.

"Excuse me, High Queen Elisif?" A cloaked aide approached them, holding a letter. "You have a missive from Jarl Ravencrone. Could you come with me please?"

"Yes, of course." She glared at Jarl Siddgeir. "I imagine we will meet again at the moot, Jarl Siddgeir. Goodbye for now."

Elisif accompanied the aide to a side chamber, their journey taking seemingly forever as they shouldered past the masses. She left two guards outside the door and entered with the aide, closing the door behind them. The chamber had a large window, and she could see the sun was setting behind the Jerall Mountains. The time of the moot was almost upon them. She turned to the aide.

"Give me the missive, please." She was impatient to see what was keeping Jarl Ravencrone from the conference. Was she being kept against her will? Did the Thalmor hold Morthal?

The aide stepped forward, threw his hood back, and Elisif gasped. The Emissary moved faster than anyone she had ever seen before, his arms flaring out twice with the flash of steel. Her two guards collapsed choking to the floor, daggers in their necks.

Her hand was on Repentance'shilt and then cold metal was at her throat. Stoker's eyes appraised her reproachfully, like a watchful teacher disciplining a misbehaving child. "Hand off the sword, Elisif."

She relinquished her grip on Repentance, self-preservation momentarily outweighing hatred. The two guards dying at her feet had been with her since her ascension to Queenship. Their names were Gaffor and Hoyon.

"Those men had families." She spat at him, her hand itching to find Repentance again. Stoker leaned forward and drew Elisif into her arms, and she could suddenly smell his cologne as her head was pushed into his chest. He drew Repentance from the scabbard on her hip, drawing back and then tossing the elven sword to the other side of the room.

"Apologies." He said, sliding his own dagger back into his robes. "That sword was making me nervous. Let's sit down now."

She remained standing, not wanting to leave the two men bleeding out beneath her to exchange pleasantries with a monster. Stoker sighed and took the closest seat at the nearby table, crossing his legs casually.

"Fine, we'll do it your way." He regarded her thoughtfully. "I have a family too, you know. My wife is back home at Alinor, or Summerset to you I suppose. She's pregnant with my child."

Elisif knelt down and stroked Gaffor's face, whispering comforting words. The light was leaving his eyes, but she hoped the sight of his Queen brought him some small comfort in the last moments.

"What do you want from me?" She asked venomously, not looking up at Stoker. He spoke of his wife and unborn child as if she cared for them, as if she would not order their execution if it could save even one life in Skyrim.

"I've been watching you work." He said cheerfully. "You're doing very well so far. Maybe too well, if you ask some people." Stoker glanced around conspiratorially. "Jaxius would be proud of all you've done."

"If you say his name again, I'll take the dagger from my dead friend's throat and kill you with it. That's not a threat." His mention of Jax reminded her of something. She raised her head and looked at his torso, searching for any crease or indention.

The Emissary rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes. And you would cut off my head and hang it from the Dragonsreach chandelier for everyone to see. I was speaking truthfully, though." He noticed her badly hidden attempts to glance at his robes and smiled. "And no, I no longer have his soul gem on my person."

Elisif could not think clearly, and every clever trick she had prepared against Stoker seemed to have faded from memory. His very presence put her in a blindingly furious mindset, like the only choice available to her was to find a weapon and end him with it. She knew that would mean her death, and that certainty was the only thing staying her hand.

"I destroyed Morthal, if you're wondering about that." Stoker said. "The second phase of this whole operation is almost underway. Your little swamp village was a test."

Elisif said nothing for a moment. "Igrod Ravencrone. Your men murdered her, as well?"

He inclined his head at her. "No Dominion soldier entered the town of Morthal while it still existed. I took Ravencrone before the deed was done, however. Going to need her later."

"What about Jarl Brunwulf Free-Winter?"

Stoker waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "A squad of Justiciars took the Palace of the Kings the day after Jaxius died. We calculated Windhelm had both the most vulnerable leadership and also the most Nords likely to rise against us."

"I told you not to say his name again."

He looked at her bemusedly. "What?"

She acted in one motion, the dagger coming out of Gaffor's neck and then into her hand and then flying towards Stoker in the blink of an eye. The Emissary gasped in pain, the knife suddenly buried in his shoulder, the hilt protruding an inch below his collarbone. Elisif started hyperventilating and scrambled backwards, pure adrenaline shooting through her veins. By the Eight, I actually did it.

Just like back in the tent when the knife fell from her hand, Stoker's politely clever facade fell away and left a monster in its place. His eyes filled with an ancient and yellow rage, so much like that of a dragon that Elisif was momentarily left dumbstruck.

"You Nord bitch." He growled, stumbling forward with the dagger still stuck in him. "I try to be civil, and you go and do something like that."

Elisif found herself with her back to the door of the chamber. Stoker advanced slowly, blood dripping from his leather doublet. His hand drifted into his robes, and out emerged a thin and sinister looking blade.

"I saw you talking to Siddgeir." Stoker said, his voice low and hateful. "He's the one who led us to Lakeview Manor."

No. "You're lying." She said, the words sounding desperate even to her own ears. "No Jarl would betray Skyrim so utterly." She knew Siddgeir associated with the elves, but assumed it was isolated to trade deals and safe passage through Falkreath. To have played a hand in the Dragonborn's murder would be the ultimate treachery.

"Oh, yes." He said. He spun the blade in his off-hand, the tip drawing lazy circles in the air. "We knew the general location of the Dragonborn's residence, but not enough to launch a confident attack. Siddgeir gave us a map, and we didn't even have to threaten him."

"No," Elisif said to herself, covering her face with her hands. "No." If Siddgeir was responsible for Jaxius's murder, she would have to execute him. There was no other choice. But if she killed a Jarl she had invited to a sacred moot, the other Jarls would never trust her again.

Stoker's shadow fell over her, but she did not look up. Drops of blood fell into her air, and she shuddered when one ran down her face. The Queen prepared to feel the bite of the knife, and promised herself she would not scream.

"My queen?" The door behind Elisif shuddered with a series of harsh knocks. Bolgeir's voice came through loud and clear. "Elisif, are you there? The other Jarls are preparing to gather, my lady."

She looked up at Stoker. For a single second, he regarded her with so much hatred she was frozen in terror. Then the mask fell back into place, and Emissary Stoker stepped backward.

"Farewell, Elisif," he said quietly. "The first time we met, you almost stabbed me, and this time you succeeded. The next time, you will be in chains" He walked to the window, and then looked back over his shoulder. The shadows cast of the setting sun spilled over the Emissary, obscuring him in darkness. "Jaxius died screaming your name."

Bolgeir knocked on the door again, and Elisif was startled. When she looked back to the window, Stoker was gone. Nothing remained of his presence but trails of blood, and two innocent men lying dead. I wonder how many more will die at his hand before this is all over with. Elisif stood up on shaky legs, wiping the elven blood from her face.

She opened the door a crack, looking out at Bolgeir. His eyes widened at her disheveled appearance and the blood still drying in her hair. Without asking any questions, Bolgeir shoved past her into the room, taking in the small massacre.

Elisif hurriedly shut the door behind him, hiding the scene from anyone walking past the door. She turned to Bolgeir.

"Shor's bones, what happened here?" He demanded to know, crouching down to look at Gaffor and Hoyon. "Tell me now, Elisif."

"Emissary Stoker was disguised as an aide. He led me in here claiming to have an urgent message, and then killed the guards."

Bolgeir shook his head in disbelief. "The Whiterun guards check everyone who enters the city. There's no way he could have slipped in undetected."

Elisif said nothing, feeling Gaffor and Hoyn were testament enough to the Whiterun guard's detection skills.

"We have to lock down the city." Bolgeir said, rising and striding towards the door. "I'll have the guards search every cupboard and basket for the-"

"No." Elisif stepped in his path. "You will do no such thing."

The housecarl forgot himself for a moment, looking at the small woman with incredulous outrage. "I will do whatever I need to-"

"You will do what I command, because I am your High Queen and you are my housecarl." Her voice echoed sharply in the small chamber. "No one can know what happened here. The other Jarls would make some excuse about safety concerns and leave the city."

"And they would be right." Bolgeir replied. "If Stoker can get in and out at will, so can the Thalmor agents he brings with him. Whiterun is not safe."

"I don't care." Elisif walked to a mirror, carefully straightening her dress and adjusting her hair so the drops of blood were obscured. "If this moot doesn't happen, we've already lost. You need to get rid of the bodies and make sure no one enters this room."

"Yes, my Queen." Bolgeir gave in. "I will do as you command, as always."

"Thank you." Elisif gave herself one last once-over and decided she looked as good as she could at the moment. It's time.

She turned and walked to the door without looking at Bolgeir, bending down momentarily to grab Repentance and fasten it to her hip. Elisif took a deep breath and then pushed open the door.

One High Queen and six Jarls of Skyrim sat around a long stone table, ready to start the first moot since the Civil War. One aide each stood behind each leader, ready to advise and inform as needed. Sybille Stentor stood behind Elisif, as Solitude's steward was in charge of the city back at the Blue Palace.

Elisif sat at one end of the table, and Jarl Hrongar of Whiterun sat on the other end, afforded a place of honor as host of the meeting. Hrongar was large and muscular, the ideal Nord, and red warstripes crossed his face. She was reminded unpleasantly of Ulfric Stormcloak.

Time to start. I have to be determined with these people, or they will rip right through me.

"Esteemed Jarls of Skyrim," she began. "I want to thank you all for gathering in this time of great peril. Skyrim will only survive if we can come together as a country, and this moot is an important step towards that principle."

Hrongar snorted. "Big words do not mean anything when the Thalmor are preparing to massacre our citizens, Elisif. We all know why we are here."

"I'd thank you to remain quiet until I'm finished, Jarl Hrongar," she said, "unless you care to withdraw from this meeting and fight the Thalmor yourself."

He grumbled at that but said no more.

"You may have noticed two chairs at this table remain empty." Elisif said, her voice turning grim. "Jarl Igrod Ravencrone of Hjaalmarch and Brunwulf Free-Winter of Eastmarch have been taken against their will by the Aldmeri Dominion. Morthal has been decimated."

The reactions around the table were a mixture of shock and anger. Only Jarl Siddgeir chuckled derisively.

"You find this funny, Siddgeir?" asked Jarl Brina Merilis of Dawnstar, disgust in her tone. Sybille had told Elisif earlier that Merilis was a former legionnaire in the Imperial Army, but the Queen was pleased to see Jarl Merilis held Skyrim dearer to her heart than the Empire.

"These are mere rumours." Siddgeir claimed, leaning back in his chair. "No doubt propagated by those opposed to the Dominion, prejudiced Nords and their ilk." He regarded Elisif contemptuously, evidently having gained some confidence since their last encounter. "I would not trust the High Queen to have an impartial view on the matter, given her relationship with the late Jaxius Amaton."

"What a moronic suggestion." Jarl Maven Black-Briar of Riften commented, her rolling voice a harsh melody. "The Thalmor just successfully assassinated the Dragonborn, among many other people of regard in the province. Everyone in Skyrim is 'opposed to the Dominion.'."

"I do not have an impartial view." Elisif said, resisting the temptation to order Siddgeir's immediate execution. "And I would invite anyone at this table who supports the Dominion to leave now. There can be no question that they are a mortal enemy to the people of Skyrim at the present time."

Jarl Siddgeir pulled back into himself, looking down at the table much like an annoyed schoolchild. Jarl Igmund of Markarth also shifted in his seat, looking displeased at the turn this moot was taking. The man had let Thalmor Justiciars openly operate in his city during the Civil War, according to the reports Elisif had read. We'll have to keep a close eye on him.

"Now then," she continued. "I'd like a short report from each of you on the status of your respective holds. We need to know the state of Skyrim before any decisions can be made."

"I'll go first," Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold volunteered, sitting to her right. "Since the night of the attacks, Winterhold has been preparing for invasion. I've brought in the people living in the outer mining villages, and we've built up a supply of fish in case trade routes are cut off. My able-bodied citizens are training day-and-night in case the Thalmor decide to pay a visit." He nodded his head respectfully. "Winterhold is ready and waiting for your command, my Queen."

"Well done, Jarl Kraldar." Elisif complimented him genuinely. The man was old and gray, but his spirit was that of a young and optimistic soldier. Loyalty and honor is what she needed from the Jarls, and Kraldar offered an excess of both.

"I suppose I'm next." Maven Black-Briar said. "Riften has not overly changed since the attacks. The Dominion knows not to meddle in my affairs, and my trade routes continue to operate unmolested." She yawned, resting a gloved hand over her mouth. "Nonetheless, the soldiers of Riften are at your beckoning should you want them." She chuckled mirthlessly. "Oblivion knows they're useless to me."

"Thank you, Jarl Black-Briar." Elisif disliked Maven's careless demeanor, but knew going up against the Black-Briar family would not end well. That is a fight for another time. "Jarl Siddgeir, I'd like your report next."

The slimy man toyed with the lapel of his furred outfit. "Falkreath remains the dull grouping of forests it has always been and always will be. Some of my people are eager to fight the Thalmor, to get 'vengeance for the Dragonborn.'" He quoted mockingly. "Please take them if you want, I have no use for rabble-rousers in my city."

Elisif's hand tightened on the arm of her chair, and Sybille squeezed her arm reassuringly. No. Not yet. She had a plan for Siddgeir, a plan that even now threatened to send her stomach into turns. He would get what he deserved in due time.

"Thank you for your report, Jarl Siddgeir," Elisif forced herself to say. "Jarl Igmund, could you please tell us the state of the Reach?"

"Chaos." Igmund snarled. "My Hold is in chaos because of you. After the massacre of the Imperial soldiers at Castle Dour, the legionnaires stationed in Markarth went rogue and tried to take the city. A majority of my guards are dead. The Empire has left us, and the Forsworn are coming out of the hills to plunder and pillage."

"I'm sorry, Jarl Igmund. I wasn't aware the situation had grown so dire." She said, self-doubt starting to rear its ugly head. "But there was no massacre of Castle Dour. I was trying to arrest the Thalmor responsible for the attacks, and the Legion refused to step aside. They died in honorable combat."

"You can make any excuse you want, but Markarth remains defenseless against the Forsworn and now the Dominion as well. My people are nearly rioting in the streets." Igmund leaned forward, his angry gaze burning holes in the High Queen. "I can spare no Reach soldiers for you, and even if I could I would not give them. We should have stood with the Empire. You've doomed us all."

"The Empire would have abandoned us regardless of the High Queen's actions." Jarl Merilis retorted sharply. "The Legion has been dwindling in strength since Titus Mede's murder. Cyrodiil needs all its strength gathered in case the Dominion decide to invade again. I have old friends in the Legion who keep me informed, and they say the Elder Council is terrified at the Dominion's boldness in attacking Skyrim."

"That information is very valuable, Jarl Merilis." Elisif said. "I appreciate you bringing it to us. Could you give us a review on Dawnstar's situation?" She was choosing to ignore Igmund for now, hoping to keep the moot moving forward at the cost of losing some people along the way.

The ex-legionnaire nodded. "Our trade routes to Windhelm have been cut off, so I've had to increase the amount of hunting parties and fishing boats twofold. We are rationing the food and it should last through winter at the least. My soldiers have prepared some defenses, but Dawnstar has no walls and the town is open at three sides." Merilis's words were harsh but honest. "My soldiers are yours to use as you see fit, but if the Dominion decides to wipe out Dawnstar I fear there is little we could do to stop them."

Elisif sighed and said, "Very well. Your sacrifices will not be forgotten, should that time come to pass."

Finally, it was Jarl Hrongar's turn to speak. Elisif would not say as much out loud, but Hrongar was the most important piece in this dangerous game she was playing. The army of Whiterun was worth more than the forces of any other three Holds put together, in both numbers and experience.

"And you, Jarl Hrongar?"

The burly Nord slammed his fist down on the table, making Siddgeir jump in his seat. "The elves murdered my brother in cold blood." He growled. "He took a drink from his goblet and was dead in a minute. My honor demands I seek vengeance."

"Have no fear, friend." Elisif said, desperate to calm the man. "I fully intend to bring the full might of Skyrim against the Dominion. We will drive every last one of them from the province."

"That's not good enough," Hrongar said, his voice rising. "I say we bring the fight to them. Gather all the able-bodied men of Skyrim, sail to their milk-drinker island, and send them all to Oblivion."

"Have you been drinking?" Maven asked, amused. "Skyrim has barely enough soldiers to defend itself, let alone mount an offensive against the Aldmeri Dominion."

"You mock me in my own home, Black-Briar?" He replied, tightening his fists on the table. "I would choose your next words very carefully. You have no power here."

This is getting out of control. "Please, please." Elisif said loudly. "We need to focus on our common enemy. Hrongar, the time for revenge will come soon enough. What's the current state of Whiterun Hold?"

He laughed darkly. "You didn't see enough on your way here, my High Queen? Refugees from Windhelm and elsewhere surround my walls. Soon they will run out of food, and then I will have to deal with them. My guards are stretched thin trying to keep order, and a third of my citizens have failed to pay taxes on time."

"Surely you can forgive them that," Jarl Kraldar interjected. "Their Jarl of many years was just murdered, not to mention the Dragonborn and the Greybeards."

"That's well and good, Kraldar, but I need to pay my guards and buy food for the winter." Hrongar shook his head. "No. Those that fail to pay on time again will be thrown in the stocks."

Elisif itched to reproach the new Jarl for his behavior, but she could not afford to alienate Hrongar with the Dominion's knife at Skyrim's throat. "What of Whiterun's soldiers, Jarl Hrongar?" She asked instead.

"Never let it be said Whiterun does not stand with Skyrim." He said firmly. "It might kill this city, but my men are yours if you need them, Queen Elisif. Honor must prevail above all else in this time of great turmoil."

"We all appreciate Whiterun's sacrifice, Jarl Hrongar. Your honor truly knows no equal." Yes! For the first time since that fateful night, Elisif felt a sense of elation for the future. Whiterun was with Solitude, and that just might be enough to save them. Markarth, Windhelm, and Morthal together made up a significant loss to their forces, but with the other Holds combined Elisif believed they could pull through.

There was a shuffling behind her as a courier entered and handed a note to Sybille. Elisif was preparing to speak again when she felt the mage's hand on her shoulder.

Sybille leaned forward to whisper in her ear, and word by word Elisif felt the color draining from her face. I knew this was going to happen. I've done everything I could have.

The Jarls exchanged confused glances around the table. "What's happened, my Queen?" Jarl Kraldar asked, real concern in his voice.

Elisif cleared her throat, her hands shaking under the table. "I've just received word a large force of Aldmeri Dominion soldiers has surrounded Solitude. They are preparing to siege the walls."

All at once everyone started talking, and Hrongar was standing up and shaking his fists, and Elisif was overwhelmed.

"Silence!" Sybille roared from behind her, thumping her enchanted staff against the stone floor until the Jarls had gone quiet. "The High Queen wishes to speak."

"The time has come to rally for Skyrim's freedom." Elisif found herself saying, though she still felt like she was in a mild state of shock. "This could be the battle that determines our country's place in the annals of time. Will we become another hand of the Dominion, like Valenwood and Elsweyr, or will we combine our forces and defeat this evil?"

"Whiterun's army can be ready in six hours," Hrongar said, sitting down. He glanced around the table, challenging each Jarl to meet his promise.

"I will send a missive to Dawnstar at once, my Queen." Jarl Merilis declared. "My soldiers can arrive in two days if I tell them to."

One by one, the other Jarls agreed to call for their armies, all but Jarl Igmund. He stared resolutely ahead, refusing to meet the eyes of anyone at the table. Elisif regretted she had lost one of her six precious Holds left, but it was an acceptable loss.

"You can not know how grateful I am for the support of the Holds." She said to the Jarls, meaning every word. "Solitude will be forever in your debt when we rid Skyrim of the blight of the Dominion."

The High Queen concluded the moot soon after. She elected not to bring up the issue of the elf ban to Hrongar, given he had just promised to save her city from a thousand murderous elves. So often in this moot she had to turn her head to ignore a pressing issue, but that was her own sacrifice for the survival of Skyrim. There would be time enough to deal with Whiterun's ban on elves and Markarth's Forsworn and the corrupted Black-Briars after this was all over. That's what she had to tell herself.

"In three days, we will march across these plains and try to save our city." Elisif remarked to Sybille, looking over Whiterun Hold from the Dragonsreach balcony. Skyrim looked so vast from up here, so large and boundless it seemed laughable anyone could try to conquer it. Sometimes, she missed having the naivete of a child.

"I don't know about marching all that way." Sybille replied, leaning languidly back in her chair. "I myself will be riding in a comfortable carriage."

Elisif giggled, the joyous action feeling cathartic after the stresses of the day. They said nothing for a long while, watching the tiny shapes of horses and men moving far below. There would be time enough for talking on the ride, she figured, and sometimes silence could be a very good thing indeed. Elisif pondered on elves, golden and gray and cool blue alike, until she fell asleep in her chair with Sybille at her side.

Chapter Text

The snow started falling in earnest the day after they left Rorikstead, and the downfall had only increased in the days since. The harsh Skyrim winter had finally arrived.

"I've not seen snowfall this heavy in years." Ulfric commented, on the lookout for any signs on the road that might point them towards Winterhold. He had not visited the ravaged town since he was a child.

"Truly?" Frea laughed, a strange sound from the formidable woman. "This is weather we Skaal pray for, Ulfric Stormcloak. This would be a day to go out and lay in the sun."

He chuckled. "And they say that Skyrim Nords are a hardy people. I'd like to have seen your home on Solstheim, Frea."

"You are not an elder yet. We will go to my village after all this is over, and you will see what winter really is."

Ulfric smiled grimly. "Yes, maybe so.”

His words were forced, and he suspected Frea knew as much. Ulfric did not expect to survive this final quest. Part of him knew he should have died in the Great War, should have died in Markarth, in Solitude, in the Palace of the Kings with the Dragonborn's sword at his neck.

Frea looked like she was about to say something, but Ulfric interrupted her. "There," he pointed through the snowflakes drifting down. The weathered signpost read Winterhold on one decaying arrow, indicating right. They followed the cobblestones as directed, finally on the last road to their destination.

“What is your plan when we reach this Winterhold?” Frea asked. “I suspect the Golden One will not simply present himself for slaughter.”

“I don't yet know.” Ulfric said. “I don't know what we will find at the end of this road. Merkoorzaam may have already finished what the Great Collapse began.”

The wind blew furiously against them, and every step became an effort. The silhouette of a figure appeared through the snowfall and Ulfric halted, dropping a hand to his sword.

“Rough time to be traveling the roads,” The guardsmen greeted them. Ulfric relaxed his sword arm.

“We've seen worse days, friend.” Ulfric replied. “Just came in from Solstheim. Hoping to sell some goods to the college mages.”

The guard shook his head. “College has been shut up for weeks now. Since the Dragonborn died and all the rest.”

 “Are the mages afraid of retaliation from the locals? There are surely Altmer among the college staff.”

 “Eh, no.” The guard chuckled. “I can tell you haven't been to Winterhold for a long time. Anyone with fire in their heart died in the war. Just old men and widows now.”

 “The quiet won't bother us. We'll just need a room for the night.”

 “Well, go on then. No one should give ya trouble.”

 Ulfric and Frea moved past the guardsmen and soon enough he had passed out of eyesight and out of their minds. The road seemed to get worse as they neared the town, sometimes appearing to disappear entirely except for a few weathered cobblestones.

The guards’ words hung heavy in Ulfric’s thoughts. The mages of Winterhold might be preparing their defenses, ready for a Thalmor assault. Alternatively, the elves might already have wiped them out from within. From passing travelers on the road, Ulfric and Frea had heard much about the recent work of the Dominion.

Ulfric’s former home, the city of his father and his father before him, was reportedly under martial law by order of the Thalmor controlling it. Windhelm had not even put up a fight. Jarl Brunwolf Free-Winter was nowhere to be found. Ulfric expected to be furious at the news, expected his blood to boil and an unparalleled rage to rise in his soul. Instead, he felt nothing but a hollow despair. Five years ago, the Thalmor had exploited his emotions to split Skyrim in two. Now they ruled Windhelm from the Palace of the Kings, and Ulfric was nothing. 

“I see lights, Ulfric.” Frea touched his shoulder and pointed.

Swaying lampposts appeared out of the mist, casting small rays of illumination into the frosty darkness. The silhouettes of buildings soon became apparent, though no people were out in this harsh weather. The weathered structures creaked and groaned against the biting wind. To someone unfamiliar with the settlement, Winterhold would appear almost completely abandoned.

“Where is the rest of this town?” Frea asked, evidently not impressed with Skyrim's smallest Hold capital.

“As I said, it fell into the Sea of Ghosts centuries ago.” He replied.

“Towns don't just fall, Ulfric.” She said. They continued through the town, on the lookout for an inn. “What caused this disaster?”

“No one knows. Many blamed the college mages and their experiments.”

“I see.” Frea replied, although she still seemed confounded. Ulfric finally saw an inn through the snowfall, and grabbed Frea’s arm as he hurried up the steps. They pushed open the door and stepped in.

A roaring fire graced the center of the inn, casting a pleasing warmth on their frigid faces. The looks they received from the few patrons of the inn were decidedly less welcoming. Ulfric and Frea found chairs at a table in the corner, and spent a moment warming up before speaking again. The fire cast flickering shadows over the inn’s stone walls, and to Ulfric the shadows seemed to take the shapes of dragons and demons and other monsters beyond imagining.

“We should rest here for the night.” Frea suggested. “Regather our strength before dealing with the mages, whatever that may come to mean.”

“No.” Ulfric said. “The time for rest is over. Skyrim rested for five years while a golden knife rose behind her back. Now that knife is inside the heart of my homeland, twisting and tearing.”

“All men need sleep, Ulfric.” Frea said, unimpressed. She absently waved off an approaching bar wench, presumably coming to take their order. “A weary warrior is slow and useless. You will not defeat the Thalmor with stubbornness alone.”

Before Ulfric could reply, there was a flash of sudden movement. A pair of hands grasped his shoulders, tingling with the promise of lightning. The threat was clear to the fallen king: move, and a thunderbolt is delivered straight to my brain. Frea was similarly incapacitated, her jaw clenched in anger. An Argonian slid into the chair across from them. He wore simple clothing, but the glowing rings and circlet marked him as a mage.

“My friends and I heard you talking about the Thalmor.” The Argonian said, his voice lilting and light. “We’d like to speak with you in a more private setting.”

Ulfric saw the barkeep and other Nord patrons out of the corner of his eye, but they were steadfastly ignoring the developing scene. The people of Winterhold had evidently conquered their prejudice against mages.

“That will not be happening,” Frea said. “We do not have the time to waste. The fate of the world will be determined by the result of our quest.”

The Argonian laughed. “Does she always talk like that?” He asked Ulfric. “Sorry, honey. We really need to have that talk.” Frea stiffened as a crimson spell washed over her body. Ulfric reached out a hand to her as she collapsed backwards, and then felt a similar sensation overtake him. The last thing he saw before passing out was the Argonian’s face smiling down at him.

“He can't help us. I don't know why you brought him here, or why he's still drawing breath at all. The last thing the people of Skyrim need is Ulfric Stormcloak trying to save them again.” A male Cyrodiilic accent, strangely familiar.

“Have patience, my friend. I've spoken to the Augur of Dunlain and the red dragon. They want him alive, they say he still has a part to play in all of this.” A female voice, light and airy. Probably an elf of some kind. Ulfric kept his eyes closed, hoping to eavesdrop on his captors while they thought him unconscious. Strips of leather restrained his wrists, and a gag of similar fashion kept him from Shouting his way to freedom. These people obviously knew who he was, and what he was capable of. Not good.

“We need to go on the offensive as soon as possible.” The male voice had moved across the chamber, maybe to look out a window. “Skyrim has no standing army, but if we combined the local militias with the men I brought from Cyrodiil it might be enough.”

“My spies in Whiterun report that Elisif has already acted in this direction. Most of the Jarls have already sworn their meager armies to her cause.”

The male voice chuckled. “Elisif has changed while I was gone, that's for certain. Five years ago she wouldn't have been able to assemble a dinner party by herself, let alone a united army of Skyrim.”

That voice. Where have I heard that voice before?  Then it all registered for Ulfric. An aging Imperial man, who last had reason to visit Skyrim five years ago. Who had personal contact with Elisif herself. Who had the resources to assemble an army.

He opened his eyes and saw General Tullius and a Wood Elf in mage's robes looking out a high glass window, their backs to him. The chamber he was in was circular, with an alchemy garden in the center. Balls of magelight illuminated the room, and rows of bookshelves lined the walls. Ulfric had no doubt he was inside the College of Winterhold.

“Ah, Ulfric.” Tullius and the elf had turned to face him. “I was wondering when you would wake up. I'm going to be honest with you, I don't know why you're here and I sincerely wish you weren't. I don't know why Amaton spared you in the first place. If justice had been served five years ago, your head would be rotting on the walls of Solitude.”

“Please, general,” the elf chided. “Try not to antagonize him. We're going to need every friend we can find to fight the Thalmor.”

“With respect, Arch-Mage, I haven't been a general for quite some time.” Tullius met Ulfric's eyes, and they regarded each other with mutual hatred. “And I will never count Ulfric Stormcloak among my friends. If it wasn't for his rebellion, we wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.”

The Arch-Mage sighed, and Tullius said nothing more before leaving the room. Ulfric watched his face as he passed. New lines covered the man's weathered visage, and his close-cut military hair was even whiter than it was five years ago. Despite that, Tullius still moved with the power and authority of a much younger man. The former rebel did not doubt he was still a formidable foe.

“Hello, Ulfric.” The elf was speaking to him now. She looked young, for a Wood Elf, although Ulfric always had trouble discerning age in the non-human races. He was equally unfamiliar with the ranking system used at the College, but he supposed the title “Arch-Mage” meant she was their leader. He spoke muffled words into his gag, raising his eyebrows in an effort to show the futility of his actions.

“Oh, my apologies.” The Wood Elf said, flustered. “I'd forgotten all about the gag. Just please promise not to Shout at me.” Ulfric rolled his eyes as she removed the gag.

“This is the College?” He immediately asked, watching the elf sit back down.

“Yes,” She replied. “You sit in the Arch-Mage's quarters in the College of Winterhold. I am Arch-Mage Fasiel Gable, and I'm truly sorry we couldn't have met under more pleasant circumstances.”

He said nothing to that. “The woman I was with. What have you done with her?”

The Arch-Mage smiled. “Frea understood the situation quite clearly once Tullius and I explained it to her. I gave her free reign of the College following our discussion. The last time I saw her, she was perusing the Arcaneum.”

“The business at the inn, with the Argonian and the paralysis spells, was entirely unnecessary.” He replied. “Frea and I were coming here of our own accord. Do you threaten and kidnap every visitor to the College?”

“As I said, I regret that such measures were required.” Fasiel's hands were still and steady in her lap. If she felt nervousness or regret, she didn't show it. In fact, Ulfric couldn't tell much at all from her body language. “We couldn't know how you would respond when you saw Tullius. I must place the safety of my students and my guests above all else.”

He grunted. “Understandable. Could you free my hands, now, at the very least? Frea and I had been traveling for some time, and my muscles are sore.”

Fasiel hesitated a moment before raising her hand. The leather straps binding him loosened, and then came undone to gently fly into the Arch-Mage's grasp. She slipped them into a pocket of her robes as Ulfric rose and stretched his weary body. He walked to the window, curious to see the view that the elf and Tullius had enjoyed earlier. He was not disappointed. Although the town of Winterhold was just as pathetic looking from above, the mountains and valleys of the snowy Hold were enchanting in their beauty.

“What is your arrangement with Tullius?” Ulfric asked after a long moment. The rustle of cloth behind him told him that Fasiel had sat back down in her chair.

“The former general took up residence in Falkreath following the end of the war.” She replied quietly. “Following the destruction of Lakeview Manor and the murder of Jarl Balgruuf, he decided to petition the Elder Council to take action against the Thalmor and help defend Skyrim.”

Ulfric snorted. “And how did that work out for him?”

“As you would expect. The Council refused to mobilize any of the legions, and in fact pulled their Skyrim forces back into Cyrodiil. They fear an attack on the heartland and want to be protected.”

“Faithless bastards.” He muttered. At least Emperor Titus Mede II had represented a united Cyrodiil, if not a united Empire. Now they didn't even have that.

“Tullius echoed your sentiment. Following their refusal, he called in some old favors and assembled a volunteer force to help fight for Skyrim. One hundred and fifty Legion veterans, mostly Nords and border Imperials. I agreed to let them board in the College if they agreed to protect us during their stay.”

He heard something unsaid in her last words. “The College was hit during the attacks, wasn't it? That is why you made this deal with Tullius. You're afraid the Thalmor will come back.”

“Yes.” Fasiel said simply. “They killed one of my very good friends that night. His name was Tolfdir.” They said nothing for a long moment. He could hear the heavy winter winds even through the thick walls, battering the sides of the College relentlessly.

“They also stole a relic of great power.” She finally said. “The Staff of Magnus. Frea has already told us what you learned of Merkoorzaam from the fallen Blade. The Thalmor must have used the Staff to force him into creation, somehow.”

“Somehow?” Ulfric turned his head to her and scoffed. “Somehow, I expected the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold to be more certain. This staff was in your possession. How do you not know what it's capable of?”

“The Staff of Magnus holds an ancient power, that no mage over the centuries has been able to successfuly analyze or explain.” If she took offense at his remark, her face didn't show it. “Tolfdir was our preeminent scholar on Magnus and his artifacts, but the Thalmor took all of his notes during their attack. Any knowledge he possessed died with him.”

“So all hope is lost, then.” Ulfric clenched his fist in frustration. To come all of this way just to discover the Thalmor had beaten them to the punch was infuriating. He was coming to understand that they would always be two steps ahead, no matter how hard he tried.

“Perhaps not.” Fasiel said. “At the time of his death, Tolfdir was consulting with a Telvanni wizard living on Solstheim. Neloth, I think his name was. You might be able to find out more about Tolfdir's research from him.”

Solstheim. Ulfric knew that it would take more than armies and brute force to defeat the Thalmor this time. This wasn't the Great War, when things were simpler: man against elf, sword against magic. The elves had dragons on their side now, led by a golden dragon of their own making. The conflict between Skyrim and Summerset Isle had moved past conventional warfare. They needed to go see this mage Neloth, to discover what the Thalmor were planning, and maybe find a way to defeat Merkoorzaam. As far as Ulfric knew, only the Dragonborn could truly kill a dragon, and the only Dragonborn he knew was dead.

“Fine.” Ulfric pushed away from the window and walked past the Arch-Mage. “If Neloth is the only one who knows the power of this Staff of Magnus, then I must go and see him. As far as your dealings with Tullius go, I could not care less. That is your own affair.”

Fasiel nodded gravely. “I wouldn't ask you to work with him. I sense there is an animosity between the two of you that cannot be mended merely by time.” Ulfric suddenly recalled the sound Legate Rikke made when his sword entered her chest, and the look on Tullius' face. No, he would not ever be able to work with Tullius, and he was sure the ex-general felt the same.

The Arch-Mage gave him directions to the Arcaneum and Ulfric set off, a new certainty in his movements. They had not found the Golden One at the College of Winterhold, but they had found a new ally. Maybe two new allies, for Ulfric had to admit that he and Tullius were fighting for the same side if not for the same reasons. For the first time in a long time, the former leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion felt hope for the future of Skyrim.

Chapter Text

The sky began to darken as Teldryn steered the rowboat towards Castle Volkihar, with Serana rowing at the rear and Runa between them. Their journey to the shores of Haafingar had been relatively uneventful, to Teldryn's relief, but he knew that the hardest part of their adventure had yet to come. Traveling to the Soul Cairn, bringing the Last Dragonborn back from beyond the grave, these tasks seemed like impassable mountains in front of them. And yet, Teldryn had once scoffed at the idea of dragons even existing beyond the tales of the Nords. The gods must consider it a very fine jest that I ended up serving a dragon myself. And a Dunmer one, at that.

“Looks like a storm's coming, Teldryn.” Serana said, speaking loudly to be heard over the increasingly turbulent surf. “Might want to row a little faster.”

“I'm going as fast as I can, your highness.” He glanced over his shoulder to see the Castle again. The aged turrets and battlements cast ominous shadows on to the waters below, and the castle as a whole seemed intensely unnatural set against the waters of Solitude. “From the look of this place, I'm not very surprised that you decided to leave.”

“The dead bodies of my father's clan decorating the interior don't really improve the aesthetic, either.” She replied. “The Dawnguard didn't care to clean up after themselves. I'm sure it smells positively wonderful in there by now.”

“Please, Serana. You're going to have to work harder than that to convince me to move in.”

“I'm gonna come with you into the Soul Cairn,” Runa interjected. She had been quiet since Morthal, from what Teldryn assumed was shock after seeing the massacre of the townspeople. “I didn't come all this way just to wait outside and hope you come back with my papa.”

“The Soul Cairn isn't exactly a hospitable destination, Runa.” Serana replied. “It's a land of the dead and lost. You don't want to go there, trust me.”

“You're not going, sera, and that's the end of it.” Teldryn added sharply. “I didn't bring you all the way here just to get eaten by some wraith or phantom. You will wait outside, and I will bring your father back.”

Runa said nothing more, but stared past Teldryn's shoulder to the sight of Castle Volkihar behind him. He saw a disturbing amount of determination and stubbornness in those eyes, and knew in his heart that the matter was not truly settled. This child was the daughter of Jaxius Amaton, a man so stubborn that Alduin the World-Eater had not been able to eat the world when Jaxius decided he liked Tamriel better as an untouched meal.

“I can see the dock,” Serana pointed to a distant brown shape jutting off the thin shore of the island. “We should be able to land there, if the wood hasn't rotted since I've been gone.”

“Wonderful.”

As they approached the shore, Teldryn kept on the lookout for movement on the island but saw nothing. He wouldn't put it past the Thalmor to have let them reach Castle Volkihar only to corner them on the small island. There would be no place to run once they landed; if they were caught here, it would be the end. No, I don't think I like Castle Volkihar much at all.

“Gah, finally.” The rowboat halted as it hit solid land and Teldryn dropped the heavy oars. “The gods did not make me with this sort of task in mind. I have done altogether too much rowing for one lifetime.”

“Oh, stop blubbering,” Runa snapped. “All you do is grumble and complain about every little thing you have to do. I'm tired of it.” She pushed past him impatiently, hurrying to the bridge leading to Castle Volkihar. Teldryn looked after her, incredulous. Small waves pushed and pulled at his feet.

“Ouch.” Serana commented, dropping her oars a safe distance from the landed boat. “Do you need one of my healing spells? That was a painfully accurate strike you just received.”

Teldryn, quite uncharacteristically, did not respond. He frowned at Runa's retreating form, watching her get smaller and smaller against the backdrop of Castle Volkihar. The air seemed much too still all of a sudden, and the sea birds that had been annoying him since they left Solitude were now silent.

“I'm not sure it was wise for us to come here, Serana.” He said as they set off down the bridge. “This place is lousy with the stench of death, and I can't imagine the Soul Cairn will be an improvement.”

She cast a worried glance at him. “It's ultimately your choice whether to bring Jax back or not, Teldryn. Runa is too young to understand the implications, and I didn't know him half as well as you did.”

“No.” They caught up with Runa at a rusty portcullis. “I promised to bring him back, and I always keep my promises.” The girl looked up at him, her anger diminished a bit.

Serana found a lever and the portcullis creaked and shuddered as it opened. The trio approached the great wooden doors of Castle Volkihar, as aged and decrepit as they were foreboding. The vampire sighed and met eyes with Teldryn. He said nothing for a moment, and then nodded. She pushed open the doors.

A wave of foul odor hit them, causing Teldryn to retch and Runa to fall to her hands and knees. Serana, Teldryn noticed with no small amount of envy, was unaffected by the stench of rotting meat and gore. She knelt down to help Runa as the sellsword tried to get a hold on himself. What I wouldn't do to have my helmet back right now.

“I hope it didn't smell this bad when you lived here.” He steadied himself and helped pull Runa to her feet. “Or else we will be having some very long conversations about my hygiene standards.”

“Honestly, I think it was worse back then.” She replied. “My father and his clan preferred fresh meat, and they didn't exactly observe Imperial dining etiquette.”

They proceeded into the Castle once the mortal part of their party had sufficiently recovered. The room was set up as some sort of dining hall, though now only great piles of ash and gore adorned the tables.

“I would have thought any meat would have gone to the rats by now,” Teldryn mused. “Strange that it remains here, years later.”

“The aura of a vampire is a powerful deterrent for most scavengers.” Serana explained. “And my father had preservation spells cast on the hall so that any meat would rot more slowly. For vampires, my father's clan were rather picky about that sort of thing.” She led them up a winding staircase in the corner of the room.

“You speak of them as if you were not a vampire yourself.” Teldryn said carefully. “I don't suppose I'm speaking to the first salad-eating vampire, am I?”

“Please, Teldryn.” She rolled her eyes at him and pulled a red potion battle out of one of her cloak pockets. “I do have some standards. Synthetic blood, brewed at an alchemist's table. Did you think I'd been sneaking off in the night and sucking villagers dry?” They reached the top of the staircase and stepped on to the second level of the Castle.

“Sorry for doubting you, m'lady.” Teldryn gave a mock bow. “It's not often I travel with women that prefer to drink blood rather than faint at the sight of it.”

“Ugh, gross.” Runa walked faster to keep ahead of them. “Can you wait until the Soul Cairn to do this, please?”

“Of course, Runa.” He responded, exchanging an embarrassed glance with the vampire . “My apologies.” Serana had become a remarkable distraction in the month since they'd met. Never before had he met a woman who understand him so utterly well, who could match him in a battle of wits and pull him out of his disgusting cycles of self-pity. He had to focus on Jax, though. If they didn't bring back the Last Dragonborn to help defeat Emissary Stoker and the Thalmor, Serana would be dead along with everyone else in Skyrim that threatened the Dominion's rule.

Serana led them through a side passage full of cobwebs and before long they were descending deeper into the bowels of Castle Volkihar. Teldryn took the lead, dispatching the occasional skeever or skeleton with his fireballs. Evidently, whatever force kept the rats from the dining hall did not extend this far down.

Finally, they broke through the webs into a chamber set up as some sort of laboratory of some sort. Alchemical ingredients lined long shelves, and large bookcases held ancient and rotted volumes. A great portal took up the center of the room, glowing with otherworldly energy.

“Our entrance to the Soul Cairn, I presume?” Teldryn asked. None of them could take their eyes off of the portal; it was enchanting in a gruesome and ethereal sort of way.

“Yeah,” Serana responded. “But something isn't right.” She looked around the lab with no small amount of frustration. “My mother should be here.”

“Your mother?”

“She was the one who helped Jax and I when we traveled to the Soul Cairn years ago.” Serana circled the portal, deep in thought. “The Ideal Masters who rule the Cairn trapped here there to try and steal her soul. There is no reason she would want to go back there.”

Runa interjected, “Maybe she wanted to help save my papa too.”

“Maybe.”

Teldryn grimaced. “Well, wherever she is, we need to go through that portal. I'm sorry your mother isn't here, but she isn't who we came for.” He took a step towards the portal and hissed in pain. “Damn! Does your portal have some problem with Dunmer, Serana?”

“Oh, sorry.” Serana rubbed his shoulder in apology. “I forgot to mention that you can't enter the Soul Cairn in your full mortal form. I'm going to have to trap part of your soul if you want to come with me. Unless you want to become a vampire instead. Take your time, it's a big choice to make.”

The sellsword sighed. “When we see Jax again, I'm definitely asking for a raise. Go ahead and trap my soul. There's no way in Oblivion I'm turning into a bloodsucker just to enter the Soul Cairn.”

Runa pulled on his hand and he looked back at her. “Please be careful, Teldryn.” She suddenly looked much more mature than Teldryn had ever seen her before. “If I lost you along with papa, I don't think I would survive.”

He swallowed. “Don't worry, sera. When I climb out of this portal, your father will be with me. That is a promise from Teldryn Sero, the most sacred promise there ever was.” He smiled at her and she smiled back.

“I've secured the doors to the lab so that you'll be safe while we're in the Cairn, Runa.” Serana said. “I'll try to keep Teldryn out of trouble while we're in there.”

He was about to respond with a witty comment when the soul trap spell hit him in the chest. Teldryn gasped and fell to his knees as part of his essence rushed out of his body and into the portal, a hollow feeling taking root deep within.

“Sorry, Teldryn.” Serana said, looking down at him. “It's only a temporary measure while we're in the Cairn. I'll restore your soul once we're back here with Jax.”

“Forgive me if that isn't comforting at the moment.” Teldryn rubbed his arms and shivered. He felt so cold inside, so weak, as if a part of him had gone that would never return. Runa looked at him worriedly, so he put on a brave face and stumbled to his feet.

“Fine, then.” He said, mostly to himself, stepping next to Serana at the precipice of the portal. “We just have to travel to a plane of Oblivion where the souls of the dead reside, find the Dragonborn's soul, and somehow take it from the plethora of gods that are undoubtedly bickering over the ownership of said soul at this very moment. I'm sure if we ask nicely they'll hand it right over.”

Serana took his hand and squeezed it tightly. He met her golden eyes and saw only hardened resolve. Well, can't let myself be shown up by a vampire. Teldryn looked up at Runa one last time, gave her a cocky grin, and then took his first steps into Oblivion.

Chapter Text

They took Siddgeir in the early morning hours, when the other Jarls were still occupied with organizing their forces and ensuring that the Army of Skyrim would be ready to depart as soon as possible. Sybille grabbed the Jarl of Falkreath as he was heading to the privy and put a cotton hood over his head. She brought him to the grand balcony overlooking the plains of Whiterun, where Elisif was waiting.

“What is the meaning of this?!” Siddgeir raged from under his hood. He had been made to kneel in front of the Queen. “I'll have you know I have powerful friends. You'll regret this, whoever you are!”

They were alone on the balcony. Elisif had ordered her guards to remain in her quarters, and Bolgeir was still sleeping in his own room. She wanted no one involved in the execution of Jarl Siddgeir that didn't have to be. She reminded herself that what she was doing was right; this was justice, justice for the murder of the Dragonborn.

Sybille slipped away as Siddgeir continued to bark insults and deliver threats. She was to guard the balcony doors and send a signal if anyone approached. Elisif knew that Siddgeir's execution was unavoidable, but she also knew that to kill a Jarl of Skyrim after inviting him to a moot would be unforgivable in the eyes of the other Jarls. They would never be able to trust her again if she took Siddgeir's life publicly. And so, here I am.

“Are you working for the Thalmor?” Siddgeir prattled on. “I've done everything they've asked of me. No one could question my loyalty. You clearly have the wrong man.”

“Jarl Siddgeir.” Elisif finally said. She stood on the edge of the balcony, her back to the traitor. “You have committed a grievous crime against the people of Skyrim. You are guilty of many injustices, the chief of which being conspiracy with the Aldmeri Dominion to murder Jaxius Amaton.”

“High Queen Elisif?” Siddgeir's voice had turned sickly sweet. “My lady, this is no way to conduct yourself. Take this hood off of me and we can sit down and talk like civilized people of society.”

“The circumstances of your betrayal have closed that path to us, Jarl Siddgeir.” Down in the plains, she could see hundreds of torches shifting around as the forces of Skyrim assembled. Elisif tried very hard to focus on them, to ignore the man kneeling behind her. “But justice must still be served. You are responsible for the attack on Lakeview Manor. I have been informed that you gave the Thalmor a map to follow, and so you are responsible for the death of the Dragonborn.” You can thank your friend Stoker for that.

“No!” Siddgeir fell over and started wriggling desperately to get away from her. Sybille had tied his limbs together quite tightly, however, so he couldn't get very far. “I had no choice, my Queen! They would have killed me too had I refused them!”

The High Queen turned to face him. He continued blubbering and making excuses, but Elisif slowly tuned his voice out until it had disappeared from her perception entirely. She beheld Jarl Siddgeir, squirming pathetically before her, and let her hand fall to the hilt of Repentance at her hip. Her grip tightened until her knuckles were white.

“Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath,” Elisif said, not hearing the words but feeling them leave her mouth nonetheless, “For your crimes I sentence you to die.”

If Siddgeir had any last words, she was not paying attention to them. Repentance was suddenly in her hand and falling swiftly towards the fallen Jarl, and then the blade passed through his flesh. Elisif didn't know when he passed on but she continued her execution until she was sure he was never coming back.

“That was for Jax, you slimy bastard.” She growled, letting Repentance finally fall from her fingers into the pool of blood. This hadn't been like killing the Thalmor soldier on the journey from Solitude; that kill had been in self-defense, though it still haunted her dreams. Elisif felt no guilt or shame looking down at the corpse of Jarl Siddgeir. She felt righteous; she felt powerful. Jaxius would have done the same. If someone had killed this rat a year ago, we wouldn't be in this mess to begin with.

Elisif turned away from Siddgeir once again, leaving bloody footprints on her way to the balcony railing. Without the ceaseless voice of Siddgeir, she could now hear the bustle of the army of Skyrim as the soldiers prepared for the long march tomorrow. Ten days had passed since they had received word that Solitude was under siege by an army of the Aldmeri Dominion, and for ten days the Jarls of Skyrim had been consolidating their forces into one grand fighting machine. The High Queen knew they could wait no longer. She would not – no, could not - let her city fall without a fight.

Sybille approached quietly to drag away Siddgeir's body and then clean up the mess it left behind. Elisif did not turn to face her until the court mage tapped on her shoulder and handed her Repentance.

“It had to be done, Elisif.” Sybille looked into her eyes, perhaps searching for some sign of remorse. “You did the right thing.”

“I know.” Elisif fastened the sword to her hip and started walking. “I'm alright, Sybille. Just please address me by my title from now on. I have a feeling I'm going to have to be using it quite frequently in the weeks to come.”

“Very well, my Queen.”

Elisif left Whiterun four hours later to join the rest of the Jarls in the grand army's encampment outside the city walls. Siddgeir's uncle Dengeir had arrived leading the forces from Falkreath, and was not at all surprised when Elisif told him that Siddgeir had opted to return to the forest hold rather than accompany the army to Solitude. Jarl Igmund of Markarth was long gone. The day after the moot, he had hurled some particularly nasty insults at Elisif before departing Dragonsreach with his guards.

Jarls Hrongar and Brina Merillis were in the command tent in heated argument when Elisif, Sybille, and Bolgeir stepped in. As the leaders with the most military experience, they had been a natural choice for the commanders of Skyrim's army. Unfortunately, Elisif had quickly learned they had quite different ideas about strategy.

“To Oblivion with your sneak attacks and subterfuge.” Hrongar growled, gesturing down at the large map of Skyrim they had on the table. Several Nord figurines were concentrated around Whiterun, representing their forces. Near Solitude and Windhelm, figurines of Elven gold stood vigil. “We command an army of six hundred hardened Nord warriors. I say we march straight down the road to Solitude, cutting down any elf in our way.”

“Hardened Nord warriors?” Merillis scoffed. “Maybe a tenth of them can be called that. All of our greatest fighters died in the Civil War, Hrongar, in case you've forgotten. We lead a legion of weary elders and untested whelps. The only way we might break the siege of Solitude is by using superior tactics.”

“What do you suggest, Merillis?” Elisif said, stepping forward to the table. Hrongar grumbled, but said no words of dissent. Since Elisif's success in forming the grand army, the other Jarls had started acting a little more respectful towards her.

“My Queen,” Merillis replied, moving her finger to a spot on the map slightly above Whiterun. “Instead of taking the main road through the plains of Whiterun Hold and exposing our numbers and movements to anyone passing by, I say we take the mountain path through the ruins of Labyrinthian.”

“A damn foolish idea.” Hrongar said. “If any Dominion forces were to come upon us, we would be trapped between the mountain slopes and a Nordic ruin crawling with the dead.”

“The Dragonborn cleared out Labyrinthian months ago at the High Queen's request,” Sybille said. “To allow trade caravans to take the mountain pass. We wouldn't encounter anything more than a few skeletons, I'm guessing.”

This plan was sounding better and better to Elisif. Even if the army of Skyrim managed to defeat the Elven army outside Solitude, she knew that it wouldn't be the last they saw of the Dominion. She wanted to keep the amount of dead soldiers to an absolute minimum.

“What would be the next stage after getting through the ruins?” She asked.

Merillis moved her finger on the map through the swamps of Hjaalmarch until it touched Solitude. “The army would pass through the wetlands, cloaked by the mist, until reaching the coast opposite the city docks. I can have a fleet of small boats from Dawnstar meet us there in the dead of night. We could have all our forces right on the unknowing elves before dawn, and then strike before they rise.”

“This scheme of yours lacks honor,” Hrongar said, his voice uncharacteristically low. “But the elves murdered my brother at his feasting table, in cold blood. He was dead before his children could even look up from their evening bread.” He looked up at Elisif, his eyes cold and tired. “To Oblivion with honor. We'll kill them in their beds, and make the Dominion feel Skyrim's fury. They'll regret ever leaving their milk-drinker island.”

The High Queen left the battle tent after finalizing the battle plan with Hrongar and Merillis. Her commanders were finally in agreement, but Hrongar's words left Elisif feeling disquieted. After this was all over, after they had dealt with the Dominion, what would be left of Skyrim? The Dragonborn was dead, the Greybeards were massacred, and the most honorable and enthusiastic warriors of her frozen homeland were growing more bitter and vengeful by the day. I rule over a broken country, and see no way of healing it.

The army departed at midday, setting out into the grasses of Whiterun hold at a slow but steady pace. Elisif's carriage was near the vanguard with the other Jarls, with the assorted Hold forces assembled behind them. The warriors of Whiterun comprised the majority of the army, and they left only a meager force of guards behind to hold the city. Large camps of refugees still encircled the city, many of them watching the army leave with emotionless faces. Perhaps they know that if this crusade doesn't go in our favor, the next soldiers they encounter will be clad in golden armor.

“My Queen, I received a very interesting message by courier just before we left.” Sybille emerged from the cabin to place a hand on her shoulder. “A Thalmor prison camp in Rorikstead was recently liberated by someone using the power of the Voice.”

Elisif flinched. “Is this anything more than a rumor born of desperation and fear, Sybille? Jaxius is dead, and I know that with absolute certainty. Don't ask me how, but I do.” She would never forget the glowing soul gem that Stoker taunted her with when they met for the first time. It had almost seemed to call to her with the Dragonborn's voice.

“You're probably right, my Queen.” Sybille said carefully. Elisif noticed that her court mage had become much more reserved around her since Siddgeir's execution. All the better, she thought; she didn't need friends right now, she needed honest counsel from experienced advisers. “It's possible the Greybeards had an apprentice that escaped the massacre at High Hrothgar. The warrior apparently knocked down a battle line of Dominion soldiers with a single Shout.”

“He sounds quite useful, then, whoever he is.” Elisif replied. “Perhaps he'll show up to help us in the battle for Solitude. We could use a soldier trained in the Voice, especially if the rumors of Thalmor dragons are to believed.” There had been reports of isolated dragon attacks around the same time as the Thalmor strikes, but they had heard of no sightings since then. The once-feared terrors of Skyrim's skies had gone quiet once again. For some reason, that unsettles me all the more. At least you know where a howling wolf was in the forest, she thought, remembering the Dragonborn's words to her on their last morning together. It's the silent ones you have to watch out for.

They had left on the road to Rorikstead, to misinform the Dominion if they had any informants among the watching refugees of Whiterun. Once they were out of sight of the city they abruptly veered off of the cobblestones and set a course for their true target: the mountain pass of Hjaalmarch. Elisif watched the many soldiers trailing behind her from her vantage point on top of the carriage. The steady hoof beats of mounted soldiers filled the air like a drumbeat urging the army forward. She saw determination in the steady progression of her gathered people, and a curious feeling sprouted in her chest as she watched them. It's pride, she realized. Elisif was proud of Skyrim for finally banding together to help tear down their long-hated Elven oppressors. They were going to go to Solitude and rid their home of the Dominion's vile presence, and she couldn't wait. I'll kill Stoker myself, Elisif vowed. For the Greybeards and the Blades. For Jarls Balgruuf, Ravencrone, and Free-Winter. For my guardsmen Gaffor and Hoyon, even for Erikur murdered in Solitude. And for Jaxius Amaton most of all.

The sun had fallen by the time they reached the pass, but her commanders advised her to continue moving the army forward into Labyrinthian before making camp.

“We have to time our approach wisely, my Queen.” Hrongar said, riding alongside her carriage. He had thrown in his full support for Jarl Merillis' plan after realizing that it would give him the chance to kill more Dominion soldiers. “If we leave the ruins before dawn, we can be on the coast by nightfall tomorrow and use the Dawnstar boats. Solitude can't hold out against the damned elves forever.”

“Very well, Hrongar.” She looked out at the weary soldiers of her army, and felt pity for them. It wasn't far to Labyrinthian, but the pass was mostly uphill and covered in fresh snow. Then she thought of her city, of Toryyg's city, surrounded by the Dominion. “Let's press on.”

The carriage broke a wheel as they crested a particularly rocky hill, and Elisif opted to leave it behind rather than waste time trying to repair it. The only possession of great value she owned was Repentance, and she could carry that on their hip, and she wouldn't ask any soldiers to help carry her dresses up a mountain pass. Elisif donned her leather armor and left the rest behind. She had a feeling that she wouldn't be needing them for a while.

The High Queen wasn't particularly used to riding a horse, so she was as grateful as the rest of the weary soldiers when the stone arches of Labyrinthian finally came into view. The ruin was incredible to behold, if a bit eerie, and she paused for a moment to take in the sight. Unlike the other cities of the ancient Nords, which were mostly underground, Labyrinthian was magnificent even on the surface. Imposing walls of stone encircled the valley, and grand staircases led down into the mass of sturdy structures that had stood for thousands of years.

“It's truly a wonder, my Queen.” Bolgeir said quietly, stopped alongside her. “Our ancestors built this with nothing more than their bare hands and the strength of the Nords burning within their souls. The Dominion can never hope to take Skyrim as long as places like this remain.”

Elisif said nothing to that, because she could think of nothing to say that would equal the meaning of his words. She simply nodded and continued watching the snow fall gently on Labyrinthian, even as soldiers rode past them to start setting up camp.

Her elite guard set up her quarters in the stone building at the center of the city, and Elisif laid out her bedroll in the room with the mask display. Bolgeir made a fire in the center of the room, and he and Sybille joined the High Queen in an effort to save space and conserve the meager stores of wood they had brought with them. Her soldiers were sleeping tightly clustered, side by side, and Elisif wanted no special treatment for herself.

“We have a long march tomorrow,” Bolgeir said as they sat around the fire. “It'd probably be best if we got some sleep.”

Sybille, who Elisif knew had the strange habit of napping throughout the day rather than sleeping at night, chuckled at that. “There's little chance of good sleep happening in this room, Bear-Claw. The Queen doesn't know because she hasn't shared a tent with you before, but you snore like a congested horker.”

Elisif laughed and Bolgeir blushed like a maiden. He had always been a very proper sort of housecarl, and she appreciated him all the more for it, but she also enjoyed seeing him squirm in Sybille's grasp.

“If you wish, my Queen, I can find different quarters.” The auburn-haired Nord offered weakly. “I wouldn't want to disturb your rest.”

“There won't be any need for that, Bolgeir.” Elisif said. “I don't sleep very peacefully in the first place.”

Her advisers exchanged somber looks at that remark. Sybille opened her mouth to speak when the blast of a warhorn shattered the quiet of the night and sent them all racing outside. Soldiers of all the Hold colors were already jumping into action, holding swords and axes even while still awakening.

“Riders from the north!” Cried a scout, riding into camp on top of a panting horse. The man collapsed to the snow before being helped up by the soldiers. Hrongar ran forward to steady the man, and Bolgeir took a defensive stance in front of Elisif.

“Speak, man, how many of them are there?” Hrongar barked.

“Twenty at most,” The scout gasped and coughed. “The snowfall was too thick to see anything more than that.”

Jarl Merillis came forward from one of the stone buldings, pulling her helmet on. “Archers, to the walls!” She cried, and Skyrim's forces sprang into action. Soldiers were running up the marble steps to prepare for the oncoming force, and Elisif went with them despite Bolgeir's fierce protests. She was the High Queen of Skyrim, and she wasn't going to let her people face the elves while she hid away.

Hrongar and Merillis joined her on top of Labyrinthian's great northern wall, looking down at the stairway that descended into Hjaalmarch. Archers stood all around them, ready to rain arrows down on any foe that appeared below. There were no torches that would give away their position, so the only light came from the moon. Elisif leaned forward on the stone battlements, her eyes frantically searching but finding nothing.

And then, hoof beats. They saw the approaching band of riders, visible only as silhouettes against the white snow. Hrongar began to raise his arm to give the order to fire, but Elisif stopped him with a placating gesture. She wanted to see the soldiers the Thalmor had sent to face them before sending them to Oblivion. The oncoming soldiers were vastly outnumbered and would be cut down by the archers in short order; she didn't see any difference in the distance it happened at.

The riders came to the stairs leading up to Labyrinthian, and left their horses behind. As they ran up the stairs to the ruins, Hrongar raised his arm once again and the archers nocked their bows. The bow strings tightening sent shivers down Elisif's spine, and just as the archers took aim at the figures below and prepared to fire, a scout on the stairs below shouted up at them.
“Nords! It's Nords!” Elisif heard the cry. “Hold your fire, it's not the elves!”

The archers lowered their bows, and Elisif and her housecarl ran down the stairs to meet the newcomers. In the courtyard of Labyrinthian, Jarl Merillis had assembled the infantrymen in preparation for an assault. She joined Elisif at one of the gates, sword drawn.

A bald Nord warrior in scaled armor pushed through the gate soldiers, panting. Twenty Nords, Dark Elves, and Argonians stood behind him, clad in ragtag armor.

“Brunwulf!” Elisif cried, rushing forward to embrace the man. He stood as stiff as a statue, regarding her with no small amount of shock.

“What are you doing here, Elisif?” He asked, terrified. The Jarl of Windhelm had been a close friend to her since the end of the war, and she was so pleased to see him alive that she didn't notice the panic in his voice.

“We're riding to Solitude to break the siege.” Jarl Merillis said. “It's good to see you survived the purges, Brunwulf. We'll be glad to have you by your side.”

“No, no, you don't understand!” Brunwulf cried. “There is no siege of Solitude! The Thalmor fed you that rumor knowing exactly how you would respond to it, and they've been killing every courier coming from the city since!”

“No,” Elisif said, stumbling backward. “You're lying. They've got to you somehow, you've been turned to their side.”

The beating of dragon wings buffeted the valley, and they were all knocked to the ground from the force. Elisif coughed up snow and had one moment to look up at the sky before all of Oblivion fell on to Labyrinthian. No, this can't be happening. Jax, I've failed you.

A golden dragon swept down from the north, blanketing the grand wall with a jet of blue fire that hurt her eyes to behold. The stone turned to molten rock and the archers lining the wall turned to ash in seconds. From the south, two smaller dragons descended upon the ground forces and began to massacre them in a flaming inferno. Screaming men melted in their armor, archers were flash burned to death before they could raise their bows, and all order quickly left Skyrim's army as soldiers ran crying for their lives.

Bolgeir picked her up and threw her over her shoulder, sprinting for one of the stone buildings nearby. The screams of the dying were interrupted by the roars of dragonfire, and one by one the screams were stopping. The golden dragon turned twelve men running down the stairs to ash and then turned to regard the courtyard. Elisif's head beat against Bolgeir's shoulders as she met eyes with the monster. It watched her for a moment, illuminated by flame, before taking off from the wall towards them.

The dragon soared towards them, but Elisif dimly realized that it wasn't aiming for Bolgeir but for a stone arch above them. With another jet of blue fire, the beast melted the arch and burning stone fell upon them. Bolgeir gurgled as his flesh melted, and Elisif fell from his shoulders. Repentance had fallen off her hip and was melting beside her housecarl. The High Queen leapt to her feet and ran blindly, some primal part of her brain taking over. I have to run away, I have to run away, I don't want to die.

She ran through crowds of burning men stumbling and shrieking, men quickly dying on their feet. Any thought of helping them was overcome by the desperate and screaming fear inside her. Cries of panic and terror from the outer courtyard told her that the two smaller dragons were making short work of their rear guard.

“Elisif!” Sybille wailed, running from a stone hut. My friend! Elisif turned to her and started to run as well, so eager to reach her that she didn't notice the golden dragon silently descending on them.

Elisif's hands reached out and she was nearly touching Sybille when the mage vanished into blue fire.

Falling backward on to the snow, Elisif could not even scream. Her burning fingers throbbed with unimaginable pain, but she just stared up at the night sky. The army of Skyrim was dying all around her, screaming giving way to moaning and then to silence. The dragons soared from one side of Labyrinthian to the other, mopping up any survivors with streams of fire. She was not sure how much time passed until the ruins were completely silent. Maybe a second. Maybe a year. My army is dead. I am dead.

The High Queen was still looking at the sky when the golden dragon landed beside her with a force that shook the ground. In her peripheral vision, a figure in golden clothes was climbing off of the beast. Stoker's boots crunched against the snow, sounding very loud in the quiet night air. He stood over her, watching her fail to meet his eyes, and said nothing. They both stayed like that for a long moment, the silence growing between them, until she heard the a clanking of steel. The next time, you will be in chains. Stoker let the links of metal fall to the ground beside her. The shackles were bright in the light of dragonfire. The Emissary finally spoke.

“Our work has only just begun, Elisif. It's time to get up now.”

Chapter Text

After almost a fortnight had passed, Ulfric Stormcloak finally accepted that there were no ships to be found at Winterhold. The only seaworthy vessels were small fishing boats and coastal rowboats, and they certainly weren't capable of leaving the Sea of Ghosts, let alone making the trip to Solstheim. There was only one way they were getting to the Dunmer colony, and Ulfric's mind shuddered just to think of it.

He found Tullius standing on one of the towers of the College, looking out at the black waters of Winterhold. The air was too cold for seabirds and the waves were far below, so the air was deathly quiet when Ulfric emerged from the trapdoor. Tullius glanced back at him and then grimaced.

“Have you come to murder me, rebel? Shout me off this tower like you did to Torygg in his throne room?”

“I would never do that, Tullius. You aren't a Nord. You don't know our ways. Though it seems to me that we are both rebels, now.”

Tullius chuckled darkly. “If I had known that starting this little insurgency against the Dominion would lead to me standing next to Ulfric Stormcloak, I would have just fallen on my sword and been done with it.”

And I would not mourn you. Part of Ulfric wanted nothing more than to give Tullius his wish. If the old fool hadn't been serving at the pleasure of the Thalmor five years ago, Ulfric knew that Skyrim could have presented a united front against the elves.

“Regardless of our shared past, Tullius, we have a common enemy in the Dominion.” Ulfric watched the waves crash against the distant shore. “My only goal is to save Skyrim from elven rule. I don't expect to survive this conflict, so its in both our best interests to work together and end this quickly.”

Tullius glanced at him, his eyes narrowing. “What are you playing at, Ulfric? Don't think you can fool me like that tribal you're leading around, or even Arch-Mage Gable. I know how you work. Five years ago you also claimed to be saving the people of Skyrim, and we both know how that ended."

Ulfric turned away from the general, his fists tightening. “If you and the Dragonborn had stayed out of my way, I would have been High King. My Stormcloaks would have become a great army of Skyrim. The Dominion would not have dared attack us.” Even if they had started the war by manipulating me, I would have grown too powerful for them to control.

“You've grown even more deluded since we last saw each other, Ulfric.” Tullius laughed, the sound dying quickly in the high winds. “Where has the Dragonborn been keeping you for the last half decade? His mead cellar?”

The old rebel breathed in deeply and then exhaled, practicing the technique Arngeir had taught him to manage his anger. Ulfric needed something from Tullius, and he wasn't going to get it by engaging in useless bickering.

“Tullius, I need your help. Frea and I need to get to Solstheim to talk to a mage that knows how to defeat this dragon of the Dominion.”

Tullius didn't move his gaze from the glaciers below. “Don't really see what that has to do with me. My men and I are staying at the College until this damned weather moves on, and then we're going out to join Elisif.”

Now comes the difficult part. “Winterhold has no ships that could take us to Solstheim. I only know for certain one city that does. I need you to help me take Windhelm back from the Dominion.”

Tullius said nothing for a long while, but Ulfric could see the muscles in his cheeks tightening with restrained hostility. He wants to throw me off this tower. Ulfric said nothing, not wanting to risk aggravating him further given that he was their only hope of getting to Solstheim.

“I may not be a young man anymore, Stormcloak, but you must think me senile to even consider such a request. I took Windhelm from you five years ago with the blood of good Imperial soldiers running down the cobblestones. My men died so that you couldn't rule from that wretched city, and I will die before you step foot in it again.”

“Windhelm is yours if we succeed, general. The city would make a formidable command base for your forces, more so than a mage's school, I would think. Frea and I just need a ship and a small crew.”

“You're right in that it is formidable.” Tullius waved his hand at the College beneath them. “I have under two hundred soldiers at my command. They're all Legion veterans, but I doubt their chances against a fortified army of the Dominion.”

“The elves can't have a force that large in Windhelm, or else we would have heard rumor of it by now. Not even they can hide the movement of hundreds of soldiers into a city with one bridge.”

Tullius drummed his fingers against the stone battlement. “Say that you're right, Stormcloak. Say that they only have a small garrison holding Windhelm, disregarding the fact that they could have been sneaking in elven battlemages every day since this whole damn mess started. I still don't intend on leaving the College undefended. I made a pact with the Arch-Mage, and unlike you I don't betray my promises.”

Ulfric mused. Though he could care less about Tullius' oath, it was true that the College needed to be protected. He didn't have the slightest idea what kind of magical artifacts or weapons the mages had hidden away, but he was sure the Thalmor could make nefarious use of them.

“Fine, then.” Ulfric said. “Take thirty men and leave the rest behind. If there are more Dominion soldiers then we can handle with that number, then we will die anyway before breaching the walls.”

“Little wonder that you managed to get thousands of men to die for you, with rousing battle plans like that.”

It was your Empire that decided they needed to die. “So what will it be, Tullius?”

The general turned away from him. “Fine,” he said. “But know this, rebel; I will hold you personally responsible for every one of my men that falls fighting to take your city. And if even one of the Nord natives raises a hand against us, I will cut down every freezing bastard in Windhelm until there are only elves and Argonians left. Don't say anything more. Just go.”

Ulfric nodded, knowing Tullius could not see it, and left the tower. He proceeded through the College grounds, ignoring the curious stares of the student mages and their instructors. I doubt they even know who I am. His beard had grown wild and unkempt, and streaks of gray had started to encroach on his fading strawberry blond hair. He suspected not even Galmar would recognize him at this point, but the thought did not trouble Ulfric. My time as a ruler has long since passed, and the less people know of my quest the least likely the Thalmor are to discover us.

He found Frea in the Arcaneum, once again perusing the bookshelves. The sanctuary of knowledge had enchanted the Skaal woman on their first day in the College, and Ulfric had not had the heart to tear her away since.

“Ulfric,” She called, waving him over to her table. “I have found quite an interesting book about dragons. I think it could help us on our quest.”

“What is it?” He settled on to the bench next to her, shifting uncomfortably. Though he had developed a fondness for books during his time in High Hrothgar, he was uneasy at the absolute silence of the Arcaneum. At least in the monastery the wind had always been blowing.

“It is called There be Dragons.” She slid the book over to him. “I was curious about how these Thal-Mor could have created a dragon, for the Skaal have no record of such a thing ever occuring. Herma Mora and Miraak discovered how to make the beasts obey them, but not even they could create a dragon themselves. What power could the Thal-Mor have that they did not?”

“Hmm.” His eyes skimmed over the pages. “A fair question. The book says that dragons aren't hatched from eggs, but have always existed. They do not mate, nor birth young. So how indeed were the elves able to make their golden dragon? How does this Staff of Magnus they stole fit in?” He sighed and closed the book, running a hand through his hair. “Damn it, Frea. I feel like we're just running in circles here.”

“You are right.” She placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. “We will not find answers in these dusty tomes, and knowing that the enemy could not create a dragon will not help us when we finally face it. We need to meet this Neloth and get some answers.”

“I've convinced the general to lend us some aid in taking Windhelm.” They left the table and walked to one of the Arcaneum windows, the moonlight softly illuminating them. “With any luck we'll be on a ship to Solstheim in three or four days time.”

“I must admit my uncertainty about this plan of yours.” Frea crossed her arms. “I am no war chief, but I know that attacking a city made of stone will be a difficult task. Is it worth losing many lives just to find a seaworthy craft?”

“Of course it's worth it. We've wasted enough time here already, and I can tell you for certain that the elves have not been sitting idle. Winterhold has no ships, and Solitude is too far. If we merely crept into Windhelm and stole a vessel, they would sink us with arrows and fireballs before we left the bay.” Ulfric clasped his hands behind his back. “No, this is the only way. We will take Windhelm from the Dominion by force, and show them that Nords will never be slaves.”

“I am sure that they will drop dead upon hearing your fearsome speech, Ulfric Stormcloak.” She replied. “But just in case that does not work, you should make sure your sword arm is strong and ready. It may come to be that we will face more than elves if we take this city. The Golden One is still out there, and if he is truly a creature of the Thal-Mor then he will not take kindly to our actions.”

“Worry not, Frea.” He lifted his head. “Dragons before this one have tried in vain to melt the stone walls of Windhelm. Their fire simply doesn't burn hot enough. We killed three of them ourselves, without the Dragonborn's assistance. Once we are inside the walls, we will have nothing to fear from Merkoorzaam.”

Frea shook her head. “I hope you are right. I would like to see the faces of my village again before I die.”

Ulfric said nothing to that, because he could not promise that she would not be cut down by elven arrows or consumed by dragon fire before they reached Solstheim. He was not a man of false reassurances. They watched the moon rise in silence.

“Lone rider, heading south at speed!” The head scout's call echoed back at them, sounding unnervingly loud in the frozen pass. Ulfric spurred his horse forward without a glance at Frea or Tullius, leaving them behind along with the thirty soldiers.

Frea quickly caught up to him as he sped down the pass. For a Skaal, she had taken to riding surprisingly quickly. They passed the scout and soon saw the lone rider as a brown blur on the cold horizon.

“What are you doing, Ulfric?” She yelled to be heard over the hoofbeats. “We have larger concerns than one horse rider!”

“We can not allow word of our party to reach Windhelm!” He called back. They had left Winterhold in the dead of night in complete darkness. “We cannot hope to defeat the elves without surprise on our side!”

She nodded gravely and pushed her horse faster, matching Ulfric's speed. The Imperial warhorses they rode on quickly outmatched the sturdy but slow Skyrim steed of their target. As they drew closer to the rider, Ulfric could see that the rider was a Wood Elf clad in leather armor. Finally, they drew even with their quarry. The Bosmer raised his hands in surrender and slowly brought his horse to a stop.

Ulfric drew his sword and pointed it at the elf. “Dismount.”

He complied, sliding off his brown steed and turning to face them. Ulfric and Frea left their own horses and appraised the elf warily. His armor was torn and burned in places, and his face was covered in soot and grime. This man has been on the road for longer than us.

“Who are you?” Frea asked, her war axe ready to strike at the first sign of resistance.

The elf looked them over, his eyes blank and unchanging. “My name was Derndil, but that doesn't matter anymore. None of this matters. It's coming for us, and we're all going to burn.”

“Speak plainly, elf.” Ulfric warned. “We are short on time, and I don't have the patience for riddles.”

“You want to kill me?” Derndil asked, his eyes widening. “Please, do it. Better to die now by a sword than in burning agony when the it comes to take me. Go ahead, cut me down.” He took a step towards Frea, raising his chin to expose his neck. “Do it!”

The Skaal warrior exchanged uneasy glances with Ulfric. “I do not wish to kill you.” She said. “What has happened to you to make you this way?”

Derndil turned away, his eyes traveling to another time. “I was a refugee from Windhelm. I went to Whiterun, to the High Queen's moot, thinking she would come up with some plan to save us.”

“Her 'Grand Army'.” Ulfric said. “Yes, we've heard of this.” He was admittedly impressed with Elisif's work in uniting the Jarls, but had no wish to cross paths with her again.

A high-pitched laugh escaped Derndil, sending a spasm through his body. “A grand army, yes, you coulda called it that. No longer, though. No longer!”

Ulfric and Frea looked up at the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Tullius brought his horse to a stop and eyed the elf suspiciously, but Derndil seemed to take no notice of him.

“Tullius,” Ulfric greeted him. “This man comes from Whiterun. I believe he has news of Elisif.”

“Elisif is ashes! Ashes and charred meat!” Derndil screamed. Frea took a step back, and Ulfric raised his sword in defense.

“They're all ashes, don't you get it! It came down from the sky and burned them all and the screams are still in my head and it's going to come back!” The elf threw himself at Ulfric, and he acted on instinct. Derndil fell on his sword with a sickening squelch of metal through flesh. Ulfric dropped the sword and the elf fell to the ground.

“It was golden.” Derndil murmured, the snow turning red beneath him. “And it was beautiful.”

The three of them watched the elf die. Frea murmured some Skaal prayer, but Ulfric wasn't listening very closely to the words. He knelt down and ran his sword through the snow, Derndil's blood vanishing just as quickly as the elf's life had moments before.

“The man was insane.” Tullius grumbled. “He had no idea what he was talking about. Probably a bandit that got lost in the blizzard, and nothing more than that. Likely trying to con us in some way.”

“Awfully well spoken for a bandit, general.” Ulfric sheathed his sword and turned away from the corpse. “He knew the word 'moot.' As well as Elisif's name. And though I'm not experienced in the healing arts, I'm fairly certain that he is lying dead in the snow.”

“Maybe he didn't wager on coming across someone with such a taste for bloodshed. Did Torygg fall as easily as this one, Ulfric? You didn't kill the elf in front of his wife, but I'm sure you still got some pleasure out of it.”

Frea stood up from the elf's side. “Enough of this bickering. If what this elf said was true, the day we must face the Golden One is drawing closer and closer. We must get to Solstheim, or soon we will share his fate.”

Ulfric nodded, his mind troubled, and mounted his horse. Elisif, dead. He had never considered the possibility he would outlive his old rival for Skyrim's kingship. Even if the Stormcloaks had won the war, he had planned to let her remain Jarl of Solitude despite her Imperial allegiances. Who leads Skyrim now? If the golden dragon had truly destroyed Elisif and her army, it was likely the other Jarls had died with them. He shook his head, clearing his head of such thoughts. Titles and successions didn't matter as long as Merkoorzaam haunted the skies.

Glancing back, Ulfric saw the rest of the soldiers had caught up with them. The fresh snow crunched loudly under the hooves of their horses. He moved his horse forward, towards Windhelm. And whatever may be waiting for me there.

Chapter Text

The floating stone staircase stretched down from the portal, to end at the desolate gray plains that seemed to serve as the ground in the Soul Cairn. The amethyst purple horizon would have been lovely if not for the unsettling blackness that made up the rest of the sky, and the intermittent lightning strikes that seemed powerful enough to destroy whole carriages. The ugly plains were dotted with obelisks and towers of black stone, and what vegetation he saw seemed to be as stunted and malformed as the rest of the landscape's features.

All in all, Teldryn was not enjoying the trip. “Tell me, Serana, why would your mother ever choose to enter a place like this in the first place?”

They started walking down the floating steps. He wondered what kept them in the air, and how this magical force felt about living Dunmer entering this realm of the soul trapped.

“When you have someone like my father chasing you, you can't really afford to be picky about where you choose to hide.” She replied. They reached the bottom of the steps, where two large towers flanked them. “Especially if you are also hiding an Elder Scroll. Besides, she didn't intend to stay here for very long. The Ideal Masters tricked her into getting trapped in the center castle.”

“That is a fair point.” Teldryn glanced uneasily at the blue specters they passed. “I suppose this castle would be a good place to start looking for Jax.”

“That's the plan at the moment, yeah.” Serana didn't seem bothered by the ghosts roaming the plains, so Teldryn put on a brave face and tried to ignore them. Can't be shown up by a girl, now, can we? Even if that girl is quite an old vampire. “That plan kind of ends when we actually find him. I have no idea how his dragon soul will react to this place.”

“Well, don't look at me for answers.” The center castle had come into view, far in front of them. He was unsurprised to see it was as bleak and depressing looking as the rest of the plane's structures. “I didn't think he could be soul trapped.”

“That information is actually very useless, considering that we are certain he has been soul trapped.” The corner of her mouth curved up. “My mother and I can likely handle the occult details of this process, I think. Your job is to knock down any skeletons that try to accost us on the way to the castle.”

“You keep this up, sera, and I might just accost you myself.” He was amazed to find his sense of humor had survived even in such a desolate locale. This damn woman brings out things in me. “Malacath take me if your mother is half the pain that you are.”

“Don't worry, she's more of a strict and overprotective type of immortal bloodsucker. I'm sure you'll get along great.”

“Oh, simply wonderful.” Teldryn groaned. “To make it completely clear, I traveled to this realm of Oblivion in order to save the dead Dragonborn's soul, not to be torn apart by my lady's angry bloodsucking mother.”

Serana grinned slyly at him as they passed some particularly horrid looking obelisks. The castle seemed much closer now. “I'm your lady now, Teldryn? We haven't even kissed yet.”

“Let's remedy that.” He swept Serana up in his arms and felt his back hit one of the obelisks. She giggled in delight and then stopped giggling when he drew her closer. They kissed tenderly, one of his hands on Serana's hip and the other stroking her hair. Her lips were cold but soft and lovely to feel against his own. They continued for a while before finally breaking apart, and then just they looked at each other for a comfortable moment. I have never noticed before how beautiful her eyes are.

“I've never kissed anyone before,” Serana said, biting her lip. He was astounded to see she was self-conscious. “I did okay, right?”

“You were marvelous, Serana.” He took her hands in his. They were as cold as her lips had been, but his hands were larger and warmed them up quickly. “But how is it that someone as pretty and clever as you has not kissed someone in all those years? Are you only attracted to dashing Dunmer rogues?”

“Before I was a vampire, I was still the child of two overprotective parents. I couldn't exactly sneak off the island to meet people. And after my ritual, the list of potential suitors was considerably narrowed. I wasn't very interested in romantic dinners where the main course was human flesh.”

“Understandable.” He squeezed her hands reassuringly, then frowned. “But what is this ritual you speak of? I was under the impression that vampirism is transmitted through the bite of another vampire.”

“That is how it works for our lesser cousins, yes.” Her eyes looked past him, as if recalling some distant memory. “But I'm a Daughter of Coldharbour. I was given to Molag Bal on the 20th of Evening Star, and I survived long enough to satisfy him. The process was degrading, to say the least. After that, I was a pure-blooded vampire.”

Azura preserve me, what kind of parents could do that to their own child?   “That's awful, sera.” He embraced her, holding her close. “I'm so sorry you had to go through that.”

“I'm grateful for your sympathy, truly,” She said, letting her head fall comfortably against him. “But I don't regret that it happened. I've lived thousands of years, and seen amazing things. I traveled to the Forbidden Vale of the Snow Elves, and met the last true Falmer. I witnessed the reading of an Elder Scroll, and the flight of the ancestor moths. I helped the Dragonborn save the world from eternal darkness. And all of that pales in comparison to meeting you.”

He found himself too surprised to laugh, and so simply stared stupidly at her when they drew apart. Serana saw his dumbfounded expression and smiled gently, reaching a hand out to stroke his cheek.

“Behind all your sarcasm and snark, you hide the kindest man I've ever known. The way you look after Runa like she's your own daughter, the determination you have to save Jax, without ever sparing a moment to consider your own desires. You could be hiding anywhere else in Tamriel right now, but you came here with me to try to do the impossible, risking your own life on the chance that we might bring your friend back.” Her voice became shaky, and he saw a tear running down her face. “I love you, Teldryn Sero. I know I've only known you for a month but now I can't imagine life without you. I love your wit, I love your caring heart, and I even love your stupid mohawk.”

He was so overcome that for a second he said nothing. You love her too, you stupid fetcher! So speak up before she comes to her senses!

“I love you , Serana Volkihar.” His raspy voice didn't crack, but it came close. Their eyes met, gold against red. “I didn't come alone to this horrible place, and without you Runa and I would never have escaped Nazir unharmed. You came to us, as a stranger, and helped us in our time of greatest need. You're funnier than I am, much more beautiful, and at least twice as clever. I can't fathom why you would want to spend time with a grumpy old elf like me, but every moment I get to spend with you is the new greatest moment of my life.” She beamed at him through the tears running down her face, and he drew her close.

Their lips met, and they kissed again. Teldryn closed his eyes and saw once more the image in his head of him standing in a graveyard of his former employers. Slowly, the image faded away and a new one took his place. He saw Serana standing on a stone balcony, looking out at the waters of a beautiful ocean. He was standing beside her, holding her hand, enjoying the sea breeze and good company. Teldryn held that image in his head, trying to burn it in his consciousness so that he would never forget.

They finally broke away from each other because Teldryn had to breathe. He took a deep breath and grinned at Serana, feeling the happiest he had since before Lakeview Manor had fallen down around him. Maybe things are finally starting to go our way.

Runa Fair-Shield felt almost as bored as she did useless, mostly due to the fact that she was stuck in a dull laboratory while Teldryn and Serana were trekking through a plane of Oblivion to save her father's soul. Probably kissing each other and stuff too, blech. The lab did have some books in it, but Runa felt too nervous to focus on the words for very long. What if they don't come back with my papa? A darker voice in her head added, what if they don't come back at all?

Four years of being the pampered daughter of the Dragonborn had not completely wiped out her memories of Honorhall Orphanage, where she had spent the first nine years of her life. As the only girl in the group of orphans, Runa had been forced to do most of the cleaning and other housework thanks to Grelod the Kind's thoughts about a girl's proper place in the world. I hated that bitch. She would never have said such a word out loud where Teldryn and her father could have heard it, but Runa felt it so truly in her heart that she could not lie to herself. She was a bitch, a rotten bitch, and if she was here right now I would strangle her with my bare hands. She still had nightmares sometimes about her time in Honorhall, nightmares she would never share with her father or uncle in fear that they might go to Riften and burn the orphanage down for what had happened there. Nightmares of manacles and chains and other awful things in Grelod's special closet. At least I wasn't a boy. She did worst stuff to the boys.

She shook her head to clear her mind of the bad memories. Gotta focus. They might need help when they come out of the portal. Runa sat on the steps next to the shifting purple circle, being careful not to get too near. She had seen the pain Teldryn experienced when he had ventured too close to the portal, and she was certain his pain threshold was a lot larger than hers. If they don't come back, I won't even be able to go in after 'em. The thought had come suddenly to Runa and made a shiver of fear go down her spine. There was no one here to 'partially trap her soul' or whatever it was Serana had done to Teldryn, and certainly no one to turn her into a vampire. How long would she wait next to the portal before finally giving up hope? Forever, Runa promised herself, but the practical side of her with her father's voice said, a week and a half, maybe, because you'll run out of food around then.

The thought of leaving Castle Volkihar alone filled her with dread, but she forced herself to think about it anyway. She would have to make her way back up to the main hall, possibly fighting some rats along the way, and then open the doors to the bridge. After going down the bridge, she would find the boat that they had come here in. The boat. If she took the boat, Runa knew she would be stranding Teldryn, Serana, and her father if they ever came out of the Soul Cairn. Her practical father spoke up again: do you really think there's any food in the Soul Cairn, Runa? They took enough supplies for two days at most, not two weeks. Right, great. So if she had to take the boat she would be comforted by the knowledge that her only friends and guardians were already certainly dead. Thanks, papa, you divine ray of sunshine.

So she would have to row the boat back to the shore of Solitude, at that point. Runa's arms still ached from the rowing on the way over, and that had been with Teldryn and Serana's help. The thought of having to row all that way alone was almost inconceivable. And yet, some stony part of her deep inside was certain she would be able to do it. The part of her that had kept her alive and full of spirit all those years in Honorhall, the part that had gone dormant in her years as Jaxius Amaton's daughter but was now forced to awaken once more. What do you do after landing in Solitude?, her father's voice asked.

“I don't know,” Runa answered, but she knew that wasn't true. She just didn't want to imagine a world where she didn't have Teldryn or her father or even Serana watching over her, where instead she was forced to travel alone towards uncertain acquaintances of her father in hope that they might shelter her. Teldryn had planned for them to travel to Solstheim at one point, she remembered, but that idea had fallen apart when they entered Windhelm to find it under Thalmor control. If I could even get to Windhelm alone, with hardly any food and at the start of winter. Nah, Solstheim wasn't an option.

Her musings were broken by someone knocking on the laboratory door. Wait, what? Runa looked up sharply, adrenaline sending jitters across her skin. The door across the chamber looked so static and ordinary that for a moment she was sure she had imagined the knocking. Must be even more bored than I thought.

You know better, her father's voice said. You know you heard a knocking. So get on your feet, find a weapon, and go see who it is. She tried to ignore the voice, so sure that she had imagined the sound now, when there was another knocking on the door. A small, short series of three prim and proper knocks.

Runa didn't think this time. She sprung into action, running to Teldryn's pack next to the bookshelves and taking out her sharpened elven dagger. The gold metal felt frigid in her hands, but she held the weapon firmly and without reservation. I'll kill someone if I have to. I swear it. Runa turned to the door and prepared herself.

“Who's there?” She called out, her voice sounding small in the cavernous stone lab.

“Hello?” A little girl's watery voice called back. Runa almost dropped her knife in astonishment. She sounds younger than I am. “Hello, anyone there? My brother's hurt and needs help!”

“How did you get on this island?” Runa asked, moving closer to the door but keeping the knife ready. Teldryn had once told her of criminals in Morrowind that used small children as bait to lure unsuspecting victims into alleyways.

“Me and my older brother was on our sailboat,” the little girl sobbed. “It was real foggy. There was a big crash and then our boat was on some rocks. I climbed up here but my brother's still with the boat and he needs help bad!”

Runa bit her lip. The girl's story sounded likely enough, with all the craggy rocks surrounding Castle Volkihar, and she wasn't sure how a child would end up here otherwise. Besides, Runa was sure she could handle herself against an equally sized opponent if things got out of hand.

“Okay, I'm gonna let you in.” Runa said. “Stand back from the door, though.”

There was a pause, and a shuffling of feet. Then the little girl's voice, with less tears in it. “Alright, I'm stood back.”

She unlatched the door with one hand while keeping her dagger ready in the other. Runa swung the door open and stepped back from it immediately, putting some distance between herself and whatever might be coming through. For a moment, she saw only the darkness of the hallway, and then the little girl stepped into the light.

The fear that had sprouted in Runa when she first heard the knocking now returned in full force. But why? The girl appeared perfectly normal, and Runa wanted to laugh at herself for being scared of a girl younger and thinner than she was. She had shoulder-length brunette hair, red eyes (likely from crying, Runa figured), and posed no more threat than a skeever would have. So why isn't my fear going away?

Because you are still in danger, said her father's voice.

“Thanks so much.” The girl entered the lab, sniffling. She did not close the door behind her. “I didn't know what I was gonna do. This place is so awful.”

Runa tried to smile reassuringly, but only managed to grimace somewhat. “Yeah, it's pretty terrible. You musta been pretty brave to have got here from the shore.”

The girl smiled at her, and shivers ran down Runa's spine. “Thanks for saying so. I go on lots of adventures with my brother, so we're used to getting out of trouble.”

Something was nagging at Runa about the girl, but she couldn't quite figure it out. She's not crying anymore. Her father's voice was cold and urgent. A ten year old girl, suddenly stranded in a vampire stronghold, and she goes from weeping to smiling in the space of a minute.

Maybe she is just really really brave, she told the voice.

“Well, I'm sorry, but I can't help your pa right now.” Runa walked back to the steps where she had been sitting before. “I'm waiting for someone.”

The portal to the Soul Cairn thrummed steadily, and the girl seemed enchanted by it. “Are they going to come outta there?” She asked. “What is this thing?”

She seems to have forgotten about her 'brother', hasn't she? Her father pointed out. And she isn't frightened by the portal at all.

Her unexpected guest moved closer to the portal, examining the shifting rocks and runes with undisguised interest. It was then that Runa noticed something that made her heart drop into her stomach. With a shaking hand, she raised her dagger. The portal isn't hurting her.

The girl glanced up, saw Runa pointing the dagger at her, and looked impressed. “The way Nazir described you, I expected much less. Usually my target doesn't figure out what I am until my teeth are in their neck.”

“The portal,” Runa said, slowly moving to the far corner of the room. There was another door there, though she knew not where it led. Any place without a vampire child would be a significant upgrade. That sounded like Teldryn's voice. “It's s'posed to hurt you if you're a real person.”

“Oh. I let my curiosity get the better of me. Where does this portal lead to, if you don't mind me asking?”

“I do mind.” Runa said, trying to sound threatening. “Soon my papa is going to come through it and kill you in one second. He hates vampires.”

The girl cackled, and it sounded to Runa like a great bird of prey dying. She stepped back, her heart beating so loud she could hear it, and her back hit the door.

“Your father and I get along quite well, Runa Fair-Shield.” The vampire said. Her red eyes were filled with amusement. Slowly, she began to advance. “We've had many interesting discussions about the ethics of my vampirism as a weapon against predators who prey on children. In any case, I don't think your 'papa' will be coming through this portal. At least, not in time to save you.”

The door opened, and Runa fell backward. Two slim hands caught her shoulders, and a familiar face looked down at her.

“Hello, hello.” Nazir said, grinning. “Don't look so afraid, Runa, we don't mean to hurt you. But you will need to be unconscious for a little while, just for the sake of my sanity on the boat trip back.” Runa suddenly grew very woozy, and she dimly realized Nazir had pricked her with a poison dart. Her father's voice echoed through her mind, yelling at her to run, but the voice soon began to fade away. I'm so sleepy. The last thing she remembered was her knees buckling, and collapsing into Nazir's waiting arms.

 They had finally reached the nameless castle when Serana suddenly stopped. Teldryn looked back at her, confused.

“I should tell you something before we go in there.” Now that they had confessed their feelings to each other, her voice seemed more lovely to him than ever before. It was so sweet, and light, and – focus, fetcher! We came here to save Jax, not explore your woefully undeveloped poetic side.

“What's the matter?” He asked, trying to keep his manner serious. Though Teldryn wanted nothing more than to leave this place with Serana and spend a nice day on a beach somewhere, he knew that they were still in grave danger. “Don't worry yourself, Serana. I think I can handle your mother.”

“Something else might be waiting for us in the Boneyard.” She glanced uneasily at the doors to the castle's courtyard. “An undead dragon named Durnehviir lives here, too, but Jax and I made friends with him so there shouldn't be any trouble. It's the Daedra I'm worried about.”

“Daedra.” He joined in in regarding the castle with some uncertainty. “Jax and I have encountered dremora before, and the dark servants of Hermaeus Mora.”

“I'm not talking about servants.” She pulled on his arm so he would meet her eyes. “The soul of the Dragonborn is at stake, the most powerful mortal Tamriel has seen in centuries. They wouldn't exactly pass that down the line of command. They're here, Teldryn. The Daedric Princes are waiting for us in there.”

Teldryn swallowed and thought about that for a moment. He wasn't particularly religious, but many Dunmer worshiped the Daedra as gods. No man should have to meet his gods face to face. That is just entirely too much pressure.

“Alright then,” he said to Serana. “We'd best get to it. Maybe the Princes are feeling particularly merciful today.” She took his hand and tried to smile, but he could still see traces of fear and doubt in her expression. Based on their conversation earlier, Teldryn could guess what she was dreading. Will Molag Bal be standing over Jax when we walk into this castle? He could not recall the Dragonborn ever mentioning if he served that particular Daedra, but then again he had never mentioned he was the leader of a Dark Brotherhood family either. I suppose we will find out the fun way.

Together, they walked to the courtyard doors and pushed them open. An arena of considerable size spread out before them, made of the same gray stone and glowing purple fonts Teldryn had observed on their way here. The Ideal Masters are not a very creative bunch. In the center of the Boneyard, a shimmering purple field was encircling a stone slab. A motionless figure was laying on the slab. A Dunmer, like him, with a black beard and pale blue skin.

He felt his heart tighten. Jaxius. Could it be? He looked at Serana's eyes and saw the same hope and desperation that was threatening to overwhelm him.

“Serana!” An older woman with pale skin and black hair walked forward to meet them. “You've come at last.” Serana smiled and hugged the woman, and Teldryn watched and tried to make himself look presentable.

“And who's this, then?” The woman asked, taking notice of him. He could not help but notice as her eyes went up and down his body that she did not look very impressed. “Another Dark Elf, Serana? You certainly know your taste.”

“Mother!” Serana gasped, horrified, but Teldryn paid no attention to her. Bowing deeply and with perfect form, he took Serana's mothers cold hand and placed the lightest of kisses on the knuckles.

“Teldryn Sero, the best swordsman in all Morrowind, at your service.” He looked up at her from his bowed position, delivering his cockiest grin. “I have had the pleasure of courting your daughter, and now I see where she received her enchanting beauty.”

The vampire took her hand from him and huffed in amusement. “You're more charming than the last elf she brought here, at the very least. I'm Valerica, but now is not the time for pleasantries.” She looked back at the stone slab and the force surrounding it, and grimaced. “Your friend's soul is under siege, and I don't know how much longer he can hold out.”

Serana said, “That field surrounding him looks similar to the one that we found trapping you, when Jax and I first came here.”

Valerica nodded grimly. “The Ideal Masters put it up the second he arrived. They know how valuable a prize they have, but I sincerely doubt they will be able to stand against the Princes for very long.”

As they watched, the purple barrier crackled and flickered several times before returning to a solid state. Each time this happened, Jax's soul seemed to shudder and convulse on the stone slab.

“The Daedra are doing that, I assume.” Teldryn frowned, disturbed. “What do the n'wahs want from him? He's already dead.”

“Jaxius swore allegiance to four of the Daedric Princes in exchange for their tokens of strength,” Serana said. “He shared this with me after I told him how I became a Daughter of Coldharbour, maybe to make me feel less alone. Azura, Hermaeus Mora, Malacath, and Molag Bal.” She said the last name with no small amount of revulsion.

“Azura is nearly benevolent when it comes to the Daedra, and Malacath will not fight hard for him either.” Valerica mused, as they watched the barrier and the slab. “The last two are more problematic. Hermaeus Mora is a tenacious and greedy creature, but he is nothing compared to Bal.”

“I was under the impression that the Lords all have their own little realms they reside in,” Teldryn said. “How is it that they are able to appear here, where these Ideal Masters rule?”

“Like it or not, Jax did willingly sell his soul to all of these Daedra.” Serana crossed her arms and shrugged. “When you make a deal with evil divine beings, not much will stop them when they come to collect.”

Internally, Teldryn groaned in frustration. Why couldn't Jax have made an eternal pact with the gods of comfortable beds and fine wines? Externally, he murmured a prayer to whatever Divines he could recall off the top of his head, and then began to walk towards the shimmering barrier and the soul it protected. Serana quickly followed him, as did Valerica after a moment's hesitation.

He made it to the edge of the barrier without incident. The vampires stopped behind him, waiting in a nervous silence. I'm guessing Serana's mother isn't too eager to face Molag Bal again either. Teldryn took a deep breath of the cold, stale air and prepared himself.

“Warm greetings to you, Princes of the Daedra!” He called out. “I'm Teldryn Sero, blade for hire, best swordsman in all Morrowind, and one stubborn son of a netch! Come out and face me, you cowardly fetchers!”

His words were met by a long silence. The only sounds were the otherworldly humming of the barrier and the distant hissing of the soul fissures opening and closing.

“Maybe not the best choice of words, Teldryn.” Serana said worriedly. “The Daedra are a rather egotistical group, you know-”

She stopped speaking as four entities began to materialize around the barrier. Teldryn watched in amazement. The Daedra have come.

The first was a woman that could only be Azura, wearing long flowing robes of white and gold and a silver tiara. Next to her stood a massive orc wielding a greatsword, his only clothing a loincloth around his waist. Malacath, naturally. On the opposite side of the barrier, a writhing green mass of eyes and tentacles appeared. Teldryn had encountered Hermaeus Mora before, when the Dragonborn had made a deal with him in the Skaal Village, but was no less disgusted at the sight.

Finally came the Prince that Teldryn had been most loathe to meet. A colossal beast clad in bits of horrific spiked armor, Molag Bal stood far taller than any of his counterparts. Two gnarled horns protruded from the sides of his ridged head, and his sharp blue eyes regarded the Dunmer with burning hatred. In his hand, the Daedric Lord of Brutality held a massive spiked mace. That mace could break every bone in my body in one swing.

Azura spoke first. “You were not wise to come here, Teldryn Sero. Forces far beyond your understanding are at work, forces beyond even our control. The soul of the Dragonborn is in turmoil, and I fear your intervention will only escalate events further.”

He stared at Azura for a moment, trying to come to terms with the fact that the dark Divine that assisted the Nerevarine on his journey was currently scolding him. If only Geldis Sadri back at the Retching Netch could see me now. Fetcher would spit out his sujamma.

Teldryn considered his words carefully. I'm speaking to the Prince of vanity and egotism here, so better lay it on thick.

“Wise and beautiful Azura,” he began, “You are correct that I know nothing of these greater forces, but neither do I care. Our world is in danger of ending at the hands of those that put the Dragonborn here, and I am certain he is the only one who can stop them.”

“The elf is right.” Malacath growled. He stepped forward. “Jaxius Amaton was a great warrior, made vulnerable by betrayal. He killed many before being cut down, and would have prevailed if not for their greater numbers.” The Daedric Lord of the Spurned ran a hand down the blade of his greatsword. “The Dragonborn deserves his revenge, and these Thalmor deserve to die.”

Hermaeus Mora spoke, his voice oozing out like pus from a wound. “The mortal conflicts of the world, do not concern me. The Last Dragonborn swore his soul to me in eternal servitude, as did the First Dragonborn before him. Amaton will serve me in Apocrypha until his usefulness is, hmm, expended.”

Molag Bal snarled, “You all forget that this elf spilt blood in my name first and foremost. He recognized my power, and knelt before me like a beaten dog.”

“Tough luck, you bastard.” Serana pushed past Teldryn, and he looked on in surprise. Her fists were clenched at her sides. “Your power doesn't seem to be doing much against this barrier. Are the Ideal Masters really a match for the Daedric Lord of Domination?”

Bal chuckled, a deep and dreadful sound. “You speak boldly for a mortal, girl. More boldly than any of these petty gods would dare.” His grotesquely horned visage focused on Serana more closely, and she shuddered under his gaze. “But you're not a mortal, are you? It has been too long since I encountered one of my Daughters.”

Serana's lips went into a thin line, and she maintained her fierce staredown with the Daedra. Valerica stepped forward to support her daughter, and Molag Bal's eyes took her in.

“Ah, and the mother as well.” Bal grinned, his razor-sharp teeth bending unnaturally. “I remember now. You had such a distinctive scream, Serana, but your mother was more of a fighter.”

The vampires stood unmoving and silent against his attention. Teldryn watched on, helpless.

Bal continued “I hope your power has been worth it.” He turned his head to regard Teldryn, and laughed. “I see that our coupling left you with a taste for the monstrous. Does this gray-skinned mistake take you as hard as I did, Serana?”

Serana snarled, furious, and raised her hands.

“No!” Teldryn reached out, but it was too late. A lightning bolt hit Molag Bal in the center of his armored torso, and diffused harmlessly into small sparks. Laughing, the Daedric Lord brought his large arm back and backhanded Serana, catching Valerica as well. The two woman were thrown far, and landed hard.

Teldryn stepped in front of Bal, who had begun to walk towards the fallen vampires. The other Princes looked on dispassionately, utterly ambivalent to the proceedings.

“You will take not one step closer.” Teldryn growled, drawing his sword. I am about to die, his mind told him with ironclad conviction, but he could only think of Serana and her mother behind him. With his soul partially trapped, Teldryn felt weaker than he ever had, and knew he would be swept aside easily.

Molag Bal paused, and looked down at Teldryn. “You are stronger than I thought, elf.” He said, almost bored. “But you will fall just as your friend the Dragonborn did. And there won't be anyone coming to save your soul, will there?” Bal raised his mace, and Teldryn took a deep breath and raised his sword to meet it.

Just as the mace began its descent, the Daedric Lord paused. His eyes left Teldryn and scanned the Boneyard quickly, searching for something. Teldryn gritted his teeth. Just get on with it. Stop drawing it out.

But Molag Bal seemed to have forgotten him entirely. Stepping back from the sellsword, Bal put down his mace and looked around with what appeared to be trepidation in his monstrous features. Teldryn watched, incredulous. What could the Daedric Prince of Enslavement have to be uneasy about?

“Something is coming,” Bal murmured, and vanished.

The other Princes followed his example, Hermaeus Mora and then Malacath swiftly disappearing from their places around the barrier. Azura lingered for a moment, looking towards him.

“Be wary, Teldryn Sero.” She warned. “Evil powers are approaching, and they are approaching from darker places than Coldharbour. Your part in this story is not yet over.”

Before Teldryn could respond, she too had vanished. I'm sure that cryptic message will help me out immensely. Looking back, he saw Serana and Valerica getting to their feet, seemingly unharmed.

“Are you alright?” he asked, taking Serana's arm.

“Yeah, just a few bruises.” She smiled weakly. “I got off pretty easy for shooting the Daedric Lord of Domination with a lightning bolt.”

“That you did.” He agreed. “And it appears that I've scared him away with my stunning show of bravery and courage.”

Valerica interjected, “Not you.” She regarded their surroundings with no small amount of fear. “Whatever is coming here is powerful enough to scare away four Daedric Princes. We need to leave, and quickly.”

“Not without Jax.” Teldryn said, waving a hand at the slab and the barrier. “I've come too far to leave without him.”

“Too late,” Serana said. She drew their attention to the entrance to the Boneyard. “Whatever it is, it's here now.”

How utterly dreadful. The doors had been obscured in a cloud of darkness so deeply black that Teldryn could see nothing through it. As they watched, the cloud began to stretch around the arena.

“What could it be, mother?” Serana asked, stunned. Teldryn was disturbed to see that she was as unknowing as he was.

“I don't know. It's not like anything I've ever encountered.” The cloud had completely covered the walls of the arena now. Teldryn noted that the sounds from outside, the hisses of the soul fissures and the dim groaning of the landscape itself, had faded from his hearing. It's isolating us from everything.

The dark and formless mass stretched inward for a small distance, and then stopped. Teldryn and the vampires moved to stand next to the barrier. Where the doors to the Boneyard had been, a tear opened in the void. Out of the tear stepped a glowing blue figure, clad in flowing robes that obscured the face. The figure walked steadily towards them. Teldryn drew his sword once more, and beside him Serana and her mother prepared to unleash their magic.

The specter stopped a short distance away from them. “Sheath your weapon, elf.” It called out. “I have no desire to spill your blood.”

“First, your name.” Teldryn demanded, not lowering his sword.

“Once, my name was Lucien Lachance. I have come to this wicked place in service of the Dread Father. Now stow your blade, or prepare to use it.”

Serana murmured, “Sithis,” and put a hand on Teldryn's shoulder. “We should do what he says, Teldryn.”

Lucien moved closer. “Your undead friend is wise to bow before the power of Sithis. Follow her example.”

Teldryn reluctantly put his sword down, but kept a close eye on the advancing specter. Lucien ignored them entirely, instead walking past to study the barrier surrounding Jax's soul.

“The last Brotherhood assassin I encountered tried to kill me and kidnap the Dragonborn's daughter.” Teldryn said, irritated. “Why should I trust that your intentions are any better?”

The emissary of Sithis didn't care to look at him while speaking. “The Dawnstar Sanctuary is without a Listener, and so they have fallen out of alignment with the Void. This fracture must be mended . The Dragonborn's work for the Dread Father is not yet complete.”

“The barrier is impossible to penetrate.” Valerica told Lucien, seemingly uninterested in Teldryn's complaints. “I observed four Daedric Princes spend weeks trying to get through. The Ideal Masters have devoted all of their strength to keeping Amaton's soul protected.”

Lucien chuckled darkly. “The combined powers of all the Daedra are but a shadow of what Sithis can call forth. The power of these Ideal Masters, even less so.” Reaching forward, Lucien put a spectral hand on the barrier. Teldryn watched as the purple field began to shimmer and shudder violently. The barrier put up a lot of resistance, but eventually flickered out. Jax's soul lay exposed on the slab, looking to Teldryn almost exactly the same as the mortal man had in life.

“What do you plan to do to him?” Teldryn asked, quickly moving to stand between the ghostly assassin and the slab. “If you intend to drag my friend's soul away, you would be better off turning around now, s'wit. It's simply not going to happen.”

“Your hysteria is for naught, elf.” Lucien said. “If Sithis wanted this Listener to join us in the Void, he would do so regardless of your wishes. As it stands, the Dread Father has different designs for the Dragonborn. He must be returned to life, to serve the Void once more.”

“How will he be 'restored to life', exactly?” Serana asked, moving to stand beside Teldryn. “Will he look like you?”

“I have the weak spirit of a mortal, but the Listener has the soul of a dragon within him.” Lucien stared past them at Jax's motionless form. “Sithis has the ability to restore Jaxius Amaton to his living form, regardless of what mythical trickery allowed his draconic soul to be trapped in this realm of dead mortals.”

That doesn't sound too bad. Teldryn was starting to warm up to this idea, if not to its proposers. He didn't know much about the Dark Brotherhood, or the god they served, but if Jax could be brought back to life he would agree to anything.

“Fine.” Teldryn replied. “Do what you will to him, assassin. But know that I am watching.”

“I have already died once, and I doubt you could top the performance of my original murderers. The Void does not require your permission. Move aside, and prepare to behold the unbridled force of the Dread Father.”

Teldryn and Serana stepped away from the slab, the former with no small amount of grumbling. He and the two vampires watched the spectral assassin stand over the Dragonborn's soul. Lucien put his hand down over Jax's heart, and began murmuring some words under his breath that they could not hear. After a moment, Lucien stepped back.

“Is that it?” Teldryn asked, disappointed. He had expected to hear whispering voices or demonic chanting, at the very least.

“Yes.” Lucien replied. “The Listener has been resurrected, though not at his full power. Until the soul gem containing part of his essence has been obliterated, he will be weak and vulnerable.”

The assassin finally looked at Teldryn, and the Dunmer felt a coldness run through him at the sight of Lucien's sightless eyes. “You are tasked with protecting the Listener, Teldryn Sero. Fail in your duty, and you will spend eternity wishing you had not.”

With that, Lucien Lachance disappeared just as the Daedric Princes had before him. The void clouds surrounding them faded away until the walls of the Boneyard were once more visible. Teldryn, Serana, and Valerica stood around the Dragonborn's body.

“His heart is beating.” Serana said excitedly, her fingers to his neck. “I think this is really happening, Teldryn.”

“Malacath take me.” He murmured. “I never believed it was truly possible.” Placing a hand on Jax's chest, Teldryn could indeed feel a faint heartbeat. The assassin was right. He will be weak.

“Look,” Valerica said. “His fingers are twitching. We should move him out of here as soon as possible. Durnehviir can carry us directly to the portal. The Daedra may return, and they will not be happy that Sithis stole their prize.”

Watching in amazement at Jaxius Amaton's twitching fingers, Teldryn could only nod dumbly. Runa will collapse in joy. He could barely wait to see the expression on her face. Kneeling down, the sellsword carefully picked up the Dragonborn. Gods, he's light.

“That sounds delightful to me, Valerica. I've seen enough of Oblivion to last a lifetime. Let's go.” Teldryn took Serana's hand, and left the Boneyard with his friend slung over his shoulders.

 Author's Note: For any reader worried that I am tearing away at the lore like a kitten with a ball of yarn, rest assured that there is a precedent for resurrection in the Elder Scrolls universe. In Oblivion, your character is resurrected by Molag Bal after being killed. In Skyrim, Bal similarly resurrects the Priest of Boethiah that you bring to him.

Not to mention that Alduin resurrects dragons left right and center during the main quest, and the Dragonborn has the soul of a dragon. I think it's reasonable to assume that if a Daedric Prince and a dragon god are capable of resurrection, the Dread Lord Sithis that existed before either of them definitely is. Anyway, that's just my crazy little rant. Hope you are enjoying the story!

Chapter Text

The stone cell was windowless and frigid. The only furniture in the room were a pair of dusty bookshelves, and the simple cot she had awoken on. The door was hard oak and appeared to be freshly installed, at least as far as her untrained eye could tell. Where am I? She forced her thoughts to focus on her current dilemma, because she could feel the memories of fire and death trying to scramble forward and send her into hysterics. A golden elf, riding a golden dragon. That's the last moment I can remember. She was still wearing her singed leather armor, and her burned hands had been masterfully healed.

Sybille Stentor, who had served her so faithfully for so long, now ashes being blown through a mountain pass. Bolgeir Bear-Claw, a true and honorable warrior, a decaying mass of steel armor melted into flesh. All of the soldiers she had gathered, hundreds of men. Did any of them survive? Elisif didn't think so. Not with two dragons back the way they had came, and that golden monster blocking the path forward. The grand army of Skyrim had been trapped in a great oven and cooked alive. Even now, she could still recall the smell of burning meat. That scent will never leave me, I think. That scent will follow me to my deathbed.

Elisif slammed a fist into her forehead, forcing the dreadful thoughts to clear for a minute. She stood up from the cot and shivered. The stones that made up her room looked ancient and unyielding, very much at odds with the new wooden door. So this was a place not meant to hold prisoners. So not Northwatch Keep, where the Thalmor had imprisoned Talos worshipers during the civil war until the Dragonborn had stopped them. Nor the Thalmor Embassy, because Jax had once told her they held prisoners there as well.

"Where am I?" She asked out loud, expecting no answer. To her surprise, the voice she heard was not trembling and weak, like she felt. It sounded almost normal. Am I so used to the sight of death now? Have I become deadened to it, like Jaxius Amaton and Ulfric Stormcloak? Elisif wasn't sure why she had suddenly thought of the dead rebel. Maybe because the sight of her now would have left him speechless, after all of his blustering talk of her weaknesses.

"I did it, Ulfric." She said. "I did what you wanted us to do all along. I gathered all of Skyrim's fighters, and I led them to kill the elves. Are you satisfied? Is this what you wanted?"

If Ulfric heard her, in Sovngarde or wherever the gods had sent him, he made no reply.

Instead, the oak door opened. Whoever had made it had done a fine job, because the hinges did not squeak in the slightest. When Elisif looked up at Emissary Stoker, it was in complete silence.

"Good morning, Elisif." He said cheerfully.

She did not deign to reply. I have nothing to say to this murderer. Her eyes ran down his form, analyzing. He had traded his golden clothes for a brown winter cloak, lined with furs. So we are somewhere quite cold, then. That narrows it down to most of the province.

Stoker accepted her silence with a smile. "Not quite ready to talk then, are we? That's perfectly fine. It will take you a little while to get used to the way things are now, I expect." He turned and left the cell.

Elisif, seeing little other choice, followed after him. I have to know what is going on. Looking around quickly while they walked, she saw similar cells to her own along the walls. Above them, the stone ceiling stretched forward into a central chamber lit with braziers. Thalmor guards stood watch, sharpened axes at the ready. No art or decorations of any kind were to be seen, nor any food or drink. Some sort of monastery, perhaps?

"High Hrothgar." She said aloud, without meaning to.

Stoker glanced back. "Very good. Have you been here before?"

No, she thought, but said nothing to him. He accepted her lack of response once again as they walked up a short stone staircase. They came to a pair of large iron doors.

A Thalmor guard approached with a fur-lined cloak in hand. Stoker took it and turned to Elisif, offering the garment. She took it without protest. If he intends to make me go outside, I will not freeze to death out of spite.

Two other guards opened the doors. Outside, a small courtyard of snow greeted them. The air was calm , but nonetheless Elisif was glad to have the cloak. Stoker led her to the end of the courtyard. There was an ornate table and a couple of chairs, and beside them a cliff reaching down into a misty oblivion. Despite the proximity of such a drop, she did not fear. If he wanted to kill me, he could've done so many times already.

Stoker took a seat and motioned for her to join him. She did so, despite some part of her that hated to play along with his little charade of civility. This man took all that I had from me. Elisif dimly realized that she was entirely willing to grab hold of Stoker and fall backwards off the mountain. If she pushed hard enough at that desire, she was certain she could make herself do it.

Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap and waited.

"I'm very happy we can finally speak like this." Stoker said. "Without all the chaos and fighting and your people getting in the way. It's much more peaceful."

The hands in her lap tightened into fists, but Elisif said nothing. Her eyes stared past Stoker at the far horizon, at Skyrim stretched before her.

"Still the silent treatment, then?" He asked gently. She hated him so much for that, for treating her like an impudent child. We've killed!, she wanted to scream. We've spilt blood, the both of us!

"You murdered them," Elisif said. "You murdered my people by the hundreds, and you expect me to talk to you like we're at a formal dinner?"

"The burden of that sin does not rest entirely on my shoulders, Elisif." He replied chidingly. "It was you who gathered them all together like that. I only wanted the Jarls. If not for you, all of those soldiers would have been safe in their little villages."

The Jarls. They must have been in the other cells she saw. Despite everything, it brought Elisif some relief to know she was not completely alone.

"Like Morthal was safe?" She asked. "Don't try to disguise yourself as some noble warrior, Emissary. You've taken innocent lives, and I swear you will pay for them."

He waved away her words, as if they were discussing philosophical theories instead of the blood on his hands. "Morthal was just an experiment of sorts, but we will talk about that later."

"And what will we talk about now?" She asked coldly. "Surrendering Skyrim to the Aldmeri Dominion, like Elsweyr and Valenwood surrendered before us? It will never happen, you slime. You can go ahead and kill me like you did the others. I will join them happily before I betray my homeland."

"Elisif, Elisif, Elisif." Stoker wagged a finger at her reproachfully. "I thought we were done with all your drama. If I killed you and the other Jarls and replaced you with our people, I would have an uprising on my hands before too long. An uprising of old men and stablehands, but an uprising nonetheless."

"That will happen regardless of what you do with us." She said. "The Nords of Skyrim will never accept the Dominion as their masters, under any circumstances."

"I'm sure they'll come around. When I send you and the other Jarls back to your homes, you're going to tell them you knelt to the Thalmor, and that they should do the same."

"Never." She hissed. "I'll walk straight off this mountain before that happens."

He just rolled his eyes. "Before we get to all that, my spiteful High Queen, I need to make you understand what the Thalmor want from this province."

"I know what you want. You want every Nord in chains, and an Aldmeri banner flying above Solitude's gates."

"Yes, but why?" Stoker leaned forward. "Why do you think the Thalmor want Skyrim so badly? The Summerset Isles do not want for natural resources; we are a rich people."

"You believe elves should rule supreme above men." She replied hatefully. "Jax told me all about your secret prisons and torture devices."

"What you and the late Dragonborn fail to understand," He explained. "is that elven supremacy is just a means to an end. Even many of the lower rank in the Thalmor believe that the subjugation of man to be our final goal. They, like you, do not see the bigger picture."

"There can be no excuse for what you've done." Elisif refused to meet his eyes. "So many lives have been thrown away needlessly, because of you and those like you trying to force your will on us."

"Exactly, Elisif." He stood up suddenly, and she leaned back, fearing a blow. But he turned away from her, and gestured at the land below them. "This is an unfair world, where thinking and loving minds are put out as easily as candles. It should not be this way, I'm sure you agree."

"The truth is, my friend," he said, looking back at her. "We've been trapped here for too long. The Thalmor are trying to destroy the towers binding our forms to this world of senselessness and depression. We were once spirits, eternal spirits, and the Thalmor wish nothing more than to return us to that true and beautiful state."

"And too bad for the rest of the world?" She asked. "You'd raze all of Tamriel, just so an island of elves can become gods?"

"You misunderstand." He smiled. "While elves believe Mundus to be a prison, men believe it to be a gift. Despite this, we would ascend together. The Thalmor are working to save us all, Elisif, can't you see that? This world is a mistake. Good and righteous men, women, and children die by the thousands because we were tricked into this violent experiment. This world must end, before it's too late."

"You're insane." She said, pushing her chair back farther from Stoker. "You killed so many yourself, and now you try to justify it to me. How did murdering all those people help you?"

"Talos is a problem." Stoker admitted grimly. "As long as men worship him, we are all bound to this reality. And as long as Nords rule Skyrim, his worship will continue. By admitting him into the ranks of godhood, we are all buying into the fantasy that mortality is our true and rightful destiny. Our ultimate goal should be ascension, not acceptance, Elisif. This cannot be all there is, but it will be as long as Talos is still a god in the hearts and minds of Skyrim's people."

"Jaxius Amaton didn't worship Talos. Yet you had no problem killing him in the dead of night, along with his friends and daughter."

"The Dragonborn was a living reminder of Tiber Septim's power, as were the Greybeards." He said, turning away from her. "Not to mention that he was a great obstacle to our plans. I wouldn't have been surprised if the Nords had started worshiping Amaton himself as a god, before too long."

"Jax was a great man." She gritted her teeth. "A hero. By taking his life, you've damned yourself to the lowest planes of Oblivion."

Stoker laughed coldly, showing negative emotion for the first time since their encounter in Dragonsreach. "Jaxius Amaton was a mad dog, and I put him down with pleasure. Do you know how many he killed in our Embassy, or at Northwatch Keep?"

"The Thalmor got exactly what they deserved. You kidnapped and tortured innocent people."

"Oh, yes, but the Dragonborn did not stop at the Thalmor." He turned his head so she could see half his face. "He cut down the staff at the Embassy, as well. The Khajiit we had cleaning and cooking, the Bosmer we had attending to the guests. Chefs and carriage drivers."

"They were brainwashed," Elisif said, but his words were sending shivers of doubt through her. Surely Jax would never have killed without reason. "They probably threw themselves at his sword."

"Probably. Do you think the same of those imprisoned at Northwatch Keep? After finishing off the guards, your hero Jaxius Amaton murdered the prisoners in their cells. I was part of the investigative team sent in after he left. So much Nord blood, spilt so needlessly."

"You're a liar." She replied, refusing to buy in to his tricks. He's trying to turn me against the greatest man I've ever known.

"Am I, Elisif?" Stoker said. All trace of mockery and amusement had fled from his voice. "Truly think about the Dragonborn. The man he was, not the face he put on for you and the rest of Skyrim."

"He was honorable, and he was just." Elisif snapped, standing up from her chair. "How dare you take the high ground against Jax, with all the bodies lying at your feet!"

Stoker laughed, and put his hands on her shoulders. Elisif flinched and tried to pull free, but he had a wiry strength and pressed her easily back into her chair. Looking up, she saw his face only inches away.

"Jaxius Amaton was a monster," he whispered. There was no anger or hatred in his voice; only the truth, as he knew it. "He killed so many because he enjoyed it. If he started his work and someone less than wicked came across his path, he killed them too. He was an unimaginably powerful individual driven by nothing more than bloodlust, and even this vile mortal world is better off now that he is forever gone."

He's lying. He's lying. He's lying. Elisif shouted the mantra at her mind, to keep it from falling apart. If Stoker was telling the truth, she would be eternally lost. So there was only one path left to follow. The path that the honorable Dragonborn had shown to her, the path of justice and righteousness and doing the right thing.

Outwardly, her face was a stony mask. Stoker, seemingly taking her silence as acceptance, stood back from her and took his own seat again. For a while no words passed between them. Elisif watched the clouds shift behind the Emissary. She wondered what was happening in the holds of Skyrim below. With no Jarls to lead them, the people would panic.

"How long?" Elisif asked. "How long until the first sieges start? Or have they already begun?"

Stoker shook his head. "You misinterpret the situation. There will be no sieges."

"I don't understand."

"There were less than a hundred Thalmor agents involved in this operation, in the beginning." He leaned back, stretching his arms. "Forty traveled with me to Falkreath, to kill the Dragonborn. Twelve returned. Twenty five came here, to put the Greybeards to rest. Six of those survived. Five agents handled the poisoning of Jarl Balgruuf, fifteen went with Merkoorzaam to take care of the Blades, and fifteen infiltrated the College of Winterhold to claim the Staff of Magnus."

Merkoorzaam. A dragon name. He could only be referring to the golden scaled monster that still haunted her if she dared think back to yesterday's events. And the Staff of Magnus? Elisif could recall nothing about that particular artifact.

"You can't hope to hold Skyrim with so small a force." Elisif said. The strategic training she'd received from the Dragonborn and her other advisers rushed back to her. "Even with all our losses, Skyrim could still resist. Our borders are strong, and no dragon can melt a mountain. Thousands of your people will die in a matter of days."

"You're correct. If we invaded Skyrim with our armies, we would almost certainly be engaged in a long and bloody war of attrition. But as I said, there will be no sieges."

She glared at him. "You may think your wordplay is charming, but I lost my capacity to be charmed a good while ago. If I didn't still have hope of saving the people of Skyrim from your madness, I'd be trying to kill you with this chair right now. Speak plainly, or don't speak."

"I thought you were smarter than this." He sniffed. "Think, Elisif. Did the Aldmeri Dominion take Elsweyr with an army? No. We have entered a new age of warfare. On the field, a soldier of the Dominion and an Imperial Legionnaire are more or less equally matched. We have discovered, first with the Bosmer and next with the Khajiit, that battles of sword and shield are no longer necessary."

"Nords do not worship the moons, and if this is a coup then I don't see why you haven't already killed me. Skyrim is not like Elseweyr or Valenwood."

"No." Stoker admitted. "Skyrim has presented a unique challenge. But all foes have their weaknesses, and in the Nords I found it to be their tendency towards hero worship. Throughout history, the people of Skyrim have shown an unfailing willingness to follow and fight for figures of great power. Ysgramor, Tiber Septim, the Tongues that rebelled in the Dragon War. More recently we have Ulfric Stormcloak, a man I believe you're acquainted with. Jarl Balgruuf also inspired great loyalty in his people. And finally, of course, there is the Dragonborn Jaxius Amaton."

These heroes are quite dangerous if you don't happen to agree with their way of thinking. Just ask the Snow Elves, massacred by Ysgramor and his Companions. Or the native Bretons of the Reach, of which there were far more of before Ulfric Stormcloak brought his personal brand of justice down on them. But we are not in a time of heroes any longer. I want the Nords to see that, and in their understanding know that they have been conquered. There is no one coming to save them, or you for that matter, because we murdered all the heroes in their beds."

"Nothing you say will turn me into one of your puppets." Elisif said, her hands steady and her mind clear. "Even if you torture me for months, I will never betray Skyrim. And if you don't think the Jarls will follow my example, then you don't know nearly as much about us as you thought you did."

"No one will be tortured under my watch." Stoker rose from the table and offered his hand to her. She refused, but stood up anyway. "After I've shown you and your friends back in their cells the true focal point of this operation, you'll understand that the only path left to you is complete and utter surrender."

He started walking, and she reluctantly followed. A light snow had begun to fall, and Elisif pulled the fur cloak tighter around her. The two Thalmor guards waiting at the doors to the monastery did not join Stoker as he walked up the path, but she did not fool herself into thinking she could attack the Emissary and hope to emerge alive.

After going up some stairs, they reached a small stone arch. Beyond the arch, winds were blowing so fiercely that Elisif could not hear herself think. Stoker glanced back at her, his golden skin striking against the brown furs of his cloak, with a half-smile on his face. She was momentarily confused before a great shadow fell over them. Merkoorzaam landed almost soundlessly on the rock ledge above, and Elisif turned to run. Stoker grabbed the back of her cloak before she could make it two steps.

"Calm yourself, my Queen. Our large friend here is a tool like any other." Stoker said. She refused to turn around and face the beast that had killed Sybille and Bolgeir and so many others. Her hands tingled in remembrance, remembrance of that last moment of when she had reached out for her friend and found only fire and ashes. I have to face it. Jax would not have turned away.

Elisif turned, and beheld Merkoorzaam. It was large for a dragon, she supposed, though she could only compare it to the few that had attacked Solitude before the Dragonborn had put them down. Unlike those children of Akatosh, Merkoorzaam had scales of shimmering gold. No imperfections or scars were apparent on any part of the monster. As perfect as the Altmer it serves. The dragon's eyes were stunningly blue, and as Elisif looked into them she came to a startling realization. It's not angry. Jax had always told her that all dragons possessed an unquenchable thirst for domination and power. He had said even he felt the pull of these emotions. And yet, this dragon that had defeated her so utterly did not appear furious or satisfied in the slightest. It looks...sad. For some reason, Elisif couldn't find it in herself to pity the beast.

"He doesn't really do much talking." Stoker said. He looked up at Merkoorzaam, sounding all the world like a farmer apologizing for his misbehaving dog . "Doesn't speak at all, actually. That's quite strange for dragons, if you weren't aware. But the others follow him, and that's all that we require."

Merkoorzaam turned its head towards the arch and the winds beyond.

"LO VAH KOOR!"

A shockwave shot forth from the golden dragon, nearly knocking Elisif off her feet. The force tore through the winds and dissipated them in seconds, clearing the path forward.

"Clever, isn't it?" Stoker said. "Only those with the power of the Voice can get through, and all of them are gone now. Only the dragons can clear the winds, and the dragons serve the Thalmor."

He didn't give her a chance to reply, as he set off up the path. She followed close behind, not wanting to be blown off the mountain should the winds return. Merkoorzaam remained on the ledge, watching them silently.

It was an arduous journey up to the Throat of the World, and they didn't speak all the way there. Elisif paused for a moment after climbing a particularly large ridge, panting from the exertion. Through the clouds, Skyrim looked so massive and green below. Acres and acres of trees spread out in every direction. So beautiful, and so eternal. The Thalmor would need a thousand dragons to burn it all. She was somewhat comforted by the idea that even after every Nord had gone the way of the Snow Elves before them, Skyrim would remain.

Finally, they could go no further. The Throat of the World. Jax had told her of the wonder of this place, but to see it for herself was something else entirely. Past the flat clearing, the ground simply fell off. At the far side of the clearing a strange curved wall stood like a vigilant soldier guarding the vast lands below. A word wall, of the dragon language. But what most caught her attention was the object floating above the wall. A massive blue orb, covered with black lines and shifting runes of ethereal energy.

"What is it?" Elisif asked, her voice full of awe. Despite her burning hatred for Stoker, she could not resist the pull of curiosity. They were a short distance from the word wall now. The orb hummed with otherworldly power.

"The Eye of Magnus." Stoker said, almost reverently. "Once lost beneath the ancient nordic city of Saarthal, then discovered by a young student of the College of Winterhold. One of our agents, an impulsive elf named Ancano, attempted to take it for himself. He did a very poor job of that, and it ended up in the hands of the Psijic Order. I managed to acquire it from them."

Elisif stepped closer to the Eye, entranced. It seemed to pulse and quake every minute or so, and she imagined she could feel the vibrations in her very bones. How cruel a world, that something so wonderful could end up in the hands of someone so wicked.

"Beautiful, isn't it? And very powerful. Ancano believed it had the power to unmake the world, and that would make for a very nice shortcut in our plans, but I have a patience he did not. Although the Eye may one day be the key to destroying this plane, for now the Thalmor have settled for one of its more secondary powers."

"What?" Elisif growled. Stoker was standing between her and the Eye. "What have you done?"

"I'm sure you're familiar with the Great Collapse, in which most of the city of Winterhold fell into the Sea of Ghosts. And yet, the College of Winterhold was left mysteriously unharmed. I always found that very curious. I was a scholar in my early life, and theorized that a rogue mage must have somehow been responsible. It was the only logical explanation. But the power to sink an entire city into the sea is beyond even the strongest of spells, so the force of the Collapse must have come from elsewhere."

She nodded slowly, regarding the Eye above them in a new light. How could such a relatively small object be capable of so much destruction?

"My theory was proven correct when the Eye of Magnus was discovered in Saarthal, so close to Winterhold, only five years ago. I then had to ask myself: if the Eye could destroy one city, what was to stop it from destroying another?"

Akatosh save us. Elisif took an involuntary step back from the Emissary. He can't be saying what I think he's saying.

Stoker grinned, catching on to her growing fear. "Yes, Elisif, you have arrived at the conclusion. At, rather, the inevitable truth of your defeat. With the power of the Staff of Magnus combined with the abilities of the Eye, I can cause the collapse of any city within sight of the Throat of the World. And if you had not taken note, we can see quite far from up here."

Skyrim cannot win. You must see that now. Others in the Thalmor leadership want to exterminate the race of man, but I argued for a different approach. Surrender to the Dominion, and you can return to Solitude and rule as you have always done. Let us worry about taking care of the Towers, and soon enough we will leave this world of absent Aedra and merciless Daedra behind. Refuse, and I will begin the total destruction of everything you have ever known."

Her mind racing, Elisif stumbled forward and looked up at the Eye in horror. Then, swaying unsteadily, she fell backward. Stoker, surprised, caught her in his arms. The scent of his perfume hit Elisif and she fought the urge to gag. Instead, she kept her eyes shut and her body limp.

"Well," Stoker groaned, straining against her weight. "I suppose I should have expected that." Elisif felt him shifting around, perhaps trying to look for any guards to help carry her back down to High Hrothgar. After a moment, he sighed and seemed to accept his fate.

Stoker hooked an arm under her legs and the other around her shoulders, and began to walk back down the path. She could feel his hot and minty breaths against her face, and was abruptly grateful that her enemy was such a pampered being.

An hour passed before they arrived back at the stone arch. With her eyes firmly closed, she couldn't tell if Merkoorzaam had departed or not. Stoker deposited her ungracefully into the arms of a waiting guard.

"Take her back to her cell." He sounded absolutely exhausted. "And then run me a hot bath."

The guard carried her somewhat roughly into High Hrothgar, where the heat was a welcome change from the harsh cold outside. The guard kicked open her door, dropped her on the ground, and slammed the door shut behind him.

"Bastard," she muttered, rubbing her head. Shaking her sleeve, Elisif felt a weight slip down her arm and into her hand. A large purple gem, pulsing gently with the energy of the Dragonborn's soul. Stoker had failed to notice her take it from his pocket, and she hoped that ignorance would continue until she figured out what to do with it. Would destroying it also destroy Jax's soul, or release him somehow? I shouldn't act before I know for sure.

Elisif managed to find a hiding place for the gem in one of the old bookshelves, and hid it there quickly. Undoubtedly Stoker would soon discover it was missing, and she shuddered to think of his wrath. That man, with the ability to wipe towns and villages off the map on a whim. The situation was far worse than she had ever feared. If she closed her eyes, Elisif saw her dying friends and the burning stones of Labyrinthian. If she opened them, she could only imagine the horrors yet to come. She reached to her memories of Jax for strength, only to find them clouded in uncertainty. Stoker said such horrible things about him. If even a fraction of the Altmer's claims were true, then the Dragonborn had not been the man she thought he was. She would just have to be strong enough on her own. Elisif sighed, and pretended to sleep, hoping to fool her turbulent mind into rest.

Chapter Text

"Why did you come to Skyrim, Frea?"

She looked surprised at the question. They rode at the front of the band, with Tullius and his men a short distance behind. Windhelm wasn't far now, but they were forced to use less-traveled paths to avoid any Dominion patrols. The road was thin and rocky, so it was slow going.

"I must help defeat the Golden One," She said. "The fate of this world depends on it."

"But the Skaal are isolated." Ulfric didn't look at her as they spoke, instead letting his eyes pass over the hills and trees of his Hold. I used to race horses here, as a child. How times have changed. "And Solstheim is part of Morrowind. It will be some time yet before the Thalmor dare to provoke the Dark Elves."

Frea shook her head. "Time does not matter. If I can act now to save my tribe's grandchildren from future destruction, it would be irredeemably wrong to do otherwise."

"You have a good heart." Ulfric said, dispassionately. "I have been wondering at my own reasons for going on this quest." He was surprised to find himself sharing his feelings with Frea. He had never done that with anyone before.

"Your heart is no less good." She replied. "I saw it when we saved the prisoners in that village."

"You don't know what I am." His hand tightened on the horse's reigns. "What I've done can never be forgiven." Now that Ulfric was certain he would die on this journey, he found himself reviewing his life and found it was not what he had intended it to be.

"It does not matter. The past is done, Ulfric, and you now walk the path of the righteous."

"Of course it matters." He said, softly. "Every step matters, Frea. When you return to your village, after we've done what we set out to do, remember nothing but that. The past is not done. The past follows you like a reflection, and every man must eventually look at the surface of a pond and confront what he has done. The people I've killed. Their families are still out there, and hatred burns in their hearts. I can feel them, a constant ache in the back of my mind."

"Self-pity will get you nowhere. I thought you had learned that."

Ulfric sighed. A snow bird landed in front of them, tweeted for a second, and then flew away as their horses drew closer. "Not self-pity. The truth. The truth that I've been hiding from for so many years. Blood begets blood, conflict begets conflict. I killed countless elves in the Great War, but now they've come back stronger than ever before. I massacred innocent men and women in Markarth, and fostered a loathing for Nords that would birth the Forsworn. The thousands of my countrymen that followed me five years ago, and the thousands of Legionnaires that I led them to kill. New graveyards have sprouted up in Skyrim, where before only flowers grew. I measure the lives I've taken to the lives I've saved, Frea, and find myself to be a butcher."

"Fine. You are a monster." Frea snapped, and he looked at her. With her blonde hair cut short and her blue eyes burning fiercely with resolve, she reminded him so much of Rikke that it hurt. "Let us do just this one good thing, Ulfric. It can never wash away the rest. It can never redeem you for what you have done. It will be a good thing, despite that."

He nodded, slowly. "You're right. It's not nearly enough. But it will have to serve."

Windhelm appeared on the horizon, a distant image of weathered stone standing tall among the desolate snows. To their left, the bay waters widened and swelled, not yet frozen for the season but thready and slow nonetheless. Ulfric had not looked upon the City of Kings for half a decade, but it had not changed in his absence. His father had died here, while Ulfric had been imprisoned in the Cidhna Mine under Markarth. He had delivered Hoag Stormcloak's euology through a smuggled letter.

Will I die here now, too? Will Frea speak of my accolades over a stone coffin? He didn't think so. Not while the Thalmor still walked without fear in the home of his ancestors.

"What's the plan now, Stormcloak?" Tullius had pulled up beside them, and he regarded the distant city with obvious distaste. "Is your plan still to walk right across that bridge and knock on the door? Because from where I'm sitting, that plan is looking an awful lot like suicide."

The general was right. The bridge into Windhelm was wide, but fortified with arches every twenty yards. If the Thalmor were smart, as he knew they were, they would have those arches absolutely stuffed with crossbowmen and archers. For every elf Tullius and his men cut down, ten of their own would die.

"There is another way in." Ulfric said. "But you will not like it, I suspect."

"The docks, you mean." Tullius replied. "Don't forget that I besieged this city myself not too long ago. We did consider an amphibious assault, but wagered that your soldiers would be watching the docks and sound the alarm. Our boats wouldn't have made it."

"You're correct. Your men would have frozen to death in the waters of the bay."

"Instead, they were massacred on the streets." Tullius growled. "I'm liking you less and less as this little adventure drags on, Stormcloak, and I didn't really care that much for you in the first place."

"We won't be needing boats, in any case." Ulfric said, ignoring the bait. "The waters closer to the city are calmer, and will already have frozen. We can walk across to the docks, several at a time."

"You're insane. If the Dominion soldiers don't spot us and shower us with arrows, we'll fall through the ice and die all on our own."

"Afraid of a little water, general?" Ulfric asked, raising his eyebrows. "Galmar and I spent days poring over defensive strategies, thinking of ways Windhelm could be infiltrated. Our only advantage is that the elves will not have that knowledge. We either die on the bridge, or take our chances on the ice. The choice is simple."

"Bah, fine. But if I die choking on your backwards provincial waters, rebel, I'm going to haunt this damned city until the last stones wither into dust." Tullius circled around them to go tell his men the news.

As the group drew closer to Windhelm, they gradually left the road behind and crept down the hills so they were mostly out of sight if anyone was watching from the city walls. The riders left their horses tied to a tree. The snow was thigh-deep here, and it was bitterly cold, but Ulfric noted with satisfaction that the legionnaires made no complaint. They may be as experienced as Tullius claimed. If they're not, I have little hope we'll survive very long.

The city towered above them like a mountain. Though he surveyed the walls carefully as they trudged, he could see no sign of archers or scouts waiting for them. This may be easier then I thought. Ulfric, Frea, and the legionnaires moved carefully under the great stone bridge, their boots finding ice for the first time. He was grateful that the light snowfall kept their feet from slipping.

Finally, they reached the spot he had been looking for. A straight shot from the shore to the docks on the other side, just to the right of the bridge. He held a hand up to halt the unit.

"All those with heavy armor will need to leave it behind," Ulfric said. "The ice is not yet thick enough."

Tullius nodded, and his armored men began unbuckling their gear. Ulfric did the same, leaving his ebony cuirass in the snow, and Frea followed his lead. Some fisherman is going to have a very lucky day.

Ulfric went first across the ice, slowly and steadily, being careful not to put too much weight in any direction. He kept half an eye on the bridge above as he walked, ready at any moment for a barrage of crossbow bolts to come soaring in his direction. But nothing came. He reached the other side, and clambered up on to the stone bricks of the docks. Though a lantern waved lazily in the winds, Ulfric could see no sign of the Argonians that normally worked this part of the city. The Thalmor must be enforcing some sort of martial law.

Ten at a time, spread out cautiously, the legionnaires crossed the ice. Tullius came over with the first group, and directed his soldiers to hide as best as they could in the shadowed corner of the docks they found themselves in.

The last group was crossing, led by Frea, when Ulfric heard shouting on the bridge. Looking up, he saw an armored Nord and a Dark Elf fighting on one of the arches. Judging by the screams and taunts they could hear, the elf was losing.

"What in Oblivion is going on?" Tullius hissed, keeping his voice low. "There are Thalmor in the city, and your people are trying to kill each other. Those fools are going to get us killed."

"They aren't my people." Ulfric said. Frea saw the fighters, and motioned the soldiers to move a little faster. Walking at speed, they were halfway across the ice when it happened. The Nord swung his arm back, and Ulfric saw moonlight glinting off steel. Then the Dark Elf was falling off the bridge, blood trailing from his body like the tail of a comet.

"Move!" Tullius yelled, but it was too late. The elf landed with a sickening crunch. The ice around him fractured and cracked, and three sprinting legionnaires disappeared in seconds. Frea was at the lead, running fast, even as two more soldiers shot through the ice with wordless shrieks. Ulfric fell to his stomach and leaned over the ice, reaching a hand out.

Frea grabbed it just as the ground fell out from under her. His arm seemed to scream in protest, hot pain shooting up to his shoulder.

"Do not let go." Frea said, unhelpfully. He groaned with effort, slowly pulling her up the stones until she could scramble on to the docks.

"Damn." Tullius was watching the scattered holes in the ice. He wouldn't see anything, Ulfric knew; the freezing waters would have paralyzed his men instantly, and even if any had survived that stage, they would have been disoriented and blind in the darkness. Perhaps some of them were even now beating at the ice from below, but it did not matter. There would be no rescue.

The Nord from the bridge had vanished. All was quiet on the docks. Surprisingly, the commotion had not attracted any Dominion soldiers.

"We should enter the city through the Grey Quarter." Ulfric said. Tullius managed to tear his eyes from the still ice and look at him. "It's the shortest way to get to the Avenue of Valor."

"No. Not anymore." Tullius said, glancing at his remaining men. "With thirty legionnaires we had a chance of storming the palace, but now it would just be suicide. We need more soldiers."

"Those men are dead, general. Even if they crawled from the water right now, they would still be dead in minutes."

"I'm not talking about dead men, you supercilious bastard. I'm thinking about the citizens of Windhelm. Might be that some would relish the chance to spill Thalmor blood. Dark Elves in particular are not known for their love of tyrannical leadership."

Frea spoke up, "It sounds like an idea worth trying."

"Doubtful." Ulfric replied. "The elves have no love for this city. When they arrived here, they brought Morrowind with them. The Snow Quarter became the Grey Quarter, by their own choosing. They did not take up arms to defend Windhelm against the Imperials. What makes you think now will be different?"

"Brunwolf Free-Winter was a friend to them, and I'm sure the Thalmor didn't ask nicely for him to step down. Maybe that'll be enough to kick them into action." Tullius regarded him with contempt. "Besides, it's much easier to fight for a man like Free-Winter than a man like you."

"Very well. But do not expect much of these elves. They are a stiff and miserable people."

"I'm surprised you don't get along better, with so much in common." Tullius waved his men onward, and they quietly moved down the docks in single file. Ulfric and Frea followed a short distance behind, on the watch for anyone who might be tracking the soldiers' moments. They saw nothing. Are we being led into a trap? He could see no other reason for their uneventful passage through the city. But it was too late to turn around now.

They reached the gates to the Grey Quarter. Tullius opened it a crack and slipped inside. After a moment, he emerged again to wave the soldiers through. Ulfric stepped in after Frea.

The dilapidated streets were silent and empty before them. Lanterns dimly illuminated the quarter, but there was no sign of those that had lit them. Tullius paused for a moment, evidently suspicious, before leading his men on. The crunch of their boots on the snow seemed like a dragon's roar in the quiet night. My home has been made a ghost town.

He glanced at Frea. She looked as nervous and uncertain as he felt, but did not shiver in the cold, despite her relatively thin clothing. I haven't praised her enough for her help. Without Frea, Ulfric knew he would have killed himself fighting the Dominion soldiers at Rorikstead. Even with the Voice on his side, they would have filled him with arrows before too long.

The group halted. Ulfric tried to look past the soldiers to see what had caught Tullius' attention. Before he could move, though, the sharp point of a blade took residence at the back of his neck. Ulfric dropped a hand to his sword.

"Bad idea, s'wit." A voice of Morrowind warned him. "I've already killed three Nords today, and two of them were a lot bigger than you. Put the sword on the ground, slow-like."

Ulfric complied, seeing little other choice, as did Frea beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw movement all around them. The Dark Elves have decided to start fighting, after all. He could only wonder if he was on their list of enemies.

"You can turn around now." The sword point left his neck. Turning, Ulfric saw at least a dozen armed elves in the street. They were dressed in ragtag bits of armor, and their red eyes were nearly shining in the dim moonlight. He guessed that Tullius had encountered a similar number or more.

The speaker, their apparent leader, pointed his blade at Ulfric and Frea. He herded them towards one of the buildings, an inn by the looks of it. Tullius was being led by an elf of his own, but without the sword to his back. The legionnaires were being lined up against the buildings on the other side of the street. He noted that no one but Frea and himself had been stripped of their weapons.

The leader pushed Ulfric into the inn, and Frea and Tullius soon joined him. The tavern was sickeningly Dunmer; red lanterns cast an eerie light on the alien furnishings, and unidentifiable spirits in strange jars lined the back wall.

"I'm sorry about this, general." The lead elf was saying. He gestured to a large table in the corner of the inn, and they reluctantly sat down. "I have great respect for the Legion. My name is Ambarys Rendar; I run this establishment. We need to sort some things out, obviously."

"My men don't take kindly to being accosted." Tullius grumbled. "And neither do I. Tell me what's going on in this frozen waste of a city."

"First, you explain what you think you're doing bringing Ulfric Stormcloak back into Windhelm." Ambarys glared at him. "I never forget a face. Comes with the job. I remember staring at this fetcherpast his steward's shoulder, on one of my visits to the Palace of Kings to petition our Jarl to do something about the squalor here. He never could find the time to actually help his people, and I did not weep when I heard of his execution. And yet now, dead Ulfric walks into the Grey Quarter at the heels of your legionnaires."

"I don't like it any more than you do." Tullius said. "If it had been me standing over him five years ago instead of the Dragonborn, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But Jax Amaton did spare him, so it's useless to argue otherwise. I needed him to get us inside the city and that's all there is to it."

"Are you under the illusion that this man will see the throne of Windhelm lying bare before him, and then turn it over to an Imperial general? The same general who threw him from that throne five years ago?" The elf chuckled darkly. "The only thing you can expect from Ulfric Stormcloak is a dagger in your back."

Ulfric interrupted, "I have no interest in ruling over Windhelm. Frea and I are on a mission to defeat a dragon under the control of the Thalmor. We need a ship and a small crew to get to Solstheim, where we may find the knowledge we need to kill this beast. That is my only aim in coming here."

Ambarys glanced at Frea. "That name. I remember the Dragonborn mentioning you. You're the tribal that helped him on his little sojourn to Solstheim?"

"Yes." Frea replied. "Do not fear, inn keeper. I have been watching and helping Ulfric on this journey. Though I know not what manner of man he was before, he has demonstrated great honor and a desire to do good during our travels."

"How nice for him." Ambarys replied. "Quite late for those he killed on the way to this enlightenment. I'll speak with you, general, and I won't murder an unarmed man, even if that man is Ulfric. But I want this murderer out of my cornerclub."

Ulfric acquiesced, not wanting to argue further. He left the three of them to talk, pushing open the door to the tavern and stepping out on to the street. The armed elves and legionnaires watched each other carefully, and neither group took much notice of him. All the better. I tire of attention. He took a deep breath, and felt Windhelm breath with him. The creaking of old wood, settling in. The silence of the snowfall on the moonlit city, like a blanket thrown over a sleeping child. Even here, in the slums of his birthright, Ulfric was comforted. This is where I belong. Windhelm was old and unchanging; he wondered at the kinship of that. Was the elf right? If I see the chance, and can move Tullius aside, the temptation may be too strong.

Tullius and Frea came out of the cornerclub after a short while. The legionnaires straightened dutifully, and the Dark Elves stood back from them. Some unseen message had apparently passed from Ambarys to his countrymen. The elves let the soldiers return to Tullius, and Ulfric joined them.

He said to the general, "We need to move, now. Soon we won't have the darkness to cloak our movements."

Tullius snorted. "Believe it or not, Stormcloak, I know how to fight a battle. The bar keeper says that the Dominion took the city a good while ago now. Brunwolf Free-Winter gathered a small group of fighters and escaped, and tensions around here started rising fast. The Windhelm powder keg exploded when one of the Thalmor was killed in the market. The native Nords launched into action, cutting down any elf they could find. The Argonians have holed up in their assemblage on the docks, and you can see for yourself how the Dark Elves are surviving. The Thalmor have fallen back to the Palace, with crossbowmen on watch at all times."

"A more ideal situation then I had hoped for." Ulfric mused. "If they aren't capable of mounting an offensive, they must be quite low in strength. Did Ambarys offer us any assistance?"

"He's agreed to take five of these bunch and come with us." Tullius inclined his head at some of the elves before them. "It's not the legionnaires we lost, but it'll have to do."

Ambarys himself chose that moment to emerge from the cornerclub, clad in a strange and worn chitinous armor. His head was obscured by a helmet of the same material but seemingly superior craft, complete with round goggles that concealed his eyes.

"We're ready when you are, serjo." He addressed Tullius, ignoring Ulfric completely.

"Good." Tullius replied. He crossed his arms and grimly regarded the Imperials and elves lined up before him. "There are no secret tunnels or passages into the Palace of Kings? A head-on attack is our only option?"

Ulfric shook his head. "We are a straightforward people. My ancestors never had need for such deceitful constructions."

"Great. So thanks to your honorable ancestors, I must once more lead my men into slaughter to take back a hideous castle that I would've burned down five years ago if it hadn't been made of stone. If you'd shared that honor they held so dear, maybe we wouldn't be standing here."

"And perhaps if your Empire had dared to stand up to their Aldmeri overlords, we would be standing here with a thousand legionnaires instead of twenty."

Frea's eyes narrowed. "Our adversaries will not lay down their weapons at the sight of two old men comparing their swollen manhoods. Ulfric was right; we are losing our opportunity. We must go now, or not at all."

And so they went. Ulfric took point, knowing the layout of the city best, and the rest cautiously followed his steps. They saw no Nords, thankfully; a battle cry or even a shout of surprise could alert the Thalmor to their oncoming force. One of their only advantages was that the Dominion soldiers would not be expecting an entire patrol of Legionnaires to attack them from inside the city. If they could rush the crossbowmen before they could react, then all the better for their chances of survival.

He approached the Avenue of Valor quietly and hid behind one of the outer walls. Peeking out, Ulfric could see at least ten crossbowmen at the ready. Though they weren't standing ready to fire, neither were they dawdling about and talking amongst themselves like Imperial or Stormcloak soldiers might have done. The Thalmor stood as still as statues. He had no doubt they would be in for quite the fight. Tullius crept up behind him and surveyed the situation for himself.

"We attack with two squads of legionnaires to either side of the plaza. The Dark Elves can run in fast and keep them from reloading."

He was surprised that Tullius was asking him advice on military strategy. He wondered if the general had asked the Dragonborn for counsel in the same place they were standing, as they prepared to topple his rebellion once and for all.

"A good plan. Attack whenever you are ready. Frea and I will take the center."

Tullius drew his sword, and the legionnaires behind him did the same. They rushed into the plaza, quick and efficient. Ulfric and Frea sprinted down the middle, swords drawn, as crossbow bolts flew past them. To his right, a legionnaire took a bolt to the face and collapsed.

"Die, heretic!" A Thalmor soldier threw his crossbow at Frea, knocking her down. The soldier drew a dagger and prepared to plunge it into her chest, but Ulfric's sword found purchase and sent the arm and dagger flying. Slicing upward, he finished off the elf and pirouetted to decapitate an aiming crossbowmen.

He knelt down to pull Frea to her feet. A swordsman in golden armor stood over them, and kicked Ulfric to the ground. His blade clattered away and he looked up at the swordsman. Before the elf could react, a sword sprouted from the middle of his chest. Ambarys shoved the Thalmor off his weapon and ran to chase down a crossbowmen.

Ulfric grabbed his sword and rose to his feet with Frea. Nearly all the Thalmor had been cut down, along with a couple legionnaires and one Dark Elf. A few Dominion stragglers ran for the doors of the Palace.

"Soldiers of the Empire!" Tullius appeared next to Frea, and shouted to the pursuing legionnaires. "We are holding the line here, gentlemen!"

Ambarys joined them, his sword dripping red. "This was too easy."

As if to answer him, the doors to the Palace of Kings shuddered open. A mass of Thalmor soldiers charged out, golden swords shining in the light of dawn. The Imperials caught near the doors were killed in seconds.

"Legionnaires, on me!" Tullius raised his sword, and his men took up defensive positions around him. Ulfric and Frea joined with Ambarys and his elves, and hit the Thalmor from the side as they clashed with the legionnaires. He moved swiftly, his sword a scythe cutting down scores of Dominion soldiers without pause. Next to him, Frea fought like one of the warrior maidens of the old times, roaring battle cries and knocking Thalmor away as if they were nothing more than skeevers.

The skirmish was deafening, a tearing and clashing of steel combined with the wet and organic cries of dying men and elves alike. Blood splattered on him, and Ulfric wiped it from his eyes but could still feel it running down his cheeks and chin. He caught a glimpse of Tullius parting an elven soldier with his sword while using his armored fist to smash the life out of another. Ambarys was suddenly back to back with Ulfric, and they fought together as the Thalmor struggled to find an opening in their ranks.

Finally, it was over. The four of them stood nearly alone in the plaza of dead and dying. A few legionnaires had made it, and of the Dark Elves only Ambarys.

"By the All-Maker." Frea fell to her knees, breathing hard. "Never before have I been in so fierce a battle."

Ulfric put a hand on her shoulder, winded himself. "With any luck, it will be your last."

Tullius and Ambarys knelt down by their fallen comrades, whispering or muttering words that he could not hear. The plaza was silent, and it began to snow once more. Ulfric sheathed his sword and sat down beside Frea. They watched the snow fall gently on to the still ground.

Ambarys knelt down opposite him, and took off his chitin helmet. The elf's eyes were red and inscrutable, but the skin around them crinkled upwards as they looked at each other.

"We'll never be friends, Ulfric Stormcloak, but I admit it is possible that we don't have to be enemies any longer." The elf extended a hand to him. "Does that sound agreeable to you? Can a Dark Elf and a Nord be at peace with each other, at the doors to Ysgramor's palace?"

"That would suit me well." Ulfric clasped hands with the elf.

Ambarys smiled, and then his head lurched forward. Blood splashed on to Ulfric's face as he scrambled away. An axe had caught Ambarys in the back of the head. The Dunmer was motionless for a moment, still kneeling, and then fell backwards and was utterly still.

A group of Nords stood in the opening to the Avenue of Valor. At their lead stood Rolff Stone-Fist and Hermir Strong-Heart. Galmar's brother, and that smith girl that always sang my praises. In Rolff's hand, another throwing axe was at the ready.

"Bastards!" Tullius snarled, drawing his sword. "That elf just helped save your rotten city, and you murdered him like a dog."

"Don't see that we need any elves in Windhelm. Seems they bring nothing but trouble." Rolff said, and spat at the ground. "Don't need no Imperials, neither."

Ulfric stood up, and drew his own blade. Frea matched him. "Drop your weapons, kinsmen, or share the fate of these fallen Thalmor."

Rolff squinted at him, recognition dawning in his small watery eyes, but it was the smith girl that cried out.

"Ulfric Stormcloak!" Hermir fell to her knees. Tears ran down her face, and she smiled. "We thought you to be dead, but you've returned to us. Returned to liberate us from the elves and the Empire."

"It's him?" Rolff gaped. "You really sure about that? By Talos, Ulfric has come back!"

An excited tremor ran through the gathered Nords, and shouts of allegiance followed before too long. The Nords began to join Hermir Strong-Heart in kneeling before him, one by one. Only a few remained standing. Tullius watched without comment, his fists clenched, and Frea similarly said nothing.

"Your enemy stands before you, Ulfric." Hermir hissed, looking up at Tullius hatefully. "Kill him, like he killed so many of our brothers and sisters."

Ulfric took a breath, and looked back towards the Palace of Kings. Past the bodies, through the open doors, he imagined he could see the throne on the far side of the chamber. And he turned from it. Ulfric stepped towards the Nords, brought his sword up, and then swiftly down. The exhilarated shouts and cries of the group fell silent in an instant. Rolff Stone-Fist's throwing axe clattered to the ground, joining his head. The smith girl's body quivered for a second, blood spurting from her neck.

He pointed his blade at one of the standing Nords.

"Captain Lonely-Gale. Gather what crew you require, and meet us at the docks. I need you to pilot a ship to Solstheim, if you are willing."

The man nodded. Ulfric went back to Ambarys, kneeling beside the fallen elf, and picked up the chitin helmet. I will wear this on my quest, to honor him. And to hide my face from those who would rally at the sight of it. The helm was custom made for a slightly smaller being, so it was tight but comfortable when he slid it on. He adjusted the goggles so he could see more easily. Ulfric rose to his feet and walked past the dispersing Nords, not looking at any of them. Frea joined him, as did Tullius.

"General. Do you think you can hold Windhelm until my return?" The red cloth of the mask only slightly muffled his voice.

Tullius grunted assent. "I can let in the legionnaires we had to leave outside the city, and that should be enough until I can send for more of my men from Winterhold. With the instigators dead, the rest of the natives shouldn't put up much of a fight. I'll make sure the inn keeper and the others are given a proper burial."

"Good." He glanced at Frea. She was regarding him thoughtfully. "Are you ready to return to your home? I scarcely believed we would get this far."

"My mind is clear and my heart is strong, Ulfric." She grinned at him. "And I am eager to kill a dragon."

"As am I, Frea." They stepped into the Grey Quarter, where Dunmer were cautiously leaving their homes to watch the morning snowfall. "As am I."

Chapter Text

Content Warning: Canon-typical graphic violence. I'm pushing the T rating to its limits.

"You're not the little girl I left here." Teldryn held the point of his sword to the vampire's neck. "Where is she?"

Next to him, Serana struggled out of the Soul Cairn with Jax over her shoulder. She panted with exhaustion as she set the Dragonborn's body down on the stone floor. Her mother followed after her.

"Your threats mean nothing." The child said, almost bored. "This blade is steel, and my teeth can move faster than your sword arm. You're going to let me walk out of this room, unless you want a first-hand demonstration."

"Teldryn?" Serana appeared by his side, elven dagger in hand. Smart. Frost spells would be near useless against vampire. Valerica stood a cautious distance away, her magic at the ready. "Who is this?"

"I found the little Brotherhood bloodsucker crouching near the portal." Teldryn grumbled, holding his sword steady. "If I hadn't insisted on going up first while you carried Jax, I'm certain she would have torn my throat out."

"My name is Babette." She studied Serana. "It seems I'm not the only child of Bal our Listener befriended. Because you were his friends, I have no wish to harm you. Is it too much to ask for you to return the favor?"

"Tell me where Runa is, and I might consider for a moment not turning you into ash." Magicka entered Teldryn like water filling an empty goblet, and in his off-hand fire began to crackle around his fingers.

"We're not going to hurt her." For a moment, Babette sounded almost like the petulant child he knew she was not. "She's a lure, that's all. Bait, to draw out larger prey."

Teldryn replied, "The Thalmor Emissary. Your loathsome Redguard counterpart mentioned something about this." In his peripheral vision, he kept an eye out for said Redguard. There was no way that this vampire had come alone.

"You seem to be a smart elf. You know that the daughter of the Dragonborn would be an invaluable hostage for the Emissary, should any of the Nords rise in rebellion. We need to draw Stoker out from wherever he is hiding, and then plunge a dagger in his back."

Serana interrupted, "And that sounds just perfect to us, really a grand plan. Just leave Runa out of it. She didn't sign up for any Dark Brotherhood murder plot."

Babette looked past them to take in Jax's still form. Teldryn didn't like at all the way her red pupils dilated. "I'm sorry, but we need her. I'm certain the Emissary will demand proof before agreeing to meet with us. Some locks of hair, a finger or two. Her appearance is well known enough that no street child could fool him. This is the only way."

The door on the far side of the chamber burst open. Nazir appeared, with a small body thrown over his shoulder. Runa. The assassin wore an expression of focused terror that Teldryn had seen once before on the man, as they had desperately rowed a boat across the bay of Windhelm. A hulking mass compressed through the doorway after Nazir, moving so quickly it was almost a blur.

Babette ducked under Teldryn's blade and grabbed his wrist, even as Serana's dagger slashed forward. A tear of black blood ripped down Babette's side, but she showed no reaction. Instead, she wrenched Teldryn's arm laterally with unimaginable strength. He gasped, all air escaping him as important things snapped. The sword fell. He didn't hear it clatter when it hit the ground. The world compressed to the white hot agony at the end of his arm, where a limp appendage of broken bones had seemingly replaced what had been quite a useful piece of his body. Teldryn registered almost clinically as he fell to his knees that Babette had drunken some sort of potion and disappeared. Serana stood over him, frozen in panic, and behind her Nazir was dashing past with his captive. Jax's body began to move, and Teldryn thought the Dragonborn had returned to them until his body began to hurriedly drag itself across the floor after Nazir, a small shimmering shape barely visible. Valerica shot a lightning bolt at the fleeing vampire child that was taking the Dragonborn away, but she was forced to aim high and missed. All of this happened in less than ten seconds. Ten very painful seconds.

Teldryn returned to his body when the massive Argonian came upon them. The sight was enough to tear him from his anguish. The beast was taller than a Dremora, and at least twice as wide. It wore no armor but a leather loincloth, so the thick muscles under its glistening red skin were very visible. Serana and her mother stood in front of Teldryn, shoulders back and spells prepared. Some distant part of him that was not screaming in pain was surprised when the hunter began to speak.

"Greetings." It regarded them solemnly, paying little attention to the assassins darting out of the chamber. "I am called Sings-Like-Thunder, and I'm sorry we have to meet like this."

"The feeling's mutual." Serana said. "I don't suppose you'd care to run past us and go after the creepy child and murderous Redguard instead?" Teldryn heard the low note of fear in her voice, and hoped that the Argonian did not.

"I have not come for them." Sings-Like-Thunder looked over her to watch Teldryn. "It is this injured Dark Elf that I must send down the river to meet the sea."

"You don't have to do anything." Serana's voice cracked, and something deep inside Teldryn rejoiced at that. She really does love me. Isn't that something, you old fetcher?

"You are his nest-mate?" Sings-Like-Thunder said. "I don't wish to harm anyone, but I am bound to my mission. We all swim against dark waters. I cannot resist the current, land-strider. They hold my children in their clutches."

"The Thalmor?" Serana grasped. "We can help you get your children back. That was the Dragonborn who was just pulled out of this room. If you help us save him, we can all fight the Dominion together. There's still hope."

Sings-Like-Thunder's eyes fell, and Teldryn steeled his heart. "You speak brave words, pretty girl. But the sun has abandoned my sky. The Altmer will rule this world; it is an inevitability. Perhaps it is some mercy that you and your mate will not be there to see it."

"Valerica." Teldryn spoke, low but steady. His words felt strange and half-formed in the light of his overbearing pain. This is the end of the road, at last. I am going to meet my employers. "Go through portal. Close behind you."

"Never. It would take weeks for me to prepare the ritual to open it again from the other side. I won't leave my daughter to be slaughtered! Not again!" She snapped.

Serana looked at Valerica sharply, catching on to Teldryn's meaning. "Only we know where Jaxius Amaton has gone, mother. Only us three."

Understanding dawned in Valerica, and she acquiesced. Her eyes didn't leave Serana until her last step into the portal, and the purple circle closed behind her with a hollow boom. The Argonian let her go without a word.

In preparation for his death, Teldryn found himself looking back at his life. Learning to fight with his father in Blacklight, back when he had planned to join the Redoran Guard. Sharing a drink with one of his more attractive female employers, and then sharing more when they found themselves drunk and happy about it. Watching in amazement as the Dragonborn absorbed a dragon soul, and knowing that he could never serve any other patron again. Enjoying the New Life Festival in Whiterun, with Runa holding his hand and Jax looking so normal in plain clothes and with a grin on his face. These memories, I take with me.

He dared not think of Serana, dared not let his mind stray to the fact that she would not not be going to Sovngarde. The Nord afterlife didn't sound so bad, with all the feasting and drinking, though he sensed that Serana would probably prefer something more elegant. But Sovngarde was far preferable to where she would actually be going if this colossus killed her: Coldharbour. The realm of Molag Bal, where she would be tortured for eternity.

Teldryn struggled to his feet, with Serana's help. His broken arm was useless, but the other one could still do its job. What job will that be, hmm? Suicide?

"I will try to hasten your ending." Sings-Like-Thunder drew the greatsword from his back. The blade appeared to be of dwarven craft, thick and golden, and looked long enough to split a man down the middle. "Before, I was sworn to the shell. The hatchlings were my life, and my responsibility. They are still my responsibility. For them, I must do this unforgivable thing. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Teldryn swayed unsteadily on his feet. Magicka thrummed through his veins once again. "I get it. I'd likely do the same, if it were me in your place."

"Kind words, but they can not provide absolution. My river runs with poison that will never be cleansed." Sings-Like-Thunder replied, his chin low. "May your ancestors embrace you warmly, Teldryn Sero."

The first swing of his greatsword sent Serana flying across the chamber, where she crashed into one of Valerica's bookshelves. The structure fell forward, burying her in books and shards of wood and the countless trinkets that had been carefully arranged on the shelves. He looked up at Sings-Like-Thunder, who was already dispassionately moving his sword back again. Most of Teldryn's weary soul wanted nothing more than to close his eyes and join his ancestors, to finally go to wherever Dunmer went after running out of luck. He'd had a pretty good run of it, after all. There weren't many middle class Blacklight Dunmer who could say they had fought beside the Dovahkiin of Nordic legend for years, and then resurrected that same Dovahkiin with Dark Brotherhood assassins and giant Argonians in hot pursuit. But he could not banish the image of Serana's endless torment in Coldharbour from his mind. What kind of attractive elven friend would he be if he just left her to that fate without a fight?

Teldryn took a breath, and ducked under the swinging greatsword. His broken arm throbbed with pain at the sudden movement, but his hand that worked was already outstretched and thrumming with magicka. Reaching into the planes was no easy task, and he had only practiced this spell a few times before, but he felt the right connections taking place between Mundus and Oblivion and the satisfying warmth of a successful summoning in the palm of his hand. Before Sings-Like-Thunder could ready his greatsword again, an icy arm the size of a tree trunk knocked him to the ground. Teldryn barely managed to scramble out of the way as the Argonian fell. He grabbed the fallen greatsword and tossed it as far as he could to the other side of the room.

Teldryn ran to the pile of debris burying Serana and frantically pushed the books and other junk aside. Near the stairs, the Frost Atronach and Argonian were engaged in vicious unarmed combat, but Sings-Like-Thunder was steadily moving towards his fallen weapon. Finally, Teldryn saw a flash of pale skin and black hair. He shoved aside the last of the books with both of his arms, certain he was doing further damage to the broken one judging by the waves of fresh pain it so cheerfully transmitted to his brain.

Serana groaned and managed to pull herself out of the pile, and Teldryn wasted no time in putting her arm around his shoulder and moving away from the rapidly one-sided battle behind them.

"Teldryn." She murmured and shook her head, regaining some of her consciousness. "Leave me behind, I can slow him down. You go, save Runa and Jax."

"Not going to happen, lady." Teldryn replied, trying to ignore the crunch of ice and clanging of a sword behind them. "This is a partnership."

He fell on the chamber door and they collapsed on to a stone balcony. Teldryn struggled to his feet and leaned on the railing, seeing only rocks and waves below them. Serana grabbed one of his chitin pauldrons and pulled herself up.

The sun was setting, and the orange light washing over the spires of Castle Volkihar made it look almost beautiful. Not such a bad place to die, all in all. At least he wouldn't be left rotting with the vampires back in the dining hall. That's it, appreciate the small things.

Sings-Like-Thunder appeared in the doorway, bruised and battered but still very capable of dispatching any living thing smaller than a dragon. He seemed to watch them for a moment, his forlorn visage no more furious than before his fight with the Atronach.

"At least you will die with the sun on your skin. Better than a frigid laboratory, I think." His voice was unusually deep for an Argonian, and Teldryn distantly realized that he did probably make for a very good singer.

"Better to forget all this happened and go out for a round of drinks, no?" Teldryn suggested, turning so his back was on the railing. "I know a tavern on Solstheim that has wonderful sujamma."

"No." Sings-Like-Thunder took his first step towards them. I'd fear for the life of this balcony, were it not made of stone. "Say your goodbyes now, if you so wish. It may go better for you if you close your eyes."

From the telltale hollowness in the pit of his stomach, Teldryn could tell his magicka was utterly depleted. It was no small work, summoning a Frost Atronach.

"Don't try anything stupid, sera." He said quietly, so the advancing Argonian could not hear. They could not tear their eyes from him, regal and honorable even while coming to cut them down. His red scales glittered in the sunlight like rubies in ore dust. "Try to slip past him, if you can. He won't follow; you aren't the one he wants."

Serana smiled somberly. "We still have a lot to learn about each other, Teldryn Sero." She used the railing to move closer, and then fell into his arms. Her voice was low and cold against his ear. "Jax and Runa will be okay. There isn't a safer place in the world for her then by his side."

"You're probably right about that." He had his worries about Jax, grown from seeds of mistrust that damned Nazir had planted in his mind, but he had no doubt the Dragonborn would die before sacrificing his daughter to the Brotherhood's plans.

"I'll find Coldharbour." Teldryn whispered. Her black hair smelled so divine, and muffled his words against her neck. "Wherever I end up, I'll fight my way out and tear my way across the planes of Oblivion. I'll not leave you to Molag Bal."

"I'll be waiting for you." Serana's fingers tightened on his shoulder, and he felt the tingle of rising electricity resonating through them. You damn brave woman. "You'd better not take too long. A girl can only blow up so many Daedric abominations before life gets dull."

Teldryn laughed, pushed Serana to the side, and raised his sword. It was awkward, fighting with his left hand, and against the Argonian's greatsword his own blade appeared a toothpick.

Sings-Like-Thunder's weapon fell with the force of a meteor cutting through the sky, more a force of nature than the result of any mortal action. Teldryn's elven sword spun away over the balcony, and then the greatsword was coming back up. For a moment, Teldryn felt himself floating above the balcony, a disinterested party observing events. This was the only way he could keep hold of his consciousness when Sings-Like-Thunder's blade cut a clean path through chitin armor, muscles and ligaments. Was this how the gods felt, watching from above, believed to be benevolent but never interfering? By Dagon's eyes, that had to hurt. That poor n'wah just got half his arm chopped off. The Dunmer spellsword below fell to his knees, blinking at the stump at the end of his bicep. Sings-Like-Thunder watched dispassionately, and then prepared to deliver the killing blow.

"Stop!" Serana cried. She leapt in front of Teldryn, and Sings-Like-Thunder hesitated for only a second. It was all the time she needed. She closed her eyes and reached deep inside herself to find that ancient primordial power that she had sacrificed so much for. Damn it, this is going to hurt. Serana's ivory skin rippled and then exploded outward, coating Teldryn and the Argonian in a thin sheen of gore. Her armor was reduced to rags and ribbons as leathery wings sprouted from her back. Sinew and bone throughout her body crackled and tore apart before reforming, and thick gray muscle rushed to fill the empty spaces. Before, Serana had been dwarfed by Sings-Like-Thunder, but now stood at equal height. To his credit, the hunter did not waste more than a moment before he swung his greatsword at this new threat.

Just as the blade touched the edge of her fresh skin, Serana vanished into a cloud of fluttering bats. The sword passed through them like they were thin air, and she quickly reformed in the balcony doorway. Sings-Like-Thunder didn't have time to turn around before she was tearing into his exposed back with talons and teeth. The Argonian gasped in pain, dropping his weapon, and turned to pummel her with his full strength. Serana hissed, struggling to defend herself against his own sharp claws and massive fists.

Gods, he's so strong. Sings-Like-Thunder's eyes watched her coolly, still holding not a trace of anger, even as fresh wounds opened up on his arms and neck. One of his blows nearly knocked her to the ground, no small feat in her higher form, and past him she could see Teldryn shuddering into unconsciousness. A pool of blood spread around him, dripping off the balcony on to the craggy rocks far below. Need to give him a healing spell. That's all, just a simple process, really, it'll fix him up in no time. Except she only knew one healing spell, and an elf missing half his arm needed much more than that. Fury like the fires of Oblivion spread through her veins, and the bruises and lacerations covering her suddenly felt like nothing more than scratches. Sings-Like-Thunder kicked her, and she deliberately let out a whimper of pain and cowered. When he tried to kick her again, Serana grabbed his foot and bit through his ankle with her fangs.

Sings-Like-Thunder roared in agony. Rich arterial blood flowed into Serana, increasing her strength even as her prey grew weaker. He slammed his arms down on her back over and over, but she kept her teeth buried deep until the blows softened and Sings-Like-Thunder went limp. She released her hold, withdrawing her bloody fangs and cautiously drawing back from the Argonian, waiting for him to topple over. No mortal can lose that much blood and still be standing.

Instead, he turned. Moving stiffly, as if pushing the last of his energy into one final act, Sings-Like-Thunder scooped up Teldryn Sero like a child's doll. Even as Serana lunged, she knew it was too late. The Argonian fell forwards off the balcony, likely already dead, and Teldryn went with him. Serana dashed to the edge, spread her wings, and leapt.

Author's Note: I don't particularly like cliffhangers, but for some reason this chapter didn't want to cooperate until I decided to split it into two parts. Part 2 out soon, I Paarthurnax promise. Hooray for Elder Scrolls VI announcement!

Chapter Text

Teldryn is ten years old, and quite confused. For months father had been busy taking care of mother, but every day for a week now they had set time aside to visit the St. Nerevar Gardens. He loves the gardens, adores seeing all the different people that visit and the beautiful displays of flora and the occasional celebrations that take place. But he doesn't understand why mother can't come, not until the day father starts weeping in the Gardens and Teldryn has to pull him into one of the corner shops before a crowd gathers. Father kneels down slowly and tells Teldryn his mother is dying, and then they cry together, ignoring the stunned shopkeeper and customers. That afternoon was his first encounter with death.

"Serana!" Teldryn screamed, jolting awake. He leaned forward for a while, breathing hard, before taking in his surroundings. There was something soft under his back, but he couldn't see anything at all. There was no sound, either, except for his panting breaths, and the air smelled of nothing in particular. Is this death? Just a silent, eternal blackness? The last moment he could remember, a huge Argonian had been standing over him on a stone balcony. Was the Argonian my friend?

Runa. Jax had asked him to protect his daughter. Have to find Runa. Where had she gone, again? Teldryn recalled asking her to wait somewhere, while he went into the Soul Cairn with the vampire.

"The vampire"? His mind chided. Don't you remember, you s'wit? You kissed that bloodsucker, more than once if you remember. Her name is Serana.

"Serana." He said the into the empty air, and the darkness swallowed it. We were fighting the Argonian. Dances-Like-Lightning, or something like that. The Thalmor took his children.

Teldryn couldn't remember if they beaten the lizard or not. His presumed state of currently-being-alive seemed to indicate some measure of success. But where is Serana? She could be hurt or something, you lazy fetcher. Get off your ass and go look for her.

He made his way off the bed, moving slowly so as not to aggravate any possible injuries. Surprisingly, his muscles did not ache with soreness, nor did he feel the sting of any healing cuts anywhere on his body. Either that fight went a lot better then I thought it did, or I've been asleep a while.

The floor was made of stone, cold but comfortably solid under his feet. Teldryn was pretty sure at this point he wasn't dead, unless death was just a very badly lit version of Castle Volkihar. Yes, I'm definitely still in that Divines-forsaken fortress. Now that he was more awake, he realized he could focus his hearing to detect the distant sound of crashing waves, and the occasional cry of a seagull. Must be low to the ground, if my dragon-roar deafened ears can make out all that.

His off-hand drifted down to his sword belt, but found only air where the familiar hilt of an elven sword usually was. Someone has disrobed me. The weight of the chitin armor that had become a second skin to Teldryn was gone. He felt vulnerable without the gear, standing in the darkness, unknowing and unprepared. He also felt strangely hungry. I guess it has been a while since I dug into the ration bag.

Teldryn moved forward through the room, arms outstretched to warn him of any possible hazard. Fortunately, he encountered no obstacles until running into what he presumed was a thick wooden door. He hesitated for a moment, unsure. What if something nasty is waiting for me on the other side? Even the greatest swordsman in all of Morrowind couldn't hope to handle much dressed in thin cloth trousers with no weapon to speak of. He closed his eyes and tried to summon forth magicka, but was still too weak to do little more than confirm his link to Aetherius was intact.

Oh, well. Here goes nothing. Teldryn pushed the door open with his shoulder, and darted backwards as it swung open. He appraised the new enclave of darkness, though seriously doubting he would be able to see a dragon if it was a foot away in this kind of light. After confirming that there was at least no immediate danger, the Dunmer moved through the doorway. He checked for stairs before going more than a step, recalling the Castle had quite a abundance of staircases, which is why he didn't break his neck on the second step forward. Teldryn proceeded methodically down the stairs, measuring each drop of his feet with painstaking precision. It seemed like hours passed before he finally encountered smooth and solid ground, though in reality it had probably only been a minute or two.

Damn vampire house and its lack of windows. If he only had a little moonlight, he might have been able to figure out which direction to go. Sighing, Teldryn extended his arms and blindly continued through Castle Volkihar.

He is 19, and trains hard every day for the upcoming guard trials. His father, a captain in the Redoran Guard, guides him through the arduous conditioning. An officer of the Guard has to be ready for anything, father says. Blacklight is a huge city, full of people that kill men and women and children without remorse and they won't hesitate to kill you either. Teldryn hears the words but does not truly know them, blinded by dreams of toppling skooma lords and saving pretty Dunmer girls. He's strong and tall, and even has a tutor from the local Mages Guild that's teaching him simple Destruction spells. Teldryn feels invincible, and so his fathers words fall on deaf ears.

The time comes for Teldryn to accompany his father on the job, to get a feel for what his responsibilities will be as an officer. It excites him at first, walking beside father on the streets of the capital, looking out for troublemakers, but after they chase off the fourth loiterer he is growing bored and restless. Then a frantic Argonian servant beckons for them to enter a manor, claiming his masters are in trouble, and Teldryn runs inside before his father can stop him.

The Argonian attacks from behind, and has his sharp and bloody teeth an inch from Teldryn's neck when a silver sword slices forward. The vampire is ashes on the floor, and his father stands terrified over the dust pile, his hands shaking. He's not scared of vampires, Teldryn thinks, in a shocked state himself. So why does he look so afraid?

They find the master and lady of the house in the master bedroom with their throats torn out. A small crib sits beside by the bed, and when they first hear the wailing cries they are relieved until they look inside. A small baby, except its skin is too pale and its eyes too red and no baby has teeth like that and how could someone do that to such a small little thing and his father is drawing his dagger and Teldryn is leaving the manor, his father, the Redoran Guard, and not looking back.

Finally, some light. Teldryn had been blindly walking for a while, hoping he was heading towards some kind of exit and not deeper into the bowels of the castle, when he had at last came upon a small window. He rushed to the opening, drinking in the scant moonlight like a fine wine. Teldryn was so overcome by the discovery that at first he didn't notice the courtyard below, and the large fire burning at its center.

Azura take me, that smells awful. A mound of corpses had been set alight in the courtyard, and from the scent of them Teldryn suspected they had been dead for a very long time. The bodies of Serana's clan. He leaned forward out the window, and spotted a slim figure with dark hair standing in front of the controlled inferno. There you are.

She was too far to hear him had he called out, with the hissing and roaring of the fire, so Teldryn resolved to descend to the courtyard somehow and reunite with her. He had regained enough strength now to cast a simple magelight spell, so navigating was made a bit easier.

Serana hadn't moved by the time he opened the door to the courtyard, and the inferno had only increased in intensity as more dead flesh went up in flame. He paused in the doorway, watching her rigid form. There was a stiffness in her shoulders, a weakness in the way she held herself. What's happened? He dearly hoped Serana hadn't been injured during the fight.

Teldryn walked up behind her, and it was a testament to how agitated she was that she didn't detect him until he put a hand on her shoulder.

"Serana." He said warmly, after she had finished practically jumping out of her skin. "Sorry to frighten you, sera."

Serana turned her head to face him, and he gasped. Her mouth was pulled back over her teeth as if she had been involuntarily sobbing, and her face was wet and red with tears. But the worse thing was the downward cast of her eyes, the way she refused to meet his gaze. Guilt. What could she have done to be guilty about?

"I'm so sorry, Teldryn." Serana's face scrunched up as a fresh wave of tears overtook her, and she turned from him. "The healing spells and potions...they just weren't good enough."

"What are you talking about?" He took a step back from her, his danger sense on high alert. His hand ached for the comfortable weight of a sword. "I'm fine, you don't need to worry. Feel like a kwama fresh from the egg. Are you alright, though?"

His confusion seemed to upset her further, and for a minute she could do nothing but weep. Just as he was about to reach for her, Serana took a deep breath and met eyes with him.

"Okay." She wiped some of the wetness from her face. "Your arm. You were hurt very badly, do you remember?"

"No." He tried to smile reassuringly, but something had come loose in his head. He recalled looking down on a kneeling Dunmer, and pitying the poor fool. "No, that was a dream. Or a nightmare. My arm is fine, Serana, the hand it connects to was on your shoulder just a moment ago."

She inhaled quickly, the sound like a punch in the gut to him, and bit her lower lip. "I was able to reattach it with spells and potions, but you had lost too much blood. Do you understand what I'm saying? You were going to die. It was the only way."

"The only way?" He tried to grin again, but couldn't quite manage it so an ugly grimace took its place. The fire in front of them was beginning to die down a bit now. "I really don't know why you're so upset. I'm feeling simply spectacular."

"Teldryn." Serana's voice was shaky. "I had to turn you. I'm so sorry, it was the only way. You had lost too much blood, too much. I couldn't lose you, I just couldn't."

He flinched, some of her words finally breaking through. She couldn't have done that to me. This must be some sort of cruel joke.

But then Teldryn held up his hands to see them clearly for the first time, in the light of the flames. They were pale, nearly white, not at all the flattering shade of gray they had been before. This can't be happening, a quietly panicked voice inside his head was saying. She wouldn't do that to me. He used one of his very pale fingers to feel around inside his mouth, and winced when he felt a sharp prick against his digit. She wouldn't do that to me. Not Serana.

His ring finger now sported a drop of black ooze at its tip, and he stared at it, shaking. It appeared quite similar to the vile ichor that had fallen from that Brotherhood devil child Babette when Serana's dagger had cut down her side. Serana couldn't do that to me. How could she have? He closed his fist so tightly that his fingernails cut into his palm, and more of the ichor oozed through. Teldryn Sero can not be a vampire.

"Take it back." His voice sounded unfamiliar, sharp and hissing. That wasn't the vampire speaking, Teldryn knew; it was the Dunmer. The Dunmer that had loathed bloodsuckers all his life, until he had been stupid enough to fall under the spell of a pretty one. "Take it back, I don't want it."

"I can't." Serana sobbed, hiding her face in her arm. "I didn't want to lose you!"

Teldryn's hands clenched into fists at his sides, and he wrestled against the fury building inside, comparing it against the love and affection he had held so close to his heart. Love that had turned black and corrupting. He wanted to punch her, to kick her, to make her feel the pain that he was feeling, but couldn't bear the thought of being alone in this awful place with this new terrible thing inside him.

He turned, and left Serana and her burning clan.

Their boat by the dock had been smashed into splinters. Teldryn stood over the shattered remains, his new night vision making him quite capable of seeing every detail of the destruction. The Brotherhood had done it, to prevent pursuit, or the Argonian, to prevent escape. It didn't really matter to him what had happened. All that mattered was that he was now stuck at Castle Volkihar, stuck with the vampire who had forced him to become a monster.

He considered finding a particularly sharp piece of wood and falling on it, but the thought of being stuck in Coldharbour for eternity didn't sound any more appealing than when he had feared that fate for Serana. Teldryn had already survived one meeting with Molag Bal, and thought that quite enough for one lifetime. More of an un-lifetime, now.

So what to do, then? There was only really one thing to do, truly, but he didn't think he could face Serana yet. Even if it was only to plan their escape off this miserable rock. Every time he looked at her he would be reminded of what he had become. What she had made him. How could she think this is what I would want?

Teldryn shuddered as the full realization of his recent days hit him. They had brought the Dragonborn back from the dead, only to lose him to the Dark Brotherhood. Along with his daughter. Would Jax be enraged upon waking up, killing every assassin in sight? Or would he join them in their plan to bait the Thalmor Emissary, returning to lead the Brotherhood as their "Listener"? And another doubt plagued the Dunmer's weary mind. Will Jax simply cut my head off when he discovers my new affliction? The Dragonborn had spared Serana, and eventually befriended her. Teldryn hoped he would be afforded the same benefit of the doubt. It would be damn hypocritical of him not to, considering his secret allegiances.

He managed to find his way back to the chamber he had awoken in. Now that Teldryn was actually able to see it, he realized it must have been Serana's room at some point. The archaic style couldn't quite hide the impression that a young girl had once inhabited the space. A large armoire took up most of the space on one wall, and a big mirror and desk sat beside it. The mirror had been smashed a long time ago, but some slivers of glass still stubbornly held on to the frame. He sat down at the desk and stared into one of the slivers. The intricate war paint he had so painstakingly applied every day of his life had faded away completely now, likely mostly washed off during their stop at the pond. Memories of that day, of Serana's soft arms around his neck, did little to soothe his conflicted mind.

Teldryn had always known he wasn't the most conventionally handsome Dunmer, with his facial markings and mohawk, but now he could barely stand to look at himself. At least before, he had chosen to look like he had, and those who who had been drawn to his wild appearance had embraced it. Now, his skin was so pale Teldryn imagined he could've seen the veins in his face, had he still been pumping blood through them. There were black shadows and wrinkles around his too-red eyes, shadows that he knew would not fade with sleep. And, as he bared his teeth to the mirror, he saw the new instruments of his evil consumption. The tools of the slavish life Serana had cursed him to.

He cursed and turned to the bed. He was grateful that bloodsuckers still needed the occasional nap; sleep, if nothing else, was one pleasure that carried over. On his pillow was a squat red potion bottle, with a golden stopper. Teldryn knew what it was; a potion of blood, meant to satisfy the cravings of the new beast living inside him. Drained from the Argonian, in all likelihood. He picked it up, feeling the warm liquid through the glass, and some new and despicable part of him called out for it like an addict lusting after a vial of skooma. Teldryn pushed the desire down and threw the bottle at the far wall, where it shattered with a satisfying bang. Blood dripped down the stones, collecting into a small pool that Teldryn did his best to ignore. Maybe that's how I'll get through this mess. Just wait it out until this thing inside me realizes it isn't getting any of what it wants, and then maybe it'll leave.

Yeah, right. And maybe Jax and Runa would suddenly appear in a war galley at the docks, with Nazir's head pinned at the front to scare away other annoying Brotherhood assassins.

He was about to lie down for some well-deserved rest when he noticed a small note had been pinned under the blood bottle. At first, Teldryn felt the urge to burn the note to ash in his hand, but the part of him that had held Serana so tightly in the Soul Cairn told him to read it. He unfolded the paper.

I'm sorry. The first night is hard. It gets easier.

I love you.

His eyes traced over the words for a long second, over Serana's lovely handwriting, before he let the note fall from his hand to fall somewhere he couldn't see. Teldryn tried to summon some kind of feeling, some measure of emotional reaction to the letter, but he was simply worn out. Maybe tomorrow, I'll be able to bring myself to write a response. He desperately tried to ignore the fact that a significant portion of his apathy was due to the rising, furious hunger that still longed for that blood potion, a hunger that pushed silly things like love and happiness and pain aside.

Teldryn finally into a deep sleep on Serana's old bed, too exhausted to even slip under the covers.

He's 26 and one of the most renowned swordsmen in all of Blacklight when he first has to leave a patron to die. The Dunmer woman is a young noble, in way over her head, who is making far too many enemies. Teldryn is no coward, but nonetheless he warns his patron not to show her face in the more seedier districts of the city until her notoriety has faded from memory. She refuses, and they find themselves caught in the crossfire between two rival gangs. The Dunmer woman catches three arrows in her chest, and there is nothing he can do. Teldryn flees the scene, and carries a guilt that he can find no place for. So instead it haunts him, and before too long it has company. More patrons, more foolhardy ventures, more blood-

Blood. The word broke through his dreams, an unwelcome visitor. Blood, blood, need it need more BLOOD wakeupwakeup need to DRINK BLOODBLOODBLOODFEEL IT IN US-

He woke up with a shuddering gasp, so cold and weak and hungry, and Teldryn leapt off the bed on to the floor. He crawled forward and licked the dried blood off of the stones, and it tasted so sweet and filling and right, and he couldn't stop until no trace of red remained. The glass stung his tongue but he hardly noticed. After he finished, Teldryn could do nothing more than lay panting in the darkness, feeling simultaneously euphoric and abominable.

That is how his first day as a vampire began, and as Teldryn walked past the broken mirror he could not bring himself to glance at what he had become. At the very least, he knew that no blood would be dripping from his fangs or chin; the hungry monster inside him wasted not a single drop.

He saw no sign of Serana on his way to the dock, but a book had been left on one of the wooden posts next to their destroyed vessel. The title read: Maritime Crafting and Construction, Fourth Era Edition.

A note was tucked inside the cover. Even in the darkness of midnight, Teldryn could read it clearly.

I know you can't bear to face me right now. I understand if you never want to see me again. I understand if you hate me for the rest of your life. I'm looking for ropes in the castle; my father and his clan couldn't walk across water any more than we can, so I'm sure there are some sailing supplies around somewhere. There might be some old logs in the tower near the docks, and a saw or two.

Teldryn sighed. A piece of charcoal had been left next to the book. He picked it up, and scrawled a response under her words.

I don't hate you.

There was a meager supply of rotting wood in the tower, as Serana had thought, but Teldryn suspected it would take them at least a week to make a serviceable raft out of such dilapidated materials. Seven days that he had no doubt the Brotherhood would make use of, dragging his friends across Skyrim while Teldryn was busy sawing wood and tying ropes. He took some small comfort in that he knew where they were going: Dawnstar. That bastard Nazir had let slip the location of their Sanctuary when they had been traveling together, and he would make sure the Redguard didn't live to regret it.

The sunset, a delightful event that Teldryn had come to appreciate over the years, put a halt to his work on the raft. Even the meager rays coming from the rising dawn were enough to set his skin tingling uncomfortably. I flee from the sun now, like some pathetic nocturnal creature. Despite his grumblings, Teldryn welcomed the coolness inside. Now that all the bodies and gore had been cleared from the dining hall, the atmosphere was much more tolerable.

He spent most of the sunny day inside the windowless Castle Volkihar library, reading works new and old alike. Serana and her mother were responsible for stocking the fresher volumes, he figured. There were quite a few tomes about vampires, unsurprisingly. He found novels about the infamous murders of bloodsuckers long gone, legends of vampire clans hiding in the crypts of Skyrim, and scientific reports concerning the disease Sanguinare Vampiris. Nowhere in any of the works did Teldryn find mention of any benevolent vampires. The myriad books all seemed to share the same opinion; those afflicted with vampirism were driven only by their thirst for mortal blood, and whatever sense of morality they might have held in their previous lives was long gone. He found it hard to argue with this, given the uncontrollable fit he had experienced at midnight. What if I had been sleeping in a room with Runa, instead of a smashed bottle of blood? Would I have been able to control myself? Teldryn wanted to believe that he'd have slit his own throat with a jagged piece of glass before he attacked Runa, but he just didn't know.

Upon returning to Serana's bedroom (he couldn't bring himself to call it 'his bedroom' – it simply sounded much too permanent) he discovered another Blood Potion waiting on his pillow. Instead of smashing it, Teldryn picked it up without hesitation. If I'm going to be a blood drinker, it's going to be on my own terms. There was no note with this bottle. Perhaps Serana had sensed he needed some space, or she was still taking in his response. Or maybe she ran out of charcoal.

Teldryn took out the cleanest looking cup he could find in the dining hall and set it on the desk. Then he uncorked the blood potion and let the red liquid fill the cup, trying very hard to keep his hands from shaking with anticipation. A Dunmer can never be a slave, even to his own desires. He made himself set the empty bottle down slowly on the bedside table, and then sat down at the desk with an open book before finally indulging in a sip of blood. It took nearly all his willpower to keep from throwing the cup back and gorging himself, but Teldryn managed. To be Dunmer is to force yourself to adapt, to survive. Even to this. He smiled grimly, turned the page, and took another sip.

Chapter Text

Elisif was ripped from her bed in the dead of night. She struggled against the Thalmor soldier dragging her away, to no avail. He threw her out of the cell, and she landed roughly in the stone hallway. Just before another elf closed the door to her quarters, she caught a glimpse of the first soldier beginning to tear the room apart. They know Jaxius' soul gem is missing, then. It'll just be a matter of time before they find it.

A strong hand pulled her up. She was unsurprised but somewhat relieved to see the grim face of Brunwolf Free-Winter. He pulled her close, and murmured words that only she could hear: "We do not stand alone. When the right day comes, be prepared at midnight." Elisif was barely able to process the cryptic message before Brunwulf stepped away to stand among the others.

The burly Jarl of Windhelm was not alone; seven other Jarls stood in the corridor, looking as ruffled and discontent as she felt. Even Igmund, who had left her moot before Labyrinthian. Stoker must have taken him before he could return to Markarth.

"What have you done now, Elisif?" Igmund's voice was cold, his arms crossed. "Hasn't Skyrim suffered enough, without you provoking the elves further?"

Jarl Hrongar, though covered in fresh bruises and cuts, had no trouble pushing past Igmund to face her. He had evidently been putting his strength to use against their captors, though she didn't see that it had brought him anything but pain. "Whatever you're doing, I want to help. We might have lost a battle, but there are still a lot of these milk drinkers left to kill."

Though Elisif suspected they had lost more than just a battle at Labyrinthian, she appreciated Hrongar's loyalty. If only I knew what to do with it. She didn't dare reveal that she had taken the soul gem. Not in front of Jarl Igmund, who seems less a friend to me every time we meet.

"Just follow my lead." She counseled them. Igmund snorted and turned away, but the other Jarls were focused on her, likely eager to hear some direction in the chaos that had become their lives. "We have to present a united front against the Thalmor, just as we did in Labyrinthian. The difference now is that Stoker can't simply murder us. They need us alive to maintain order in the Holds."

"There is no order in Morthal." A black haired woman advanced in years spoke up. The missing Jarl Ravencrone. "There is no life in Morthal. They killed my people. My daughter, my son, my husband. Sunk them into the earth like swamp potatoes. Except they won't be coming up in the spring harvests."

Elisif swallowed. Now comes the hard part. It was made even harder because she knew this was what Stoker wanted. For her to spread the knowledge of the Eye of Magnus, to spread the fear.

"I'm so sorry for what happened to Morthal, Idgrod."

"Wasn't your fault." Jarl Ravencrone replied, almost conversationally. "I had a vision of Morthal's end, but did not believe. Could not believe. I thought the sinking to be metaphorical, and so ordered all of my citizens to prepare for battle. Little did I know our enemy would be the earth beneath us. I was taken by these golden soldiers only minutes before it happened, and for that at least I am grateful. I did not have to see my wise little Joric's mouth fill up with mud and water, or watch my daughter's hands clawing desperately at the dirt that sucked her under."

Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold placed a hand on Ravencrone's shoulder, and Elisif was about to speak when the door to her quarters opened and a Thalmor soldier stepped out. In his hand, Jax's soul gem was colorless and static, like the surface of a dull rock. Before, the gem had pulsed purple and ethereal with the power of the Dragonborn's soul. What's happened?

"Elisif." Stoker's voice, deep and troubled, came from the end of the hallway. The Thalmor guards pushed the Jarls back up against the walls as he approached, his soft shoes barely making a sound. He accepted the soul gem from one of the soldiers, and studied it.

"What have you done?" A sudden tightening around Stoker's mouth told Elisif he was furious. He's getting better at hiding his emotions around me. "I know this is the soul gem that contained Jaxius Amaton's soul, dear, because I put it there myself."

Elisif backed away from the Emissary, unsure herself what had happened and wary of his rage, but found armored guards blocking her escape. Stoker moved closer, the soul gem clenched in one fist.

"I watched the light go out of the Dragonborn's eyes and his jaw slacken and blood trickle from the corner of his mouth. And I was comforted by the knowledge that he would never take a breath again, would never destroy innocent lives with his destructive powers."

"I don't know!" She snapped at him. "And I've seen enough of your theater act. I'm not impressed. I took the soul gem from you on the Throat. Up until one of your men stole it from my room, it looked perfectly fine."

Stoker crossed his arms and sighed. "I don't know why you keep thinking of me as your enemy. Any other Thalmor agent would have had you tortured nearly to death by now. We'll have to get to the bottom of this together, but for now I want to go back to sleep." He made a lazy gesture, and the guards began to push the Jarls back into their chambers. Elisif didn't get a chance to exchange words with any of them before she was roughly shoved into her own room. The door shut solidly behind her, and the locks shifted into place. They sounded to her like an ending, a mechanical swan song heralding the death of Skyrim.

No Jax, no Sybille, no Bolgeir, and I can't even communicate with the other Jarls. Not to mention that their insane captor seemed to be planning some sort of confrontation. Elisif picked up a broomstick from the corner of the room and began to run through her sword drills, the wooden shaft swinging through the air. She missed the weight of Repentance, the sword Jax had designed just for her, but did not doubt she would be facing a fight soon. I want to be prepared when the time comes. Stoker had been frighteningly fast with his daggers in their prior meetings; he was better than her, no question about it, but maybe she could hold him off until someone more his match came along. Maybe Hrongar, or Brina Merilis, or Brunwulf, or...

Elisif's thoughts trailed off, and she lowered the broom. Divines curse my stupid mind. It had never so pointedly occurred to her that she was in a chamber next door to a number of hardened and experienced warriors, seasoned masters of strategy and battle. Her own ego, the concept of a battle of wits between Stoker and the High Queen of Skyrim, had blinded her to a simple truth. If I can get the Jarls out of their cells, and get a few weapons into their hands, we could kill every thinly-armored Thalmor in this monastery in minutes. Then they would be stuck inside High Hrothgar with a dragon at the door, but that was a worry for the future. One impossible task at a time. She had to focus on defeating Stoker, or at least getting the Staff of Magnus away from him, before another city suffered Morthal's fate. And there is still Brunwulf's strange message to consider. Did he have a spy among the Thalmor, someone who could assist the Jarls in escaping? Only time will tell.

It was nearly morning before she was finally brought before the Emissary, at least as best Elisif could tell in the windowless monastery. He was standing in the central chamber, in front in one of the large flaming braziers. Jax's soul gem was still clutched in his hand. It looked no more active than it had last night.

The guards retreated to the shadows in the far sides of the room, leaving them relatively alone. Stoker kept his back to her, seemingly a risky move, though Elisif knew she would be cut down in seconds if she raised a hand against him.

"What do you want?" Elisif asked, crossing her arms to hide her shaking hands. "I've already told you, I've no idea what happened to the soul gem, and I will not surrender Skyrim even if it was mine to give away. We have nothing to talk about."

Minutes passed before Stoker responded. He rolled the gem between his fingers like a child's trinket, considering it thoughtfully, the only sound in the room the popping and crackling of burning wood and coal.

"I had such high hopes for us, Elisif." He bowed his head. "You're a smart Nord. I like to think I'm a fairly clever member of my own race. We could have been partners in this new Skyrim, progressive leaders in a forward-thinking age. But now I see you are no different than the other members of the Council back in Alinor, those Thalmor that wanted nothing more than to exterminate the races of man."

Elisif had heard enough. "To Oblivion with your sanctimonious speeches, and to Oblivion with you."

"I thought you might say something like that. And you're right about one thing." He replied. "We've entered the endgame, now. No more tricks, no more little meetings, no more games. If you will not respond to my kind words, to politeness, there is only one road remaining to us."

He strolled briskly up the stairs to the courtyard, but Elisif had no intention of following him until a Thalmor Justiciar emerged from the hallway, armed with a heavy crossbow. He pointed the weapon at her.

"Follow the Emissary." The Justiciar ordered her. She obeyed, though she was not frightened; Stoker still needed the Jarls to keep the populace civil, even in a Dominion-controlled Skyrim. He wouldn't dare hurt me.

The winds buffeted her relentlessly when she opened the door to the courtyard, and Elisif barely managed to stagger out to where Stoker was standing. The snow was falling so furiously it seemed a white blanket meant to smother her. He had donned a heavy fur cloak, but she still had only her leather armor to protect her against the elements. Skyrim's harsh winter was well underway. If this little demonstration of his takes a while, I could honestly freeze to death out here.

"Here we are again, the three of us." Stoker shouted to be heard above the storm, and waved a hand at the pathway arch leading to the Throat of the World. She could barely make out the silhouette of Merkoorzaam on the arch, his harshly bright eyes like lightning bugs from Oblivion. The eyes watched them unblinkingly, unnervingly, eternally. "But our friend here isn't much of a conversationalist, is he? I think we need some more company."

The monastery doors opened with a crash, the Thalmor guards struggling to keep them open against the wind. The eight Jarls of Skyrim were led out one by one, dressed only in the noble clothes and bits of armor they had been captured in. The crossbow Justiciar brought up the rear. When he stepped out into the courtyard with the last Jarl, the doors shut behind him.

"I lied earlier, Elisif." Stoker was much closer to her now, and though she was repulsed by his presence she could not deny the comforting warmth of his body heat. "I have one story left to tell you."

Though she doubted it was possible with the strong winds blowing around them, Elisif imagined she could hear her Jarls shivering already in the freezing night. This needs to be over, and soon. "I'm listening," She replied.

"I grew up in a wealthy family, in our capital, Alinor. Back when the name referred only to the city, rather than the entire Summerset Isle. Back when my name was Sindalin."

She shifted impatiently. Skip the history lesson, you smug bastard.

"I was a curious child, and a clumsy one. Altmer craftsmanship is beautiful, though fragile. Meant to be appreciated at a distance, without interference, lest you disrupt the delicate balance of the art and destroy it. Almost like a snowflake." He smiled wistfully.

Stoker continued. "For my eleventh birthday, my mother gifted me four small pigs from Daggerfall. They were smart little creatures, and they loved me, and I loved them back. I loved them so much. I recall we used to raid the kitchens, squealing and laughing, dodging the broom of the chef. They slept in my bed, much to my father's displeasure, and my four little pigs kept me warm at night. I was blissfully ignorant of the world, of the cruelties it was capable of. Love, innocence, betrayal. The curses of mortality."

Elisif crossed her arms, trying desperately to keep warm, and sighed. If I had a sword in my hand, I'd free him of his curse in a second.

"One day, my pigs and I got a little too excited while playing in the dining hill. We accidentally knocked a valuable glass vase off its pedestal, and it was utterly destroyed when it hit the ground. A servant who enjoyed my presence tried to take the blame for the accident, but my father knew. He was a sharp man, and a cold one. He did well when the Dominion came to power."

Stoker shivered, shaking the snow off his shoulders. She was happy to see he was suffering as much as she was. "For days I waited for my father to enact his punishment, the constant threat looming above me like an executioner's axe. My four pigs were kept in order, to the best of my ability to control them, and I became a quiet and meek child. After weeks I began to relax, and after months I had nearly forgotten about the vase. My pigs and I returned to our old ways of fun and mischief."

The anniversary of my mistake arrived. I didn't note the date, and so didn't find it too foreboding when my father ordered me to prepare breakfast. It was a servant's job, but I assumed my father had some lesson in mind concerning humility. Seeing as that we rarely ate meat, I was more surprised to find strips of raw pork covering the kitchen counters. My astonishment only increased when I discovered my pigs were missing. I'm sure you can fill in the missing pieces."

She turned her head away, disgusted. "So because your father was cruel to you, you think we deserve the same treatment? I won't be a part of your twisted cycle of abuse, no matter how you try to rationalize it."

"Not at all, my Queen." Stoker took her hand and she shuddered. "I'm trying to help you understand that the Skyrim you knew is gone, just like my father's vase. Even if the Dragonborn has returned to life, even if he steps out from behind the nearest rock and kills Merkoorzaam and I in an instant, the soldiers of Labyrinthian will still be ashes in the wind. The Greybeards and the Blades will still be dead, and so will Jarl Balgruuf. What little of your fighting population the Civil War left behind has been obliterated. Even before I began my work here, your society was in decline. The Ancient Nords built wonders beyond the dreams of your most gifted citizens. For Auriel's sake, Elisif, your most celebrated hero of the last century was a Dunmer orphan born to Imperial parents. The only way you can possibly hope to salvage your backwards provincial civilization is by handing me the reigns."

He yanked her closer, and she nearly cried out before remembering the Jarls shared the courtyard with them. I can't let them know how afraid I am.

Stoker's breath was hot and fresh on her face, but his eyes were the coldest she'd ever seen. "No more chances. Kneel to me now, swear Skyrim to the Aldmeri Dominion, and we will return to Solitude."

Elisif wanted to turn to look at the Jarls, to see the people she might be condemning to death or worse, but the Emissary's grip was ironclad. She closed her eyes to get away from his stare, to shut the world away, to confer with herself. Handing over the land of the Nords to Stoker would be a betrayal of her entire race, of the trust the other Jarls put into her when they rejected Ulfric Stormcloak. But resisting the Thalmor would lead to more cities being destroyed in seconds, more innocent people murdered for nothing more than the crime of existing. Is existing as a slave any better? Elisif wasn't sure it was her choice to make. Certainly for herself, but not for anyone else. Jax wouldn't surrender. Not in a hundred eras. But then again, Jax was dead. And hadn't been the man she thought he was.

Elisif fell to her knees. The snow made her legs wet and freezing. I'm so sorry, Torygg. She found herself thinking of her old husband, the High King of Skyrim, so innocent and cheerful. But a Nord in the end, to accept Ulfric's duel. A true Nord. Would he have knelt? She didn't know. Elisif imagined she could feel the eyes of the Jarls on her back, though they were certainly too far away to have heard any of Stoker's words through the storm. They likely understand well enough. I am kneeling for Skyrim, just as the Khajiit and Bosmer knelt before me. I want to live, and I want my people to live.

"Wonderful!" Stoker clapped his hands together. "I'm so happy you could see the light, Elisif. Now we just have one nasty little matter to take care of before we depart. Glarynil here will assist us." The Justiciar with the crossbow had joined them, his approach cloaked by the snowfall.

"No." Elisif stumbled to her feet, her heart racing. "I surrendered. I gave up Skyrim to the Dominion. You said no one else would be hurt!"

"When did I say that?" Stoker replied mildly. "We'll return to Solitude, as I promised, but your earlier meddling with the soul gem must still be punished. When an assassin becomes a priest, do his murdered victims return to life to praise him? Just as my father killed my pigs, so must one of your little pigs be put to the slaughter."

"Damn you!" Elisif swung at him, but Stoker caught her hand easily and wrenched it behind her back. She was made to look towards the unknowing Jarls, still shivering in front of the courtyard doors.

Stoker spoke near her ear. "There are now eight holds in Skyrim, but nine Jarls stand in this courtyard. I find myself with a spare. Pick one to pay for your crimes, or I will walk up to the Throat of the World and sink another city, and then two will die."

Glarynil stood at the ready. The Jarls were nearly silhouettes in the heavy snow, unknowing of the events transpiring only a short distance away. I can't just pick someone to be violently murdered. It isn't right. It isn't fair.

Picking Igmund would be practical, and cold-blooded. She would remove a threat to her reign, while also placating Stoker. No. It would make her too much like the snake holding her, the pragmatic monster that had plunged Skyrim into doom.

Ravencrone and Kraldar were the oldest of the Jarls, and putting the former to rest might almost be a mercy, given what had happened to Morthal. And yet Elisif couldn't wipe the Jarl of Morthal's haunted look from her mind. To betray her would be unforgivable. Kraldar, though old, had been one of her kindest and loyal supporters for years.

Killing Maven Black-Briar would be putting a death sentence on her own head, as whatever member of the Black-Briar family took the Jarlship of Riften would be unlikely to understand the circumstances of their matron's death. She didn't know enough about Siddgeir's replacement, his paranoid uncle Dengeir, to feel one way or another about putting him to death. Would that be better? To kill someone I don't know? It hadn't seemed to help her out in the fight outside Solitude, where she had killed the young Thalmor soldier. His blank eyes still haunted her dreams.

Brunwulf had to live, if for no other reason than that he seemed to have some sort of idea on how to escape their captors, judging by his strange message earlier.

Elisif swallowed. Hrongar, or Brina. They were both soldiers. They had been ready to sacrifice their lives at Labyrinthian, but death fighting among your men was entirely different than execution by crossbow bolt. More importantly, they were both fiercely loyal to her. Only they could understand why it has to be them.

In the end, it was the only decision she could have ever made. Elisif quietly spoke the name, and then had to repeat it so Stoker could hear. The Emissary must have signaled his guards near the Jarls, because seven of them were led back inside.

Stoker gently pushed her forward, and the three of them came upon the lone noble. Brina Merilis, retired Legionnaire and Jarl of Dawnstar, watched the elves with narrowed eyes.

Elisif spoke up, shakily. "Jarl Merilis."

"You can call me Brina, my Queen. We bled together among the ruins of Labyrinthian. Whatever happens now, we are sisters in arms."

"You shouldn't say that. You don't know what I'm going to have to do. What I've already done."

Brina shook her head. "You're my Queen, Elisif, now and forever. I know you'll always choose the best path for Skyrim. If we have to make some farce of an oath to the Dominion, so be it. If I have to die a thousand times so that our people can live, so be it. They will never truly rule us. Not so long as we can look death in the face and greet it warmly."

Elisif couldn't meet Brina's eyes. Stoker stood close behind her, watching silently, while Glarynil drummed his fingers on his crossbow, perhaps growing impatient. What have I become? A hammer of the Thalmor, being used to crush my own citizens into submission? She tried to take Brina's words to heart. I have to be strong. For her, if nothing else.

"Do not weep, Elisif." Brina said. "I'm going to Sovngarde. When I see Torygg, I will tell him all the good that you've done. And if you should be forced to join us soon, there will always be a seat open at my mead table."

Though Elisif's heart was being torn apart, she found that she had no more tears left for her legionnaire friend. They had all been used on Jaxius Amaton, on Sybille Stentor, on Bolgeir Bear-Claw. She made herself a stone statue, strong and unyielding, and didn't let her eyes leave Brina. This is the last one. This is the last Nord that will die under my watch.

Stoker voice cracked like a whip. "Do it."

Glarynil fired. The bolt was well-aimed, and struck Brina Merilis right in the heart. The Jarl of Dawnstar didn't cry out, and had passed on by the time she fell to the ground. A pool of blood spread around her body, turning the snow crimson. Elisif made herself watch.

"Now, was that so difficult?" Stoker pushed her towards Glarynil, who regarded her with a disgusted look. "Take her back to her cell, and then clean up this mess. I have much to attend to."

Glarynil gestured with the unloaded crossbow, and she got the idea well enough. They proceeded through the nearly empty monastery in silence. The other Jarls have been put back in their cells. She was returned, none too gently, to her own stone prison.

"Behave." Glarynil warned. His voice was high and almost bored. It was so different from Stoker's deep and rolling tone that Elisif was almost startled. "A crossbow bolt to the heart is a mercy. Quick, easy, done. Dead in a second. Your friend got off lucky. Could be a lot different. Could take a very long time to die." He shut the door softly, and the locks shifted.

Elisif sat on the edge of her bed, resolve hardening. I had truly been ready to do it. I was going to return to Solitude with that son of a bitch, and perform for him like a dressed up puppet. But no longer.

If Brina could meet her end with such bravery, then so could walked to the old bookshelves where she had hidden the soul gem, and felt behind it carefully. The soldiers had been placated by the discovery of the gem, and so hadn't looked much longer. Stoker had been similarly blinded by his rage, so focused on whatever had happened to the gem that he had failed to note a single missing dagger. Elisif took the weapon out from behind the bookshelf. It was an ebony weapon, shimmering obsidian, and to her it looked the most beautiful blade in the world. I'm going to kill Emissary Stoker, Justiciar Glarynil, and every other Thalmor who ever dared to step foot in Skyrim. Even if I die in a blaze of dragonfire, I will take them with me. She put the weapon back, and returned to her bed with a still and steady heart. When Brunwulf's contact came to her door, Elisif would be ready.

Chapter Text

The ocean was quiet, save for the steady rocking of small waves against the hull. Ulfric watched the fog shift and transform on the water's surface, the mist forming shapes of dragons and ghost whales and colossal automatons. He had never enjoyed sea travel, and hadn't been on a vessel so far from land in decades. If they ran into trouble out here, there would be no escape. It would be the choice between a quick violent death or a watery grave. I know which I would prefer. His fingers slid jerkily across the railing as the ship hit a spot of rough waters. We can't arrive in Solstheim soon enough.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Captain Lonely-Gale said, evidently mistaking Ulfric's brooding for contemplation. The finely dressed Nord sidled up beside Ulfric and gazed into the fog. "I remember my first months as a riverboat crewman. They put me on the afterdeck, to watch for pirates, and I always liked watching the sea awaken."

"I like the sea more from a distance." Ulfric said. "Watching it recede behind me as I walk down the Raven Rock dock, for example. When will we arrive?"

"By early morning, I wager." Lonely-Gale replied. "I have to admit, these Argonians are an efficient lot. I've never seen a boat hit the waves so quickly."

Despite his low opinion of the lizards living on the docks of Windhelm, clinging to the Nord city like barnacles on a proud warship, three Argonians brothers hadn't hesitated to volunteer to join their crew. Ulfric would have preferred to keep their party size low, but the captain alone couldn't pilot a ship to Solstheim through the Sea of Ghosts and a smaller vessel wouldn't have made it through at all.

"They've done their job well." Ulfric begrudgingly agreed. "I hope they make enough trading their goods to cover the cost of the voyage. I have no gold to spare. Will this be an issue for you, when we arrive?"

Lonely-Gale grinned, perhaps a bit nervously, his eyes darting to the sword at Ulfric's side. "You and your Skaal friend are trying to save us all from the Thalmor. It wouldn't feel right to charge you for a short trip to Solstheim."

"Your generosity is overwhelming, captain." Ulfric suspected that generosity would quickly start to wane once he and Frea were out in the wilds of the Dunmer island, with nothing to keep Lonely-Gale waiting at the docks but his loyalty to a fallen High King. There will be no other seaman willing to make the voyage to Windhelm. No Dunmer captain would risk it, not with the city reportedly under Dominion occupation. He would have to find some way to convince Lonely-Gale to wait for them while they visited Neloth. Maybe Frea will have some idea.

He encountered one of the Argonian brothers while looking for the Skaal. An-Kai, I think his name was. It had been this lizard, slender and blue scaled, who had answered Lonely-Gale's call on the docks. His two brothers hadn't yet said a word to the Nords. An-Kai was knelt down and fastening a rope to the railing of the ship, presumably for some naval purpose that Ulfric couldn't begin to guess at.

"Good evening." Ulfric greeted him.

An-Kai glanced up. "And to you, Master Stormcloak." The lizard knew his true name; he had been among the crowd outside Ambarys Rendar's cornerclub, so there had been little point in trying to hide his identity. "I trust the trip has been pleasant so far?"

Ulfric nodded. "No need to call me master. You are not beholden to me, and I can't even afford to pay you for your services."

"Quite all right, Stormcloak." An-Kai tightened the rope with practiced hands. "When Jarl Brunwulf fled Windhelm, so did most of our business opportunities. The strongest and wisest Argonians went with him, and only dock hands and stockers like my brothers and I were left. Without Captain Lonely-Gale's ship, we would have been stuck on those docks for quite some time."

"Good that we can all benefit from this voyage." Ulfric replied. "Solstheim will undoubtedly prove a more profitable place."

"Undoubtedly." An-Kai paused in his work, giving the Nord his full attention. The Argonian's wide mouth formed a curved smile of tiny white incisors. "Sleep well, Ulfric Stormcloak. Do not worry; my family will guide you safely over these dark waters." Ulfric returned An-Kai's courtesy, and left him to his duties.

He found Frea in the large captain's cabin, sitting at the crew table and sipping from a bottle. Her Nordic armor, carefully retrieved from the icy shores of Windhelm, was lying in her bed. His own ebony plate sat in the cot above it. Ambarys' chitin helmet, much too stuffy to wear around the ship, was clipped to a loop in his traveling cloak.

"Enjoying yourself?" Ulfric asked, not unkindly. He grabbed a cup from one of the counters and took the seat opposite her.

"I get very seasick, Ulfric Stormcloak." Frea said. "Only drink can provide me with some respite from the illness. It has been like this since I was a young maid."

"I would think spirits would only increase the upset." He held his cup out and she shakily filled it up with the Hammerfell vintage.

"The mysteries of the All-Maker are not mine to question." Frea hiccuped. "If he wants me to drink so that I do not vomit, so be it."

"Very well." Ulfric threw back the cup, the wine burning a pleasurable path through his throat to warm him up inside. "It would be cowardly of me to let you suffer alone."

They emptied the bottle in no time, and Ulfric was struggling to pop the cork on a second one when Captain Lonely-Gale chose to join them.

"Having a bit of a party, are we?" The old seadog smiled, and Ulfric reckoned it was the first genuine emotion the captain had shown to them since agreeing to bring them to Solstheim. "Brings me back to my riverboat days. Used to be a trip down the White River wasn't started until everyone under first mate was well in their cups."

"Watching fog, getting drunk." Ulfric chuckled, finally managing to open the stupid bottle. "For all your talk of being a captain, captain, you don't seem to have done much actual work."

Lonely-Gale shrugged. "The life of a sailor is hard, and slow, and boring. There's a reason I hadn't piloted a ship in years before you showed up in Windhelm."

Frea grabbed the bottle from Ulfric, who had nearly drained a third of it while the captain was talking. She lurched from her chair, nearly fell down, and offered the wrong end of it to Lonely-Gale.

"Try some of this, cap'n. It can help to loosen you up a bit. Seems to have worked pretty well on our formerly mopey friend here."

"I'm not mopey." Ulfric tried to say gravely, but it came out more as a whine. "I'm burdened. Burdened with all Skyrim's troubles."

Frea laughed as she fell to the floor, a not unpleasant sound that he could appreciate even through the cloudiness of drink. It made his chest feel light. She should laugh more. Lonely-Gale stepped delicately over her and filled a cup with wine.

"No one in Skyrim even knows you live." He pointed out, perhaps feeling a bit braver with Ulfric half-drunk and steadying himself on a counter. "Except for a good few people in Windhelm now, I suppose. Those that loved you stopped mourning you years ago, and the rest of us had just moved on."

"Truly?" Ulfric frowned, and grabbed the bottle back from the table. "I suppose that is what the Dragonborn wanted. He will be glad to know he got his wish."

"No, no, no." Frea wagged her finger at him from the floor. "Not allowed to return to your broody self, Ulfric."

He considered her words, and took a long drink. Then he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and sighed. "I apologize. I have been like this for so long, it's hard to remember how to feel any other way. Tell me your happiest memory, Frea."

She didn't answer for a long moment, but Ulfric didn't fear that she had fallen unconscious. They had drunken enough to loosen their tongues, but their minds remained fairly clear. I'll want to feel at least somewhat alive when I have to get up in the dead of morning.

"My mother brought me to a frozen lake on the seventh anniversary of my birth. She had worked with the village smith to construct some skates made of stalhrim and leather. For hours we played on the ice, mostly falling and laughing." Frea smiled. "I had so many bruises after, but my heart turns light and joyful every time I think about that day."

"We could stop by your village while we're on Solstheim." Ulfric suggested. "I'd like to meet your mother, if that's acceptable to you."

"She died soon after. Caught in a fierce snowstorm, while gathering firewood."

Ulfric lowered his head. "I'm sorry to hear that. Sounds like she was an admirable woman."

Frea nodded, an impressive feat given that she was on the floor. "Now she walks with the All-Maker. You may yet meet her, Ulfric. If not in this world, then the next one."

Lonely-Gale asked, "What was her name?"

"Katria."

The captain raised his cup. "To Katria, a good Skaal and a great mother."

Ulfric raised the bottle. "To Katria," he agreed. They drank.

The cabin door opened. For a minute, the sounds and scents of the night filled the room: the gentle push and pull of small waves impacting against the hull, the creaking of old ropes and older boards, the cool and salty sea air. And then the door closed. An-Kai stood with a long orcish bow in his hands. His brothers stood on either side of him, holding daggers.

An-Kai spoke. "Our mother's name was Tereen-Sa. She was raped, tortured, and murdered by two Dark Elves from the Gray Quarter. We went to your Palace. We were ignored. The elves struck again, and took our sister from us. We struck back, and now they're rotting on the bottom of the sea."

The captain set his cup on the table and turned towards the door. "What?"

"For our mother you may be innocent, but our sister could have been saved. Her blood is on your hands. Never again will her singing echo in the lonely halls of the Assemblage. Goodbye, Ulfric."

An-Kai's first arrow flew towards Ulfric, but Frea lunged into its path. She fell into his arms. A thrown dagger hit Captain Lonely-Gale in the throat and he stumbled forward, gurgling blood. Another arrow was loosed, aimed for Ulfric's chest, but Lonely-Gale's panicked lurch put him right in the path of the projectile. He received the arrow in his own torso, and fell to the ground.

"FUS RO DAH!"

The point-blank wave of Unrelenting Force annihilated the cabin and most of its inhabitants instantly. Lonely-Gale was mostly disintegrated, and what remained of him was lost in the storm of splinters and boards. The three Argonians were crushed against the cabin walls for only a second before the walls themselves exploded outward, sending their broken bodies on to the rippling wood of the deck. The ship's mast groaned like a leviathan from the depths, resisting the inevitable, and then toppled forward with a crack.

Ulfric froze. A long tear in the deck stretched before him, exposing the bottom cargo hold and a myriad of cracks in the hull. Cracks that were rapidly filling with cold seawater. Past the tear, the mast had smashed into the far deck and produced similar results. His use of the Shout had been driven purely by instinct; only now did he realize how foolish it had been. Arngeir would be ashamed.

Frea groaned. Even through two layers of leather, blood from her wound was already worryingly soaked into his clothes. The arrow shaft protruded below her left breast. Ulfric had seen enough war wounds to know she had been seriously injured. Why had she taken that hit for him? He didn't understand, but there was no time for that. We need to leave, now.

He tightened his grip on Frea, trying his best not to aggravate her wound, and moved painstakingly slowly across the wall of the cabin. The ocean was now rushing into the wounds in the hull, but Ulfric knew that falling into the hole would mean certain death for the both of them. On his way past the bunks, he stretched out one hand to grab his traveling cloak and the helmet fastened to it. While still inching along the wall, he slipped the helmet on with one hand and rolled up the cloak. He pressed the cloth hard against Frea, prompting a cry of pain. I have to keep pressure on the wound. He hadn't had to employ battlefield medicine since the Great War, but the old techniques came back to him easily.

The old Nord staggered out of the cabin. The deck was sinking below his feet. Have to make it to the rowboat. He took a deep breath, and shifted Frea's legs up under his arms. Her head hung limply against his shoulder, frighteningly still. Just hold on, Skaal girl. I'll get you back to your village if I have to Shout the whole damned ocean out of our way.

Ulfric stepped over An-Kai's corpse. The Argonian's eyes stared upward, still frozen in shock. He was certain the lizard's story had been true. During the War, Ulfric had instructed his steward and guards to ignore most requests from the Grey Quarter and docks of the city. All of their resources had to be dedicated to the Stormcloaks, and he figured the foreigners would be better off policing themselves in any case. If I had known my choices would lead to this moment, would I have done things differently? He didn't know. With Frea's blood now sticking to his bare chest through their clothes, Ulfric just didn't know.

He found the rowboat, haphazardly secured to the side of the ship by a couple of loose fastenings. Ulfric placed Frea in the vessel as delicately as he could, the cloak still pressed tightly to her wound. The ship lurched under his feet and he nearly fell over the side, but managed to catch himself. If I die, so does Frea. He pushed his doubts aside and focused on that one truth. Ulfric hopped into the rowboat and pulled a kitchen knife from the pocket of the simple clothes he wore. It was their only weapon now, and their salvation. He slashed the ropes and quickly fell over Frea to protect her from the impact.

Frea gasped in pain when the rowboat hit the water, a small and desperate sound that sent Ulfric's heart racing. But there was no time to worry about her injury now. He grabbed an oar and pushed against the rapidly falling side of the ship, trying to create as much distance as possible as quickly as possible. He didn't know much about sea travel, but he knew that a sinking ship would suck them under with it if they were too close.

He rowed hard, alternating sides to keep the rowboat from going in a circle. Sometime during the night the fog must have cleared, because the silhouette of Red Mountain was dimly visible in the moonlight. Ulfric aimed the boat towards it, knowing that Solstheim was somewhere between their doomed vessel and Vvardenfell's long-erupting volcano.

Glancing back, he saw the ship quietly sinking into the sea. Captain Lonely-Gale and the Argonians go with it. Ulfric hadn't spent much time with the old sailor, even when he had been Jarl of Windhelm, but regretted that he had to die in such a way. Where can a Nord feel safe, if not when drinking with new friends? He paused in his rowing to place a hand on Frea's chest. Under his fingers, her heartbeat was thready and weak.

"Don't worry." Ulfric murmured, resuming his rowing with even more effort than before. Sprays of saltwater hit him with every pass, cold and bracing on his face. "We're bound to land near some kind of civilization. Solstheim is a small island."

Not that small. And not much civilization to be found. His melancholy inner voice reminded. Raven Rock, Neloth's settlement, and Frea's village. Our only weapon is a chef's blade. If we come ashore and find hostiles, not even the Thu'um will be able to save us.

He pushed the voice down, and tried to focus on rowing. If I die, so does Frea.

At some point, Ulfric's attention drifted from the endless black sea stretching in every direction. His entire being and awareness diminished down to two motions: row left, row right. Everything else was unimportant. Anything else would lead to their deaths. Fixated so on the rowing, detached from his waking mind, Frea could have died in his lap and Ulfric wouldn't have known. Hours past during his near-unconsciousness. So total was his oblivion that it took him an entire minute to notice when the oars started hitting sand instead of water.

A beach. We've landed on a beach. Ulfric shook his head and loosened his death grip on the oars. The rowboat was bobbing in the shallows, and in the moonlight he could see dark solid shapes that had to be hills and trees and land. Never before had the old rebel been so relieved at the sight of a dark elf island. He stood up with Frea slung across his shoulders, and left the rowboat. The water was up to his knees, and the ocean sand sucked at his thin shoes. Ulfric took measured and heavy steps through the surf. If he stumbled or tripped, Frea would fall, and he wasn't certain that wouldn't be enough to kill her.

Judging by the position of the moons, Ulfric reckoned it had to be some hours after midnight. The sun wouldn't rise for some time, so he had to make his way up the beach in near total darkness. The sand was cold and gritty, but blessedly solid. He tried his best to ignore the trail of blood trailing behind his steps. Just have to find a healer, and rest for a time. They had been traveling nearly non-stop since leaving the College of Winterhold. Though Ulfric wasn't much one for resting, he could definitely make an exception for an injured friend. She would do the same for me, I'm certain.

After walking for some time, now through light snow rather than sand, Ulfric realized he wouldn't be able to go on for much longer. Rowing for so long had drained his strength, and his arms and legs felt loose and aching with fatigue. If we collapse into this snow, even our Nord blood won't be enough to keep us from freezing to death. He would have to find some shelter, that was for certain.

Solace came in the form of a small mine jutting out of a hillside, the weathered wooden supports and scattered carts suggesting distant abandonment. It's not much, but it will serve. He murmured a small prayer to Talos that the mine was as empty as its exterior suggested, and then opened the door with one heavy kick. The subsequent pain in his foot hinted that he may have broken a toe or two, but that didn't matter at the moment.

The mine was indeed empty. The entry corridor opened into a diminutive cavern, ore deposits gleaming with an unknown material. He set Frea down gently on the rocky ground, his cloak still pressed firmly to her wound. Might have to remove the arrow shaft, if I can't find some healing potions around here. Though he knew that removing the projectile would make the wound worse, he feared keeping the arrow in would lead to infection or some other calamity if they were forced to stay the night in the mine. Damn. I don't even have a bottle of wine to clean the wound with, let alone proper healing supplies.

He reluctantly left Frea alone while he searched the mine, fairly sure that if any enemy lurked in the shadows it would have attacked already. Ulfric found nothing but old weapons of a primitive craft, and small straw dwellings evidently made by the same creatures. The previous inhabitants of the mine, presumably, before someone killed them all.

At the very least, he could make Frea comfortable while they waited for dawn. Ulfric gathered some straw and cleaned the dirt out the best he could. The Skaal girl sucked air through her teeth sharply when he lifted her slightly to place the straw underneath. He lowered her gently, hoping the soft bedding provided some form of relief.

"Ulfric." Frea murmured, her eyelids fluttering. "Hold me." By the Nine, she's so pale.

He hesitated for only a moment, standing over her, before laying down. Though the cave was a measure warmer than the outside, it was still damn cold, and he had no way of making a fire. They would need to preserve body heat the best they could.

Ulfric slid his arms under hers, and pulled his chest firmly against her back. Was that her heartbeat he felt, or his own, racing in panic? She just has to hold on until morning. Tomorrow we'll find her village, or come across Raven Rock, and rest for a little while.

Despite his weariness, sleep was the furthest thing from Ulfric's mind. What if I fell asleep, and she woke up cold and alone? He would just have to stay awake until they found that healer. For now, he could provide her warmth. It's the least I can do, for my friend.

Frea coughed, a dreadfully wet and hollow sound. It echoed through the mine and sounded to him like the end of the world.

"Are you alright?" Ulfric asked, though he knew it was a stupid question. "How can I help you?"

She was quiet for so long before responding that he feared the worst. "You are a good man, Ulfric Stormcloak." He could feel her voice vibrating through his chest. It was perfectly clear. "Don't ever forget that. Swear you will not."

"I swear." His voice shook in a way it hadn't since his first week as an Imperial Legionnaire, during the Great War. What was it that Rikke had said to him? It gets easier. That's what she told me. A sweet lie, but a lie nonetheless.

"Ulfric."

"Frea?"

"Your happiest memory?" She rasped.

He considered for only a second. "My second night in High Hrothgar as a child, I felt very alone. I was homesick. At the time, I thought I was going to become a Greybeard. I would never see my family again, or the walls of Windhelm. Arngeir heard me crying into my pillow, and sung me a lullaby until I fell asleep. It was an Ayleid poem. I don't know what the words meant. "

"Sing it." Frea said, her voice a breath. "Please."

Ulfric swallowed, and tightened his arms around her. And then he sang. His voice was rough and untrained, but the acoustics of the small mine made the song almost haunting in its echoes. He sang the lullaby, the strange elven words fresh and clear on his lips despite the decades it had been since that night in High Hrothgar. He sang until Frea went still in his arms. And then he wept. I couldn't cry for Galmar or Rikke. But now he was alone in the world once more, and Frea of the Skaal had deserved more than to die in her twenty fourth year from an arrow meant for another. It should've been me.

The Skaal hunter was asleep in his leather tent when Ulfric left the wrapped body by the campfire. The tribals were mostly isolated from the reavers of the coast by the mountains, so they probably didn't have to worry much about humanoid attackers. Traversing the rifts and valleys of the frozen island had been challenging; if Frea hadn't shown him the location of her village on a map at the start of their naval voyage, Ulfric was certain he would never had found it. Every good turn of my life onward, I will owe to her. He said goodbye to Frea, and then slipped away before the hunter could awaken. He left her with a note, explaining who he was and what they had done together before the end. And how Frea had sacrificed herself for an old fool who didn't start to deserve it. Ulfric knew it wasn't enough, but it would have to serve. I'm sorry, Frea. I'm so sorry.

"Neloth's settlement? You mean Tel Mithryn, serjo. It's the big mushroom tower, half a day's walk east of here. Just don't count on getting in easy. Those Telvanni are a reclusive bunch."

Ulfric thanked the silt strider pilot, and turned to leave.

"Wait." The Dark Elf said. "You aren't really planning on going there on foot, are you? No offense intended, sera, but you look near collapse."

In his thin worn clothes stained with dirt and blood, soaked through with snow, Ulfric didn't doubt the pilot's assessment. His limbs felt ready to fall off.

"I have only ten gold." Ulfric replied.

"That's just enough, sera." The pilot smiled, and bowed in the direction of the silt strider. "Like I always say, why walk when you can ride?"

Ulfric eyed the strider warily. It had the appearance of a colossal flea with comically long legs, and a small cabin carved out of the back of its carapace.

The elf is right. I won't survive another hour on these ashy roads. He climbed aboard the strider and sat down on the comfortable bench inside the cabin. The pilot checked to make sure he was secure before taking his own seat.

"Just relax. You'll need your energy to deal with the Telvanni."

Ulfric laid down on the bench, and fell asleep before the silt strider could leave its docking port.

"Ah. Are you the new chef, then? You seem a bit too old, but no matter. Fetch me a cup of canis root tea, and make it quick. And don't you dare water it down." Neloth turned dismissively, leaving Ulfric standing at the center of the mushroom chamber. It hadn't been tough to slip past the lazy guards, and hovering up the arcane elevator had been child's play, but dealing with a master wizard of House Telvanni was severely straining what little patience he had left.

"I'm not your chef." Ulfric said. Neloth was at some sort of enchanter's desk, fiddling with a small instrument. "I came to Solstheim with Frea of the Skaal, to defeat a dragon that threatens to destroy us all."

"I don't see any Skaal standing beside you." Neloth replied, not looking up. "Or, more importantly, any cup of tea in your hands. And there is no dragon here. If there were, I would be dissecting it in the courtyard right now instead of continuing this pointless conversation."

"Frea's dead. In truth, she died this morning." It should be her standing here.

"A shame. She seemed rather sharp, for a primitive Nordic tribal. Are you her grandfather? I don't have any potions for being sad and old, so I really don't see why you're in my tower."

Ulfric sighed. The pilot was right. This wizard is a difficult man. "You were exchanging letters with a mage of Winterhold concerning the nature of the Eye of Magnus. His name was Tolfdir."

This caught Neloth's attention. He dropped whatever he was holding and walked back quickly to face Ulfric. The unbridled attention of the wizard was a little unsettling. "The Eye of Magnus, yes, that was a particularly fascinating find. We were having a rather productive conversation when he stopped sending letters."

"He died in a Thalmor attack." Ulfric said.

"Ah." Neloth frowned. "How annoying. The Thalmor know better than to meddle in my affairs, of course. Even here, on this ruin of an island, the name of Telvanni means power."

"Of course." Ulfric gritted his teeth. For Frea, I will endure this. "The Staff of Magnus was stolen from the College, in the same attack. The dragon we are hunting is called Merkoorzaam, Summer Elf Slave, and is said to be a child of Magnus. Have you any idea how these events might be related?"

"Hmm." Neloth stroked his beard. "Curious. Tolfdir and I managed to agree that the Staff of Magnus and the Eye of Magnus are linked in the arcane sense. So if they have the Staff, they must also have the Eye, or be planning to obtain it. That would match up with the irritating arcane interference from the Throat of the World I've been detecting for some time now. With both artifacts, the Thalmor would have the full power of Magnus at their disposal."

"What does that mean?" Ulfric asked.

"I've no idea. Have there been any extraordinary things happening in Skyrim recently? Magical anomalies, spectacular explosions, volcanic eruptions? Sudden bouts of rational thought?"

"Before leaving Windhelm, Frea and I heard rumor that Morthal had been destroyed. The whole town was sunken into the ground, according to some. I dismissed the news as Thalmor propaganda, meant to discourage local Nords from rebellion."

Neloth shrugged and turned away, apparently growing disinterested once more. "Could be the work of the Eye. Seems a rather boring use of Magnus' power, though."

"What about the dragon?"

"Not my specialty. From what you describe, however, it sounds like these Thalmor have managed to create this dragon using the Eye and the Staff." Neloth clicked his tongue, resuming work at the enchanter's table. "I'd only wish I'd thought of it first. My tower would definitely inspire awe with a dragon perched on top. Ah, lost opportunities."

Ulfric tried to keep his hands from clenching into fists. I need to get some usable information. "In your informed opinion, how could an able-bodied Nord go about killing this beast born of magicka?"

The challenging question seemed to intrigue Neloth, if only for a moment. "Like I said before, if you can remember, the artifacts of Magnus are linked in their power. So, if you destroy the Staff then presumably the dragon would also die. Or explode. Or something to that effect."

"Fine." Ulfric's resolve hardened. "So I travel to the Throat of the World, find this Staff of Magnus, and crush it into dust. Sounds simple enough." I might even be able to convince Tullius and his men to join me.

Neloth chuckled. "Yes, you'd just have to get past the magical dragon and all the crazed racial supremacist elves armed with swords and lightning spells. I'm sure you'll do just fine. Go on, now, you wouldn't want to keep them waiting."

Ulfric grimaced. It would be a long walk to Raven Rock, and once he got there he had little chance of finding a ship back to Windhelm any time soon. While I stumble through the ash, the Thalmor will be finishing the destruction of Skyrim.

"Oh, very well." Neloth sighed. "You look very pathetic, just standing there with your disgusting clothes and your wildly overconfident plans. You did me a small favor by delivering the news of Tolfdir's untimely demise. I suppose I could teleport you back to Skyrim."

"Teleportation?" Ulfric didn't like the idea of trusting his life to a mad wizard he had met all of five minutes ago, but time was a limited commodity. In the light of Frea's sacrifice, I must balk at nothing.

"Technically illegal, but I doubt you would even know who to report me to."

"Fine. Do it." Ulfric tensed his muscles, ready to be shot by some kind of spell. Neloth raised an eyebrow and lazily gestured with one of his fingers. An aura of warmth enveloped Ulfric. He heard a popping sound, like the cork of a wine bottle exploding out, and then the light blinded his vision completely.

Chapter Text

Teldryn Sero's fourth day as a vampire began rather uneventfully. He rose as the sun set, thankfully not too late in the evening in the month of Frostfall, and collected the red bottle left outside his door. Serana's door, Teldryn corrected himself. It was Serana's room he was staying in, and he had to remember that to keep the light of urgency burning in his new dark soul. It would be far too easy to become comfortable in Castle Volkihar, with its huge library and empty passageways that seemed almost peaceful in the quiet air of dusk. This is Serana's room, and I am just borrowing it temporarily whilst we construct a boat together. Said construction had been going strangely well given the two builders hadn't had to physically interact with each other so far. Teldryn wasn't sure when she did her part of the work, considering he toiled most of the dark hours of the night, and none of her notes had mentioned when either. He uncurled the latest note with intentional restraint as he sat down at the desk and popped the cork on the bottle of blood. In Teldryn's solitude, he had come to treasure Serana's words almost as much as the crimson liquid she supplied to him every day. If it weren't for this vile creature living inside me, I would take the notes and leave the blasted bottles in the hallway.

Teldryn,

In response to your question; you can be what we are and still be good. In my travels over the last five years I've tried to seek out other benevolent members of our kind.

In Solitude, the court wizard is a Breton mage named Sybille Stentor. She only feeds on guilty prisoners, and otherwise serves the High Queen faithfully.

In Cyrodiil, the Count of Skingrad is a vampire named Janus Hassildor. He chooses isolation from his family and citizens over giving in to his urges. Like Sybille, he only takes blood from the prisoners of his county. Hassildor is a just ruler, and his people love and respect him. During the Oblivion Crisis and the Great War, Skingrad emerged one of the strongest survivors of the conflicts thanks to his leadership.

And I know my recent actions don't exactly make me look like some moral paragon, but I've never fed on an unwilling mortal either. Sometimes, in my worst moments, I have to pay people of low regard to let me take a little of what I need. You can survive this, with my help. You can be a vampire and still be Teldryn Sero. We can be vampires together and still love each other.

Teldryn sighed, and sipped at the cup of blood. He could imagine himself eventually coming to terms with what Serana had done to him. But he could never be comfortable with what he had become. To do that would be a betrayal of himself, Teldryn thought. If I start admitting that I enjoy the taste of blood, that my newly enhanced senses make life more vibrant, that I don't really mind missing the sunlight anymore, then I won't be myself any longer. He would be a true vampire. An un-thing. Though he suspected Serana was right, that he could exist as a bloodsucker and still walk the moral path, part of Teldryn held on to the idea that as long as he resisted, as long as he kept hating himself, part of him would always remain Dunmer.

Or maybe I'm just fooling myself. Teldryn knew if his father saw him now, he would be cut down without a second thought. The Dark Elves of Morrowind abhorred vampirism, and rightfully so. The vampires of their land were ancient and evil creatures, devoid of any trace of humanity. They practiced foul sorcery in old, isolated castles, either serving wicked gods and doing their bidding or concocting plots to serve their own diabolical purposes. When a vampire took you in Morrowind, your body would not show up floating down the river, drained of blood. When a vampire took you in Morrowind, no part of you would ever be seen again.

One of their note discussions had been concerning a cure, naturally. Unsurprisingly, the only man capable of curing vampirism Serana knew of had lived in Morthal. She knew the ritual had required a filled black soul gem, and they had plenty of those from her mother's laboratory, but without a knowledgeable mage the stones were next to useless.

He finished the cup of blood, and took a deep breath. It was at these moments, when he was fully sated, that Teldryn felt almost mortal. Without the vampire inside scraping at the walls of his mind, thirsty and impatient, Teldryn felt free to love and hate and worry once more. He wondered where the Dragonborn was, almost a week after his resurrection. Had Jaxius killed the Brotherhood, saved Runa, and toppled the Thalmor? When the boat was finished, would the two vampires be returning to a Skyrim free of war? Teldryn wasn't quite optimistic enough to believe that. The Dominion had killed Jaxius Amaton once, and that had been at the height of his power. Despite what the spectral assassin had said in the Soul Cairn, he couldn't imagine the Dragonborn would return fully intact. Dying so violently, only to be brought back to the world that killed you, had to be difficult. I should know.

Teldryn made his way through Castle Volkihar and stepped out into the night. He paused for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darkness. At this hour even the energetic and annoying sea birds were asleep, so he walked down to the shore in near silence. As he drew closer to the meager excuse of a boat they were constructing, the sound of the ocean filled Teldryn's ears. Good. I'm tired of the quiet. With the waves of high tide crashing on to the shore and the task of construction in front of him, Teldryn felt normal. Just a Dunmer building a boat, that's all I am. He put his hands on his hips and raised an eyebrow at the mess of planks and boards that was supposed to carry them to shore in a few days. The wood was hopelessly rotted. It'll be no small miracle if we last five minutes on the open water. Teldryn pushed his doubts aside and picked up a saw.

For hours Teldryn cut boards, tied ropes, hammered nails, and occasionally swore under his breath. The vampirism had given him new strength, but it took some getting used to. He accidentally split more than one plank and had to toss the useless wood aside. If I keep this up, we won't have enough material to finish the boat. Teldryn forced himself to work slower, and to consider his movements more carefully. In the meticulously cut boards that had greeted him earlier, he recognized Serana's patient handiwork. Teldryn envied her control. She's had a lot more practice at being a bloodsucker then you have, fetcher.

Though vampires evidently didn't sweat, they could still get tired. It just took a lot longer. At the end of the night, Teldryn finally admitted he had reached the limits of his strength. His muscles burned with fatigue, and though that was a welcome change from the vampiric coldness it was still a pain. He staggered back from the half-completed boat, and looked back at Castle Volkihar. Normally, after finishing his work, Teldryn would go back to his room and sleep for hours. Today, I doubt I'd make it to the dining hall. There were still a couple of hours before dawn, and the ocean waves behind him looked awfully inviting. Teldryn stumbled towards the water, the silt of the shore loose and gritty under his bare feet. Even the shallow water was frigid, but his aching leg muscles nearly screamed in relief. When the first wave hit, Teldryn gasped. Damn, that's cold. Though clad in only the thin cloth pants he had awoken in days before, he didn't shiver. One of the books in the library had said vampires can't freeze to death. Being somewhat confident in that knowledge, Teldryn didn't hesitate before diving into the next wave.

For a little while he let the stresses of the world fall away. Teldryn made himself forget about Runa and Jax, knowing there was nothing he could do for them he wasn't already doing. He made himself forget about the horrible day with the Argonian, and the pain of losing an arm. It's all in the past now. No use in opening healing wounds. Teldryn was floating on his back, out of the path of the waves, when he heard hammering on the shore. His heart began to beat faster, and he sunk into the water up to his neck. Serana.

The slender woman was kneeling next to their boat, her arm moving up and down as she worked. The boat was rather close to the castle's bridge, so there would be no avoiding a confrontation when he returned to land. Teldryn watched her thoughtfully, and decided waiting any longer would only make it more awkward. He swam to the shore, the sound of his movement cloaked by her hammering. If I surprise her, I'm likely to end up with a construction tool flying at my face.

"Serana?" He called out from a safe distance away.

She looked up, her eyes wide, and dropped the hammer. "Sorry. I didn't know you were still out here." She made to leave, her shoulders stiff.

Teldryn's heart felt heavy. He blurted out, "Wait."

Serana turned back. "What?" There was a fragility to her tone, and he suspected his next words would mean a lot.

"I'm tired of all of this." Teldryn said. "The notes, the sneaking around so we don't have to see each other."

Her head fell. "Me too. But this is the way it has to be. I did something unforgivably awful to you, and I have to pay for that."

Teldryn agreed, "What you did to me was awful. Awful to do to a friend, and worse to do to someone who loves you. But I get why you did it, and I forgive you."

Serana looked up at him, uncrossing her arms. "You understand?"

He hesitated, and then nodded his head almost imperceptibly. "I know the fear of being alone in this world, more than you know. Every employer I've ever had has left me eventually. I have this nightmare, of standing alone in a graveyard of my friends and patrons."

She took a step towards him, and reached out her hand. Teldryn took it almost desperately, and though he knew her skin was cold, she felt so warm and lovely in his grasp.

"Thank you, Teldryn." Serana said quietly. "I know how hard it must be for you, to become something you once hated so fiercely. I couldn't ask you to forgive me, and I don't deserve it, and I'll understand if you want to part ways once we're off this island."

"No." He squeezed her hand, and pulled her closer. "You're stuck with me now, sera. You have to live with the pale and handsome Dunmer bloodsucker you chose to create. Besides, I've no idea how to get potions of blood on my own."

She laughed, a pleasant sound. He hadn't realized how much he'd come to miss it.

Serana's eyes appraised him, now less burdened with guilt. "Sure, if that's what you want. But I'm going to find you some better clothes. Vampires can't get sick from being cold and wet, but that doesn't mean it's not uncomfortable."

"I once traversed the ash plains of Morrowind in nothing more than tribal rags, dear." Teldryn shifted awkwardly in his soaked trousers. "That said, I certainly won't refuse a change in wardrobe. I'm going back to bed, now, as I'm very tired."

He left Serana to her work on the boat, his heart feeling much lighter than it had at the beginning of the night. When you were one of only two people trapped on a vampire island, it was definitely better if you got along with each other. Though Teldryn sensed it would be a long while yet before he could look at Serana the same way he had before his turning, the warmness between them had at least returned in some measure. His future as a vampire without her looked bleak and lonely, but it was more than self-preservation that made Teldryn want to hold her tightly again. Serana saw him as more than a weary old sellsword, as more than the companion of Jaxius Amaton.

Teldryn collapsed on the bed and was out in a second, his formerly troubled thoughts now more at rest. It was only a couple of hours before he awoke. Waking up was different as a vampire, he had discovered; there was virtually no pull to return to sleep, and he was refreshed immediately upon opening his eyes. Like a dwarven automaton, activated and ready to fight instantly. He wasn't sure if that thought was more pleasing or disturbing.

Now that he and Serana were no longer trying to avoid each other, the bedroom and even the library seemed drab and boring places to spend time. Teldryn explored the seemingly countless corridors of Castle Volkihar, searching for her. At his core, he was a social creature; that's part of why he had given up the sellsword life to join the Dragonborn's family. Days of solitude had made Teldryn depressed and withdrawn. It'll be nice just to have a conversation with someone, even if it's about nothing important. He also had some questions about vampirism they had never discussed in notes before.

After an hour of searching, he finally found her sewing some black robes in a chamber nearby the dining hall. The clothes looked clean enough, by Castle Volkihar standards at least.

"Good afternoon, Lady Serana." He greeted her, closing the door behind him. The room was bare save for a table and a couple of chairs, and a pile of straw in the corner. "Up to some knitting, are we? I'd no idea you were adept at the more feminine trades of the world."

She didn't look up from her needlework. "I've gotta admit, it's tough resizing these robes for someone with such a large and awkwardly shaped head. And Lady Serana? You've been reading some of my father's history books, I'm guessing."

"He's not the best writer," Teldryn replied, taking the seat opposite her. "And he only mentioned you on a couple of pages at the end. A grave disservice, by my reckoning."

"My father was self-absorbed and distant even before he discovered the insane put-out-the-sun prophecy." She stopped sewing, her fingers tightening on the needles. "When I...bit you, I feared I was becoming just like him. It was selfish to bring you back. I was afraid of being alone again, just like my father feared death so much it drove him to insanity."

Teldryn reached across the table and laid his hands over hers. "You're nothing like him. You know how I'm sure of that?"

She bit her lower lip. "How?"

He smiled grimly. "Jax let you live, and even befriended you. You can't imagine my surprise when I first saw you in that clearing outside of Windhelm, claiming to be a friend of the Dragonborn. The Jax Amaton I knew would sooner marry a frost troll than break bread with a child of Molag Bal. Your heart is true, or else it would have been pierced on your first meeting with him."

Serana considered his words. "You're right. That makes me feel a lot better, strangely enough. I hope Jax is okay, wherever he is."

"No one can stand between that man and his daughter." Teldryn replied. "I wouldn't be surprised if the Dark Brotherhood had been wiped from existence by now. Whatever their relationship with Jax was, he'll never forgive them for what they've done."

"I'm not so sure." Serana returned to her sewing, albeit more slowly. "The Daedra wanted the Dragonborn's soul as a prize, but Sithis chose to return Jax to life rather than take him into the Void. Why give up such a powerful soul, unless you were assured of getting many more souls in the future? I don't know much about Dark Brotherhood lore, but I think the situation might be more complex than we realize."

Teldryn leaned back in his chair. "This is all beyond me. When Jax, Runa and I moved into Lakeview Manor, I thought the greatest dangers of my life were in the past. I was ready to settle down, maybe build another house nearby and start my own family. But those bastards burned it all to the ground."

She smiled sadly. "Nothing is stopping us from leaving it all behind, you know. We've already done far more than Jax could ever have expected of us. After we save them from the Brotherhood, we could make for the border and not look back. The Dragonborn has saved Skyrim countless times, he's even died for them for Divines' sake. Hasn't he bled enough? Haven't we?"

He mused. "Morrowind. The Thalmor wouldn't be able to touch us there, at least for now. But elves have long memories, Serana. When we become comfortable in our exile, when we inevitably let our guard down, they will strike from the shadows and destroy us. They weren't expecting me at Lakeview, for whatever reason, and that's why Runa wasn't torn from her bed to be captured or worse. The Thalmor adapt, and they won't make the same mistakes twice."

Serana held out the finished robes. Teldryn rose to his feet and pulled it on, the fabric cool and comforting against his bare skin. He kept the hood tucked into the back, not wanting to look too much like an evil vampire sorcerer. The thin cloth pants that had served as his only clothing for days practically fell apart as he pulled them off.

"Hmm." He murmured. His legs felt strangely free under the bottom half of the robes. "You couldn't have found some new pants somewhere? It would be a tragedy if the greatest swordsman in all of Morrowind died because he tripped over his skirt."

She replied, "Nope. These were the only clothes I could find in the entire castle that weren't either covered in old blood or poorly painted skulls."

Teldryn frowned. "You wear trousers. Your mother wears trousers. Where do you get them from?"

Serana stood up and stretched, working the kinks out of her obviously tired muscles. "I'm not sharing my one pair of pants with you, Teldryn. We just aren't ready for that step of our relationship yet."

He decided to go easy on her. She was probably very tired after working on the boat and sewing the robes. "Very well, my lady. I'll let you get some rest. What do you say to meeting at the end of the day, maybe having a drink?"

"Sure, sounds perfect." Serana walked to the corner of the room covered in straw, and began to settle down.

"Hold on." Teldryn walked over to her. "You haven't been sleeping in this room fit for a farm animal while I've been resting in your bed, have you?"

There was that flash of guilt in her eyes again when she looked up at him. "You're freshly turned. You need the rest and comfort far more than I do. The stress alone can make a new vampire feral if the first couple of days are too overwhelming."

"Well, I feel fine now," Teldryn lied. I can survive like this, at least. "There are no other beds in this entire depressing castle?"

"The rats tore them apart for their nests years ago. My room was only spared because my mother maintained it for my visits. Really, it's fine. We'll be leaving in a couple of days anyway."

"No." Teldryn held his hand out. "It won't be said Teldryn Sero slept in comfort while his beloved picked straw out of her hair. You either come sleep in your bed, or make some room in the pile."

Serana grinned and took his hand. He pulled her to her feet. "You know, you can't really be intimidating while you're wearing a skirt."

The way back to the bedroom went much quicker than it usually did, with Serana there to provide directions. Despite his inner pains, both physical and emotional, Teldryn couldn't deny the comfort and warmth of just holding her hand and walking through Castle Volkihar. She helped lift him up to a place beyond vampires and mortals, a place of simple affection and understanding and love.

Serana raised an eyebrow when they opened the bedroom door. "You're a pretty tidy elf. Everything is pretty much how I left it."

He chuckled. "You can't really afford to be the messy one, living in the same house as Runa Fair-Shield and her father."

"You're telling me the Dragonborn of Nordic legend can't pick up after himself?" Serana sat down at the end of the bed and began to unstrap her boots.

"Jax has a very busy mind. I suppose it can't be helped. Rayya and I didn't mind helping out, in any case." Teldryn stood in the doorway, feeling a bit like an intruder.

"Please close the door, Teldryn." She smiled at him, her eyes dancing. Her boots hit the floor, and then her cloak. "I don't want any vermin sneaking in here while we sleep."

Nerevar, guide me. He shut the door and slid the padlock into place. When he turned, Serana was standing by her dresser and pulling off her light armor. Teldryn tried not to let his eyes stray, and chose to sit down at the desk and pull out a book. A very safe option, reading. No one has ever made any life-altering choices whilst thumbing through the pages of the Catalogue of Armor Enchantments.

"Aren't you tired?" Serana asked. He turned his head. She was lying in bed under the covers, wearing only a thin cotton shift judging by her shoulders. "I know you only slept an hour or two this morning. If we work hard together on the boat tonight, we might have it ready tomorrow. But not if one of us collapses from exhaustion halfway through."

She was right, of course. I'm being irrational. Two people that are very attracted to each other and rather enjoy each others company can share a bed without anything untoward occurring. I've slumbered with female patrons many a time.

"Of course," he replied. "Some rest will do us both good."

Teldryn set his book aside and slid on to the bed, maintaining a respectful distance from Serana's side. Reclining on the pillow, he closed his eyes. Can I feel her watching me, or is it just my imagination?

"Honestly, Teldryn Sero." Serana chided. "Are you a Dunmer of Morrowind, or a shy farmboy? I know it's chilly in this castle. I did grow up here, you know. Get under the covers."

"Fine. It's your bed, my lady. I'll follow your rules." He did as she asked, admittedly much more comfortable now. Vampires produced virtually no body heat, he had learned, so they had to get warmth where they could.

He was about to shut his eyes again when a hand grabbed his under the covers. It was a slender hand, smooth and perfect and very distracting. Teldryn was content to hold it until the end of time.

For a while they existed like that, and he was almost sure Serana had fallen asleep when there was a sudden pressure against one of his limbs.

"Is that your leg?" He murmured, looking at her out of the corner of his eye. "It seems to have wandered from your side."

"Oh." Serana said. "Sorry."

"I wasn't complaining. Like I said before, it's your bed, and you can do anything you want in it."

She smiled, and even in the near total darkness of the bedroom he could see the white glow of her canines. "Anything?", she asked.

"Any and every little thing your wanton heart desires," Teldryn replied. "Just consider this, Serana: when you're playing with fire, a Dunmer in your bed can be very dangerous. Especially a Dunmer as ravishing as me."

"I want this." Her leg rubbed slowly against his. "Not because of my guilt over what I did to you, and not even because I'm lonely. I won't make any promises, Teldryn. I don't know what our future holds. We might be dead before the next full moon, or we might live for thousands of years more. Whatever happens, I want you beside me."

Teldryn rolled over to face her, their bodies now overwhelmingly close. "I feel the same. The least we can do is give it our best try, with Runa and Jax and all the rest of them. Those days will not belong to us; they will belong to fate, or the gods, or whoever decides what happens to two beautiful people in way over their heads. But every day afterward will be ours, to go to Morrowind or to the end of the world if we want. And this day, in this poorly lit bloodsucker palace, this day is ours as well. And I can think of no one I would rather spend it with."

He reached out, and she shivered pleasantly at his touch. Afterwards Teldryn would think of how wondrous the world could be, where two people made so cold could create such warmth together. The covers ended up on the floor, along with his new robes, but neither of them noticed or cared. The bloodthirsty beast inside him remained quiet, perhaps out of respect or out of fear, even as the hours stretched on and the sun outside fell to the horizon. He saw the stone balcony again, and Serana watching the sunrise as the sea breeze blew on their faces. The vision was so real he could nearly reach out and touch it. This is the future I choose. I will live or die with Serana Volkihar.For a time Teldryn's worries fell away, some of them for good, and flames were rekindled in parts of his heart he thought forever darkened.

"Wonderful rowing, dear." Teldryn complimented her, and then redoubled his own efforts. "You truly missed your calling as a seedy pirate of Solitude bay."

Serana exhaled quickly, her arms working fast. "The threat of being turned into ashes is a pretty good motivator."

They had worked on the boat until nearly the end of the night, when Teldryn had been forced to admit the craft was as seaworthy as it would ever be. Now only a few minutes remained for them to reach the shore of Haafingar Hold before the sun came up. They could survive in the light far better than lesser vampires, Serana had assured him, as long as they kept their hoods up and their bloodthirst sated. But if they were caught on the open water, tired and exposed, nothing would save them.

"What's the plan once we've landed?" Serana asked, in between strokes.

Teldryn smiled at her. Every time he looked at her he found himself smiling now, almost involuntarily. "I was thinking we could find a nice cave, maybe recuperate for a week or two. Let the muscles relax, and all."

She rolled her eyes and grinned, quite an impressive feat given they were both being constantly hit with ocean spray. "An hour or two, maybe. One advantage we have over the Brotherhood is we don't have to sleep for very long."

"I could do an hour." Teldryn's expression turned serious. "Truly, though, we should hire a boat to take us to Dawnstar from Solitude. The assassins won't have had that option, given they're carrying two unconscious people along with them. They'll have to avoid the roads. I'm guessing they purchased a couple of carts and are taking dirt paths the long way round. Taking a ferry, we should arrive at the same time as them if not ahead."

"You really think Runa and Jax are still out of it?" Serana grimaced, working the oar harder. "It's been days."

Teldryn nodded. "I've been thinking about that. The little vampire knew her way around an alchemy table, judging by the power of that invisibility potion she used in our laboratory encounter. She's likely kept them asleep for the most part, and drowsy and compliant when they need to eat and drink. Even the Dragonborn can be poisoned, if you get the dosage right."

Serana said nothing, perhaps as disturbed as he was at the thought of Runa and Jax being force fed potions and thrown into carts to be dragged around like sacks of grain. They rowed fiercely against the rough waters, very mindful of the light surfacing on the horizon. It would be unbelievably humiliating to be turned into ashes in my first week of being a vampire. He had no desire to see the horrors of Coldharbour anytime soon, even if Serana would be there with him.

Castle Volkihar was in actuality remarkably close to the shore; you could even see the dock you would be landing at if you squinted hard enough on either side. Nevertheless, to Teldryn it was a colossal relief to finally feel the ground of Skyrim beneath his feet again. They stepped out of the boat into cold knee-deep water, and he pushed the vessel against the waves until it was floating away from them, empty and forlorn.

"Any reason you're banishing our poor boat to the sea?" Serana asked, watching the craft recede once they were solidly on the shore.

"If anyone comes looking for us, they won't know where we landed," Teldryn replied. The first rays of the sunrise were hitting them. He pulled his hood up. "It's a trick I learned some time ago, from an n'wah best left unnamed."

Serana turned away from the sun and shrugged her own hood into place. He put a hand on her shoulder, and marveled at the mountains of Haafingar before them. The next few days would be traversing lengthy paths up the rocky cliffs, and taking refuge in caves when they could. With the challenges before them, the way ahead seemed daunting. But with such good company at my side and a bottle of blood in my satchel, I think I'll do alright.

"Let's go," he said, and took Serana's hand.

Elisif dreamed of betrayal, of Siddgeir of Falkreath lying dead with her sword in his heart. She saw Sybille watching her, and Bolgeir. But that's not right. He wasn't there. Elisif looked again, and Jarl Merillis had joined Siddgeir at her feet. Instead of a sword, a crossbow bolt pierced her heart.

"Gods above, Elisif!" Torygg gasped, now standing beside Bolgeir. "What's happened? What have you done?"

She tried to explain, tried to make him understand why she had to kill them both, but her mouth was sealed shut and so she could only stare at the image of her dead husband. As Elisif watched him sputter and cry, her frustration gradually turned to fury and disgust. By what right does he judge me? If he had put the people of Skyrim above his precious Nord honor, Ulfric Stormcloak would've been thrown in the dungeons and then executed. Everything could have stayed the same.

She awoke, the memory of her dream dissipating like a cup of water poured into the sea. Someone was knocking on her door, quietly but urgently. Elisif rubbed her eyes and threw on some clothes, her secret dagger hidden securely in a pocket. Has Brunwulf's spy arrived earlier than expected?

The door opened, and Glarynil's head poked around the edge.

"Come!" he hissed.

"I'm not going anywhere with you." Elisif's eyes narrowed. This was the soldier that had so casually murdered Brina Merilis.

Glarynil made a sound of frustration and slipped into the room, closing the door carefully behind him.

"Are you being a dense bitch on purpose, or are Nord women just born that way?" He asked, turning to look at her contemptuously. "Free-Winter said you'd be ready. Obviously he overestimated you."

"You're his spy?" She asked incredulously. "You seemed fairly loyal to Stoker when you fired your crossbow."

The elf sniffed. "Disobeying a direct order would have exposed me, and I couldn't very well shoot the Emissary with that bastard dragon right behind us. You really should use your brain more often, though I suppose they call you Elisif the Fair rather than Elisif the Sharp for good reason."

"This could be a trick. Maybe Brunwulf's being tortured in another room."

Glarynil sighed, running a hand over his face. "Why? Why would Stoker want to trick you? He already has all the Jarls of Skyrim he needs trapped in this Auriel-cursed monastery, he has the dragons, he has the Eye and the Staff. You've already knelt to him. There is nothing more you can give up, you dreadfully slow wench."

"Alright, then." Elisif crossed her arms. "If Stoker's doing so well, why betray him?"

"I don't want the world to end." Glarynil admitted. "I have substantial wealth in many of Tamriel's provinces, and a multitude of pleasures to enjoy yet. My assignment to this position was politically motivated, but I've grown quite bored of it. Stoker can become a spirit or a god or a snow elf for all I care. I've no desire to join him."

"Even if that's true," Elisif replied, "Just releasing us won't be enough to stop his plans. There's no way the eight of us can stand against a dragon, let alone a dragon assisted by Thalmor soldiers."

"First of all," Glarynil said, reclining on her bed. "Once I help you and the others escape, there is no 'us' any longer. Second of all, you may have some help soon. I've been hearing interesting news from our scouts in the field, news I've been keeping from Emissary Stoker."

"News?" Elisif asked, cautiously beginning to actually listen to the traitorous soldier.

"A group of men from the Imperial Legion had rather quietly taken back the city of Windhelm. I was going to report this to the Emissary and recommend we sink the city, but then our Eastmarch scout reported the invaders had rapidly left Windhelm and scattered to the hills. After hearing this bit of news, I slit the scout's throat and pushed him into a snowdrift."

"The soldiers know about the Eye." Elisif was catching on. "They have someone among them that knows what the Thalmor are up to."

"Finally, a glint of sunlight in the dim cloud of your mind, Elisif." Glarynil got up and walked to the door. "And when whoever that is comes here, I want to be on the side of the fighting that supports the continued existence of this world, and all of its wonderful wines and women. Now come with me, or stay here and be Stoker's puppet until he figures out how to end it all."

Elisif didn't hesitate to follow Glarynil. Out in the hallway, there were thankfully no other Thalmor. There were muffled voices in the direction of the main chamber.

"Go talk to your counterparts, and tell them to be ready to go at a moment's notice." Glarynil waved her away as if she were an annoying insect. "No one will patrol this hallway for at least an hour. I've made sure of it." With that, he left her alone.

Elisif glanced at the doors to the Jarls' rooms, and then in the direction of the main chamber. An hour. I can't waste this opportunity. And I don't trust Glarynil. She crept over to the door, the voices getting louder. Moving as slowly and silently as she could, Elisif opened the doorway a crack.

"-goes smoothly while you're away," Glarynil said. "You're not taking Merkoorzaam with you?"

"No." Stoker's deep voice sounded troubled. "I want him here, protecting the Eye. If the dimming of the soul gem means what I think it does, then Jaxius Amaton has returned. The girl will be my shield, if these mercenaries can be trusted."

"How can you be so sure they have the right child?" Glarynil asked. "All these Nords look the same to me. It could be a trap."

"The description in their message matches my pre-operation reports fairly well." Stoker's voice changed direction as he paced across the chamber. "Still, I'll bring the necessary protection. Half our forces will go with me. Once I return, we'll be leaving this place permanently."

"What?" Glarynil replied. Elisif had to admire how well he kept the panic out of his voice.

"Even with the winds providing a barrier, I feel the Eye is too exposed. We'll take the Jarls to Solitude, where they can swear allegiance to the Dominion in full view of Skyrim's people. I'll have Merkoorzaam cause an avalanche behind us, and bury this place and its seven thousand steps under two hundred tons tons of rock and snow. After that, the only way to the Throat will be on the back of a dragon."

"A prudent measure." Glarynil agreed. "I'll be glad to leave this horrible stone prison behind."

She moved away from the door. Girl? What girl? Elisif recalled that Jax had an adopted daughter, but had assumed the child had died at Lakeview Manor. Maybe it's another girl, one I know nothing about. Even if only half the awful stories Stoker had told her about the Dragonborn were true, Jax had been keeping much from her.

Time to make use of our time. Elisif crept from door to door, unlocking and pushing open. In a short time, the seven remaining Jarls of Skyrim were standing outside their cells, looking around cautiously.

"Good work, my Queen." Brunwulf Free-Winter said. "I was worried our friend among the Thalmor might not come through for us. But this is earlier than I expected."

"We can't stay here any longer," Elisif replied, standing in the middle of the hallway. All the Jarls' turned to focus on her as she spoke. "Stoker is leaving for a short while, but when he returns he's taking us to Solitude. Once we're behind those walls, they'll be no escape."

Jarl Igmund spat. "And why should we follow you anywhere? Brina Merilis was your loyal servant, and she got a crossbow bolt for her trouble. Every one of your decisions has led to disaster."

"I didn't kill Jarl Merillis." Internally, Elisif sighed in frustration. Can't they see I'm trying to save their lives? "One of Stoker's men murdered her."

Jarl Hrongar chuckled darkly, and she was stunned to see hatred when she met his eyes. "That's not what the elf told us. He said he asked you to make a choice, and you chose a brave and loyal woman who would have followed you into Oblivion had you asked her. And that's not all he told us, kneeler. What happened to Siddgeir?"

Elisif's fists clenched. He's been talking to my Jarls, that underhanded bastard. Trying to turn them against me. "You believe that monster over your own Queen?"

Jarl Dengeir of Falkreath spoke up. "My nephew was lazy and self-serving, but even he deserved better than a clandestine execution in the dark. You're no better than he was. A Solitude puppet, handpicked by the Emperor."

Igmund grunted assent. "Titus Mede is dead now, and so is the Dragonborn that won you your throne."

Hrongar walked up to her, slowly, as if it pained him. She tried to fight the urge to back away as he towered over her. When she looked in his eyes, the hate had fled. It had been replaced with weariness and disappointment.

"Elisif," he said. "You led our army into ruin, but war is war and no one could blame you for that. But with the murders of Siddgeir and Merillis, you betrayed us. By kneeling to the elves, you've betrayed the people of Skyrim. Surrender has always been a path open to us, but it should have been one we chose together." Hrongar bowed his head. "I can't let my people bleed any further because of your mistakes."

"No," Elisif said, feeling the world slip away from her. "You swore an oath to serve me. At the moot, after the war. It wasn't conditional, Jarl Hrongar!" But he was turning away from her, going back to his cell.

"Farewell." Hrongar said, looking back at her from his doorway. "Wherever you go, you go without Whiterun beside you. I hope you survive the battles to come." The door shut behind him.

Two other Jarls immediately followed his example. Igmund was no surprise, given that he'd been one of her detractors from the beginning. Dengeir had been an unknown entity since his arrival at the start of their march to Labyrinthian, but she was still sorry to see him forsake her so quickly.

Jarl Black-Briar said, "The big oaf made some good points. Who's to say that any Jarl caught trying to escape won't be executed? And even if I didn't care for my own life, which I assure you I do very dearly, my children are still in Riften. And as much as I hate their groveling ways, I won't see them destroyed along with my city all because I participated in some poorly planned attempt to freeze to death."

Elisif could think of nothing to say. The Jarl of Riften inclined her head towards her, more respect than she expected, before slipping into her room and closing the door.

They betrayed me. While we're in the hands of the enemy, they choose his word over mine and would rather rot in their cells then follow me into freedom. Elisif slipped a hand into her pocket, feeling the metal hilt of her dagger there. How easy it would be, to take the weapon and find Stoker before he could leave. She'd stab him a hundred times, even as his guards cut her down. No one would question her allegiance to Skyrim then, would they? They turned against me, so easily. Maybe their hearts were black from the beginning.

"I'm with you." Jarl Ravencrone said, breaking the long silence. "Even with Morthal in its watery grave, I'm with you. Better than lying in my cell and staring at that unfamiliar ceiling, waiting for an elf to lead me to a prettier prison."

Jarl Kraldar called out, "As am I. Never let it be said that Winterhold rested while the enemy worked against us."

Brunwulf came to her, and held out his hands. Elisif let go of the dagger and sighed, resting her palms against his. There was a time I considered this man to be an uncle to me. Times have changed, and at the same time they haven't at all.

"My loyalty is absolute, High Queen." Brunwulf said. "I'll be ready to go when you need me, even if it means we die on a freezing mountain path. This is not an easy road that we walk together, Elisif, but it's the only true one left to us."

"Thank you." Elisif replied quietly. I've the Queen of three Jarls, now. That's one less than when the Civil War was raging against Ulfric Stormcloak. "I don't know when the time will come for us to make our move, but it'll be soon. Have your warmest clothes ready, and be prepared to leave at a second's notice."

Her loyal Jarls returned to their cells, and Elisif slowly went door to door sliding the locks back into place. She hesitated at Hrongar's cell, for a moment wanting nothing more than to burst in and beg for his forgiveness. The inclination passed. He's made his decision. When Stoker sends him back to Whiterun with gilded chains fastened around his ankles, he'll know how wrong he was to turn away from me.

Elisif returned to her own cell, and several minutes later heard Glarynil locking the door. She sat for hours on the end of her bed, her hand in her pocket, once again feeling the comforting coldness of her secret dagger.

"Hold fast, Serana. I've just spotted something quite concerning."

She stopped. "What? Oh, that's just the Dragon Bridge. It's made of stone. Just like the road beneath our feet. It can't hurt you."

"I'm not frightened of stone, dear. Take a closer look at what's clinging to the underside, in the shadows. I wouldn't have spotted it myself if not for these predator's eyes you've given me."

Serana leaned forward, squinting. "Oh. Yeah, that's a little alarming. Any ideas on how we should deal with it?"

"If we can see it, even with our enhanced vision, then it has certainly seen us. Jax once told me a dragon perched on the slopes of Shearpoint can spot a field mouse in the plains of Whiterun below."

"Hmm." Serana bit her lower lip. "So the dragon knows we're here, but hasn't attacked us yet. I've only met a few dragons in my time, but that seems out of the ordinary."

"I agree." Teldryn stepped out of the shadows and back on to the road. "We'd better introduce ourselves, before the beast changes its mind. If it wanted us dead, we'd already be ashes blowing down towards Rorikstead."

She fell in step beside him after a moment's hesitation. They walked towards the Dragon Bridge, the sights and scents of the morning around them. Despite the stinging rays of the sun on his shadowed face, Teldryn couldn't deny he was ecstatic being back in Skyrim once more. Castle Volkihar had been damp, dreary, and worst of all, dreadful to look at. Even in winter, the green grasses and tall flowers of Haafingar persisted, like beautiful sentinels of a spring long gone. The air was rich with the smell of life and the buzzing of bees, all unknowing to the perils of their country. Though Teldryn wished so desperately to be living along with them, he had never treasured his enhanced senses more.

"Here we go." The ancient bridge was before them. In the center, the grand arch was decorated with a giant dragon's head. They could see the small village named for the bridge over the rise, but no sounds of inhabitation. Maybe the dragon scared them away. Teldryn took a step forward. Or ate them.

Serana spoke up after they'd gone a few more steps. "Hello? Big red dragon? We'd like to talk to you, if you have the time."

Teldryn was about to quietly criticize her dragon greeting techniques when a colossal crimson head rose above the side of the bridge. They froze. The neck the head was attached to was as thick as a ship's mast, and covered in scales Teldryn knew were near impenetrable. The dragon looked down at them, its yellow eyes filled with an ancient ambivalence. I have never felt more like nothing. After a second of appraising them, the head moved closer and sniffed at their unmoving forms.

"Disgusting." The dragon's voice was simultaneously booming and horrifying. "A pair of sosnaak come on to my bridge, and in the light of sul no less. You are either very brave, or very stupid, to approach Odahviing unarmed."

Odahviing. I've heard that name somewhere before. "We are friends of the Dragonborn," Teldryn announced, trying to keep his voice from shaking. This could either save us or kill us. "You haven't seen him pass through here, have you?"

"A dangerous laan you ask, sosnaak." Odahviing's head moved closer, until it was only a few feet away from them. Teldryn could smell blood and flesh on the beast's breath. "A dangerous question indeed. The dovahkiin has many enemies in this lein. How is it you know he is returned, if you are not among the most powerful of his adversaries?"

The Dunmer vampire took a step forward, not breaking eye contact with the dragon. They respect dominance, right? "I know Jax is alive because I brought him back. I traveled to the Soul Cairn and pulled his carcass up about two hundred ghostly stairs, and if you know where he is you had better tell me before I make a fresh pair of boots out of your worthless hide."

Odahviing chuckled, the sound like a hundred fingernails scraping against rough stone. "There is yol in you, for certain. Strange for a sosnaak. But answer me this, drinker of blood; if you have been the Soul Cairn, you must have met the guardian that resides there. He is of the dovah, at least for the most part. Speak his faan, what you would call his name, and earn your life."

Serana spoke, "Durnehviir."

The dragon nodded, the motion almost knocking Teldryn off his feet. Then Odahviing slipped on to the bridge, as fluidly as a cat. For a beast of such size, he moves with startling grace. The dragon unfurled one red wing, and the Dragonborn slid gently down to rest on one of the bridge's stone pillars.

"Jax!" Teldryn rushed forward, stunned and gladdened. Jaxius Amaton looked dreadfully thin, and his skin was as pale as milk. But he was alive, alive, and for the moment that was all that mattered.

"The dovahkiin is changed." Odahviing was perched on the stone dragonhead, looking down at them. "It has been a few cycles of the sul since he called my name. I found him lying in the waters of the lom, the river far below us. Since then, he has not spoken."

Teldryn and Serana knelt by Jax, their hands on his shoulders. The Dragonborn's eyes looked past them, clouded and dark. If he had any reaction to Teldryn's changed state of living, he didn't show it.

"It's wonderful to see you again," Serana said quietly. "It's alright if you don't want to say anything. We're just happy you're back with us."

Jax inclined his head a fraction of an inch, the tension around his eyes loosening somewhat. Teldryn didn't understand. This wasn't the elf he had known, the invincible and towering killer of dragons. What could he have seen in the worlds beyond this one, to frighten him so?

Teldryn smiled despite his worries. My friend has returned. But many troubles press for our attention, and we can't waste a moment.

"Runa," Teldryn said. Jax's eyes focused on him, sudden and intense. "Do you remember where they were taking her, Jax? Can you tell us where the assassins are going?"

Serana said, "I don't know if we should press him so hard, Teldryn, so soon after he's returned. We can't imagine the trauma he's experienced in the last couple of weeks alone."

"You're right, of course." Teldryn felt ashamed, but before now he had taken comfort in the idea Jax and Runa were together, if nothing else. Now he knew she was alone, with that murdering Redguard and the cold child, and it was like a needle in his heart. "You don't have to speak, friend. We can just lay here for a while."

But Jax's cracked lips were moving, slowly but with purpose. Teldryn shifted closer, moving his pointed ear towards Jax's mouth. The words were near silent, with none of the power of the Thu'um behind them, but to Teldryn they were among the most important the Dragonborn would ever utter.

Teldryn looked up at Serana, his brow creasing. We're going to find those n'wahs, and make them regret ever daring to hurt Runa Fair-Shield.

He said, "Darkwater Crossing."

Dovahzul Appendix

sosnaak = vampire

sul = sun

Odahviing = winged snow hunter

lein = world

yol = fire

dovah = dragon

faan = name

lom = river

Author's Note: I've changed a few sentences of Chapter 27 to make the events of Frea's sacrifice clearer. Hope you're continue to enjoy the story as we near the end!

Chapter Text

Odahviing set them down a fair distance from the village, so as not to broadcast their approach to the Brotherhood or the Thalmor. Teldryn and Serana helped Jax climb off, his arms and legs moving clumsily. The Dragonborn nearly fell to the ground, but managed to catch himself on a tree. He's still not said a word. Teldryn sighed, worried and afraid for his friend.

The dragon rumbled thoughtfully. "I sense you will have need of me again soon, dovahkiin. Speak my name, and I will be there in an instant." Odahviing sprung up off the ground, and was gone in a burst of speed. The branches of the trees shook, and then were still.

"I'm overcome with a sudden feeling of vulnerability," Teldryn said. They stood in a shadowed grove near the main road. Jax was still leaning on a large tree, his face unreadable. "Two daylight vampires against the Dark Brotherhood and the Aldmeri Dominion. How do you think we'll fare?"

Serana passed him their last bottle of blood, half full. "Maybe they'll all kill each other and we can just pick Runa up and go home," she replied. "In any case, I'd recommend the stealthy approach before we run in shooting fireballs."

Teldryn tried not to look too disappointed. He swallowed down the rest of the blood, the warmth spreading through him like hot steam. Divine. Simply divine. He was thankful for a second that the Dragonborn was so lost in his own mind, turned away from the pair. For Jax to see him like this, a slave to the inner predator, would be humiliating and shameful.

"Sneaking does have its merits, from time to time," Teldryn admitted. He stowed the bottle and leaned back on the tree. "But you two will have to stay nearby whilst I go in and risk my life. Stoker knows your faces."

She shook her head. "He knows yours too, probably better than mine. You were the one that actually spoke to him, on the road outside Morthal."

"Ah, but you forget one thing, my lovely vampire princess." Teldryn held up his white hand. "He met Teldryn Sero, the finest swordsman in all of Morrowind, in all his living beauty. My skin was its normal, flattering shade, and my face paint had not yet faded. I wore my chitin armor, not yet destroyed by a dying Argonian. Stoker knows nothing about Teldryn the Reborn, a brooding and strangely handsome bloodsucker born at Castle Volkihar. My skin is clear and pale, and my eyes have gone more to the orange side of red. With a hood over my face, I'll be a stranger to him."

"Maybe you're right." Serana said reluctantly. There had been a moment of regret and shame in her features when Teldryn had mentioned his former appearance. He wondered for a moment if she had liked him better that way, but spared no more thought towards the matter. "Just promise me you'll run before you fight, Teldryn."

"Naturally," he agreed. "I'm no hero, and I'm no fool either. Even if I spot Runa, I'll return to you two before making a move. If I shoot a fireball into the sky, it means that I've encountered trouble and you should very quickly come save me." Teldryn glanced at Jax. If my life was in danger, would he act? I fear I'll know before too long.

"Sounds like a solid plan, kind of." Serana looked up at the sky. "We'd better get going. It'd be better to wait until night, of course, but we can't afford to waste time."

They left the grove and began walking the road to Darkwater Crossing. They were on the northern Eastmarch path along the Darkwater River, not too far from Windhelm. Jax followed them silently, having given no input into their strategy, but Teldryn found his presence comforting nonetheless. Even if the Thalmor or Brotherhood killed them all, at least now he would die beside his friend. No running away, this time. No more graveyards. What was life, without Jax, Runa and Serana? He would be an empty shell, full of old memories. Even Coldharbour would be better than that.

From the road, the volcanic steam flats of Eastmarch were visible far below them. There were distant shapes that had to be giants and mammoths, and a stone fortress nearly cloaked in the forest. Fort Amol. When he had traveled to Windhelm with Nazir and Runa, they had seen the same fort. How strange and alien that journey seems now. Teldryn had been wondering for some time why Nazir hadn't just killed him on the road, before they'd even reached Windhelm. Maybe the assassin had been entertaining some idea of convincing Teldryn to join their plot to murder Stoker. Little chance of that, now. When I see that fetcher I'm going to run a sword through him before he can speak a single clever word.

"Teldryn," Serana pointed. "Doesn't a dragon live over there?"

He paused, pulling his hood back a bit and squinting over the steam flats. Far away, several stone pillars stood vigil over a cut in the mountainside. Bonestrewn Crest. Jax and I cleared that place out quite a few times.

"Very possibly, yes. Hopefully we won't have to worry about him bothering us."

Odahviing had been much more willing to speak than Jax, and had told them much on the journey from Dragon Bridge. The handful of dragons that remained in Skyrim had sworn to stay neutral in the struggle between the Dragonborn and this beast of the Dominion Teldryn had learned about, Merkoorzaam. Only a couple of them remained loyal to the golden dragon. After years of facing Jaxius Amaton and watching him devour the souls of their brethren, the dragons had apparently developed a respect for his power. This respect had only increased once they heard him call Odahviing's name in Dragon Bridge.

"The dovahkiin has now died and returned to life," Odahviing had said. "just like one of the dovah. And unlike us, of his own will and power, not that of Alduin. None now can deny he is our one true kinbok, the only dov worthy of our loyalty."

Teldryn didn't think it wise to tell the red dragon that Jax had been brought back by Sithis to ensure the Dark Brotherhood survived. Does Jax even know? Is it my duty to tell him? Part of Teldryn was afraid that the Dragonborn he didn't know, the one who had rose to the leadership of the evil cult in the first place, would cast aside his former friends in order to serve the evil god who had returned him to life. He felt guilty for these thoughts, but forced himself to consider them. My priority has to be Runa, above everything else. But Teldryn was realizing the silence between Jax and himself was not an altogether comfortable one; there were things that needed to be said, before they reached Darkwater Crossing and risked death.

"Jax." Teldryn said, slowing down so he was walking beside the Dragonborn. "I'm not certain if you've noticed, but I've changed since we last saw each other. Serana was forced to bite me, to save my life. This was shortly after the Brotherhood took Runa from us."

Jax glanced at him, seemingly disinterested, before returning his eyes to their troubled forward stare. He walked like a bag of bones hung on a scarecrow, with jerking and irregular movements. It's almost as if he's still processing everything that's happened, and he's using the bare minimum of effort just to keep going.

Teldryn hesitated before speaking again. "You deserve to know who brought you back into this miserable world, if you weren't told already. Sithis was the one who chased the Daedra away from your soul and decided to throw you back into this mess."

The Dragonborn didn't respond in words, but something changed. Gradually, he straightened from his stooped position and his chin lifted. Jax's eyes went to the blue sky above them.

"Isn't it beautiful, Teldryn?" Jax rasped. "Look at all the little clouds."

The only time I've seen Jaxius Amaton appreciate the sky, a dragon has been falling from it. Perhaps he's changed more than even I expected. I'm happy he's talking.

"Yes, it's lovely today." Teldryn grinned, raising his eyebrows at Serana. "This is one of my favorite parts of Skyrim, if you recall. "

Jax nodded, and then his eyes widened. In a sudden burst of energy, the Dragonborn dashed off the road towards a gurgling stream. Teldryn was so surprised that for a second he was frozen on the road, but Serana had better sense and ran after Jax. He caught up with them quickly.

A small turtle was slowly making its way from the water to a nearby rock. Jax crouched next to the creature, watching intently. The turtle retreated into its shell at the sight of him.

"Raan." The Dragonborn spoke, the word of power resonating through the air. Teldryn felt it shudder through his bones, though it had no effect on him. The turtle, however, seemed to quite enjoy the sound of Raan. Its tiny head poked back out of the shell, and Jax delicately lowered his hand. His finger stroked the tiny head of the reptile. The turtle almost seemed to snuggle into his hand.

"You're so wonderful," Jax said, his voice shaking. "Such a wonderful and precious little gift."

Teldryn blinked, and tugged at Serana's cloak. They slowly backed away from the scene, until they were somewhat out of earshot.

"He's not quite the same." Teldryn whispered, unable to tear his eyes from the Dragonborn and his new friend.

Serana giggled. "No, he's not. I think I might like him better this way, though."

He sighed. "I have graver concerns, dear. For one: does the elf in front of us, who I will refer to as the Turtleborn, look capable of defeating a dragon?"

She bit her lower lip. "I don't know. Dragons aren't exactly cute and peaceful, Teldryn, and it wasn't a turtle that helped murder Jax in his home. Maybe there are two sides to this new Dragonborn, and we're just seeing the kinder one."

Somehow, I doubt the gods would make it that easy for me. Teldryn wished he could just be happy for his friend, but the fate of Skyrim likely depended on Jax permanently killing the dragons serving the Thalmor. Only the Dragonborn could devour a dragon's soul; Jax had told him that himself.

They walked forward to stand beside the stream. Jax bowed his head gravely at the turtle, apparently saying goodbye.

"Are you alright?" Teldryn asked worriedly.

"I'm feeling superb," Jax responded, his voice reverent. "Thank you so much for asking, my friend. I love you." The Dragonborn stepped forward and embraced him. Even with his atrophied muscles, Jax's arms were unbelievably tight around Teldryn. I don't think he's ever hugged me before. Teldryn patted him on the back awkwardly.

"Am I dreaming?" Serana watched them, smiling. "You don't seem like the stoic, tough outer shelled dark elf we once knew and occasionally exchanged friendly handshakes with."

"Oh, Serana." Jax let go of Teldryn and turned to pull her into a hug. She offered little resistance. "I'm so sorry I tried to kill you when we first met. I didn't know how delightful you were."

She gave Teldryn a startled look over Jax's shoulder. "It's fine, Jax. You've saved my life plenty of times since then."

After a few more hugs and declarations of adoration, Teldryn managed to shepherd everyone back on to the road and in the direction of Darkwater Crossing. Jax managed to restrain himself from chasing after every woodland creature in sight, but he still paused every now and then to stare in wonder.

"Jax." Teldryn asked cautiously. "You do remember everything that's happened, don't you?"

The Dragonborn paused, a flash of pain going through his eyes. "Yes."

Damn. Some part of Teldryn would have been happy to see his friend forget the horrible experiences that had plagued him in the last month.

"Do you remember life before you were born, Teldryn?" Jax asked.

Teldryn replied confusedly, "No. How could I?"

"You couldn't." Jax's shoulders tensed. "I was dead for a long time. Or at least it felt that way. I've been cut, bruised, split open, and tortured. But I'd burn in the white fires of Coldharbour for ten thousand years if it meant I never had to return to the Void."

"The blackness between planes." Serana put a hand on his shoulder. "Where Sithis holds domain. I'm so sorry, Jax."

"You can't imagine what it was like. The blankness, the sheer nothingness. There's no fate worse than being wiped clean and made forgotten, like a drop of water into a black and eternal ocean. At least in Coldharbour and Apocrypha, I had my mind. I could always retreat there, to my happy memories of Runa and my friends. In the Void I was forgotten, and so was she, and I wasn't even aware of the time I'd lost until I awoke." The Dragonborn's voice broke.

Teldryn began to say something, and then stopped. He could think of no words that wouldn't sound meager and pathetic in comparison to Jax's experiences. The very thought of being banished to the Void horrified him, but telling the Dragonborn that certainly wouldn't make him feel better. How can I ask him to risk his life again, knowing that eternal oblivion is his fate should we lose? The answer was simple: he couldn't. If Jax chose to flee to Morrowind after saving Runa, Teldryn knew he and Serana would gladly follow.

"I'm never going to kill again." Jax said, looking up at the sky thoughtfully. "All the lives I took meant nothing in the end. Maybe if I hadn't gone to such extremes, they would've invaded with a conventional force instead of sending in someone like Stoker. I could've fought a war. Maybe even won a war, with the dragons at my back. But this fighting in the shadows is not what I was made for. After we find Runa, I'm done."

"Teldryn and I had similar thoughts, a little while ago," Serana said gently. "Even if we escaped to the east, we'd never be beyond reach of their agents. If Skyrim falls to the Aldmeri Dominion, they'd probably try to take the dark elves before too long."

"And we aren't exactly in fighting shape these days, Jax." Teldryn added. "I know you've never been to the homeland beyond Solstheim, but recent times have not been kind to us. The Red Year and the Argonian invasion have ensured that Morrowind won't be ready to fight a war for a few decades at the least."

Jax replied, "I wasn't thinking of Morrowind. My intention is to flee somewhere far more secluded, a place that very few know exist."

To Teldryn's surprise, Serana grinned in recognition. "The Forgotten Vale," she said, explaining for Teldryn. "A part of Skyrim closed off from the rest by mountains. The Snow Elves considered it a sacred place. It's beautiful."

He sighed. "That sounds well and good, but any place we go would one day become an island under siege. As I said, Morrowind is in no shape to resist the Dominion, and neither is the Empire. Even at their strongest, Hammerfell and Black Marsh together can't wage a war against the rest of Tamriel. If you truly want to leave it all behind, Jax, we'll go with you. Just know that running now only means fighting later."

"I'll consider your words." Jax said, for the moment the grim and serious elf Teldryn had known. "For now, let's focus on saving Runa. All this talk is for nothing if she's already gone."

 Darkwater Crossing was a sleepy little mining village, peaceful and boring. Nothing of note had happened to the villagers since the Dragonborn's last visit, years ago, when he'd rescued the Argonian miner Derkeethus from a nearby Falmer cave. Jax had killed all the Falmer and collapsed the tunnels with his Voice, so none could ever return.

But in the past few days, strange visitors had been arriving. With such a small population, any new faces stuck out and were a topic of new conversation. Darkwater Crossing's small tavern found its two rooms suddenly booked through the week.

Teldryn learned all of this from Derkeethus, who thankfully remembered him from the rescue so long ago.

"No Redguard, land-strider." Derkeethus said, shoveling ore into a smelter. The close heat made Teldryn tense. "The newcomers have been wood elves, some high elves. No children, either."

"I appreciate the information nonetheless, serjo." So the assassins haven't arrived yet, but the Thalmor are doing some heavy reconnaissance. "I'm afraid I have nothing to pay you with."

"Consider us even for saving me from those wretched creatures." The Argonian bowed his head. "May the Hist guide you, Sero."

Teldryn thanked Derkeethus again and then left him to his work. He found the tavern easily enough; it was one of the only permanent structures in the village. The building was little more than a straw longhouse compared to the Retching Netch or even the Sleeping Giant in Whiterun, but Teldryn was glad to be out of the sunlight regardless. With their last blood potion gone, Serana had warned him that the light would start to hurt more as the day went on. He wasn't looking forward to it.

In the tradition of most of the taverns of Skyrim, a fire was burning in the center of the room. Teldryn tried to ignore its warmth the best he could, and sat down at the small bar. There were a few other people around: two miners, probably relaxing on their off-shift, and a hooded Altmer who had just come out of one of the side rooms.

"Drink?" The elderly barkeep asked groggily.

Teldryn wasn't thirsty for anything the old man would willingly provide, but it wouldn't hurt to keep up appearances. "I don't suppose you have a bottle of sujamma back there, do you?"

A new voice, deep and cheerful, broke into the conversation. "I've already gone down that road with this one, friend. Snowberry tea and mead is all they've got, unfortunately." The Altmer sat down at the bar next to Teldryn, stretching his arms.

"Ugh, mead." Even as a mortal, Teldryn had loathed the thick syrup the Nords tried to pass off as a spirit. "Just the tea, then."

"Same for me, and with a slice of snowberry pie." The Altmer said. The barkeep looked at both of them, grumbled something nonintelligible and turned to make the drinks.

"What brings you to Darkwater Crossing, elf of Morrowind?" The elf next to him asked, smiling. The question gave Teldryn an excuse to look at him closer, to confirm his suspicions. Yes, that's Stoker for certain. He wasn't surprised; this had been part of the reason Teldryn had wanted to scout out the village. The High Elf looked nearly unchanged from the last time they'd met. A little more gray in the beard, maybe.

"Just passing through on my way to Riften," Teldryn replied. "Heard there might be some shipping jobs down there."

Stoker made an thoughtful sound, clasping his hands together on the bar. "Sounds like good and honest work, all too rare in this tumultuous world we live in. Unfortunately fate has brought me to this village for darker deeds."

The barkeep set two steaming cups in front of them. Stoker nodded in appreciation before continuing. "I'm waiting for some mercenaries to arrive with a hostage I have dire need of. I'm praying to Auriel they don't try anything stupid."

Teldryn almost choked on his tea, but managed to recover. Either he's already figured me out, or just has a very strange proclivity for announcing his plans to strangers.

"Stupid?" Teldryn asked innocently. "What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know how long you've been traveling Skyrim, my friend, but some of its citizens suffer from a severe lack of professionalism." Stoker stirred his tea absentmindedly. "I'm almost certain they have the girl, but I fear they might want more out of the deal than the gold I'm offering. Maybe they'll demand a Jarlship, or a dragon, or my head on a – oh, here comes the pie."

The old sellsword mused on the situation while the Emissary was investigating the plate of snowberry pie. If Nazir tries anything clever, it might be the end of this entire village, if not Runa and our merry little band of three. Teldryn knew the Brotherhood were coming to kill Stoker, and he had absolutely no problem with that. He just hoped they did it quickly and quietly, without putting Runa in the crossfire.

Stoker murmured appreciatively. "This is delightful, really. You should try some."

Never one to turn down free pie, Teldryn thanked him and took a bite. Though it didn't help alleviate his hunger, he could certainly respect the work that had gone into such a tasty morsel.

"Wonderful," Teldryn agreed. "Any day that begins with good food and better company is bound to go your way, sera. Here, I'll cover your tab." He dropped a few gold coins on the bar and slid off his seat.

"Many thanks, Dunmer." Stoker stuck out his hand and Teldryn grasped it reluctantly. The Emissary's hand was smooth and soft except for the callused palm. A dagger user, interesting. "Never is my heart warmer than when I meet kind people such as yourself on the road. I hope you find what you're looking for in Riften."

Teldryn shook Stoker's hand, bowed his head, and then turned to leave. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his enemy turn back to the bar, his back exposed. It would be all too easy for Teldryn to draw his steel shortsword and plunge it into Stoker's back, and yet something stayed his hand. Some vague sense of apprehension. This is the elf that killed the Dragonborn where so many others had failed before. His time will come, but it won't be in this tavern by my hand.

He stepped carefully around the center fire, eager to return to Serana and Jax. The tavern door swung open before Teldryn could reach it. In the doorway, a Bosmer in elven armor stood stiffly. One of Stoker's scouts. The wood elf stumbled forward, a dagger in his neck. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. Teldryn reached for his sword. Magicka was already rushing to the surface in his off-hand. Behind the dying elf, a jester clad in crimson motley giggled before capering into the room.

Nerevar preserve me. Have I died again? That could be the only explanation for the jester now standing in front of him, twirling a dagger in his hand.

"Cicero has come to kill an elf!" The fool announced, peering curiously at Teldryn. "And an elf he has found!"

Teldryn jerked back from the first swipe of Cicero's dagger through the air. If not for his vampiric reflexes, his guts would be spilling onto the floor.

"I'm not the one you're looking for, damned s'wit!" Teldryn barely managed to dodge the next slice from the dagger, its blade tearing a ribbon from his cloak. He backed up, slowly. Through the thin walls of the tavern, the sounds of clashing swords and screams became clear.

"Oh, well." Cicero stalked closer, his dagger tracing designs into the air. "One elf looks much like another to Cicero, stranger. If he just stabs all the pointy ears he finds, he is sure to get the right one eventually!"

At least Nazir and his pet vampire had some rationality about them. This man is clearly insane. Teldryn drew his shortsword, though the weapon was unfamiliar and awkward in his hand compared to the elven sword he had wielded in the past. Nor could he shoot off any fireballs inside the wooden tavern, not unless he wanted to end up a pile of ashes.

Teldryn's back hit the bar. Sparing a glance backward, he saw the barkeep and Stoker were nowhere to be found. Likely found a back door and made themselves scarce.

Cicero tossed his dagger from hand to hand, clearly very adept with the weapon. "Cicero is tired of dancing with you, pointy ears. Cruel Nazir said we had to be quick. When you meet the Dread Father, tell him the Fool of Hearts sent you!"

The jester pirouetted forward, all playfulness gone. His dagger seemed to attack from all sides, and Teldryn barely managed to block the first few blows. The daylight made him weak and slow, even inside the tavern, and his strength had never been in close combat swordplay. Soon enough, Cicero had overwhelmed his defenses.

Teldryn's sword spun away, and the fool's dagger was flying towards his neck. I wonder what Coldharbour will be like. I wonder how long I'll have to wait for Serana to join me.

The door to one of the side rooms opened, and Stoker emerged armed with a gleaming golden staff. A burst of energy exploded from the end and hit Cicero, sending the jester soaring into the far wall with a crash.

"Coming...Mother." Cicero whispered, even as red tendrils of his life's energy were drawn out by Stoker's staff. A spell for draining life. And a powerful one, at that. The staff killed the assassin in less than a minute. Cicero breathed out one last time, a look of peace dawning on his face, and then went still.

"Hmm." Stoker looked at his staff with interest. "I'm more of an illusionist, but it gladdens me to know my little friend here is capable of defense, regardless of the destruction skill of the user."

Teldryn's back slid down the front of the bar until he was sitting on the floor. Damn, I'm exhausted. That fool was quicker than any I'd fought in years. And Cicero would have killed him, Teldryn had no doubt, if not for Stoker's intervention.

"Very interesting," Teldryn wearily agreed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the jester dead against the wall, warm blood still spreading around him. Warm, fresh mortal blood. Feed, demanded the beast inside, and Teldryn wasn't sure he could deny it for long. I'm so weak, and so thirsty.

"Ah." Stoker said, walking to Teldryn and kneeling down to speak. "I'd noticed your affliction earlier, but didn't want to be rude by mentioning it in front of the barkeep. Just as I must have a slice of pie to feel ready for the day's trials, so must you have a drink of blood every now and then. I'm afraid I can't provide any of my own, but our murderous friend here probably wouldn't lodge any complaints. I'll leave you to it."

The Emissary straightened and made his way towards the door, his staff at the ready.

Focus, you fool! Teldryn's Dunmer soul hissed. He's getting away, probably so he can shove a knife in your friend's heart again. Stop sitting there and kill the fetcher!

"Where are you going?" Teldryn asked. "It sounds awfully dangerous out there. You ought to stay inside with me and rest." He had no chance of taking anyone down in this state, but maybe he could provide a distraction.

But Stoker didn't look back. "I'd thought this particular breed of assassin exterminated during the Great War, but it appears some of them survived." He pushed the door open, and the cacophony of battle filled the tavern. "They might have continued to exist yet, had they not interfered in my business. That was a grave mistake. I'm going to erase the Dark Brotherhood from history." Stoker stepped through, his staff already pointing towards some target, and the door slammed shut behind him.

No. No! There wasn't a moment to waste. Teldryn forced himself to his feet, his blood-starved muscles groaning in pain. Then he stumbled towards Cicero's body. He nearly fell on the corpse in his eagerness to feed, and once his teeth found the jester's neck, Teldryn's world became bliss. So warm and pure. Whatever Cicero's faults, he had apparently not lived a life of debauchery. Teldryn had read in the Volkihar library that frequent drinkers or abusers of skooma had blood that tasted sour and possibly transferred the victim's addictions to the feeding vampire. But Cicero's blood was almost perfect, and Teldryn drank for longer than he intended. Ten minutes must have passed before he finally managed to tear his mouth from the assassin's neck. The pleasure faded, and he felt shame and disgust. But there was no time for that, either. Teldryn grabbed his shortsword from the ground before kicking open the door to the tavern and rushing out.

Sheogorath's madness. Many bodies, both dead and dying, littered the once peaceful village of Darkwater Crossing, but it appeared the battle wasn't over yet. Two crimson cloaked figures rushed out into the open, daggers drawn, and a flurry of golden arrows tore them down in seconds. Three elven archers ran in from the direction of the mine, Stoker close behind them. He was wearing leather armor now, and his staff pulsed with barely contained energy.

Teldryn ducked behind a barrel. Even at full power, he was no match for multiple ranged opponents at such a distance. The elves marched brazenly into the center of the village, apparently unafraid. The moans of the dying heralded their approach.

"Assassins of the Dark Brotherhood!" Stoker called, his deep voice cutting through the air. "You've brought ruin to this village with your treachery, and good lives have been thrown away without cause. This blood is on your hands, not mine. Despite this, I will still accept your surrender if you come out into the open."

Teldryn saw frightened villagers cowering behind a nearby wood pile, and waved at them in a manner he hoped was reassuring.

There was a rustling near the grasses of the river, and two figures stood up. Even from afar, Teldryn could see them quite clearly in the morning light. N'wahs might finally get what they deserve. Nazir and Babette walked almost casually towards the elves, their arms outstretched to show they were unarmed. Where in Oblivion is Runa?

"Stop!" Stoker ordered. The assassins halted, their arms going down slowly. Too slowly. Stoker must have realized what was happening, but too late. He was just beginning to turn when Nazir's hidden crossbow fired. The bolt flew faster than any arrow, and the murderer's aim was true.

Nazir's projectile struck the orb at the end of Stoker's staff, and by all rights should have shattered the weapon into a thousand pieces of deadly shrapnel. But Teldryn watched the piercing bolt ricochet off the orb, all its momentum halted in a second. The bolt bounced to the ground. By Azura, what's that staff made of? Dragonbone?

Stoker wasted no time. A second after the failed attack, he raised his staff towards the assassins. A stream of energy shot out and ensnared Babette, raising her small body into the air. There was absolute silence in the village now; the dying had become the dead, and the survivors watched with horror and amazement.

"Let her go!" Nazir snarled. "You've made your point. We give up!"

Stoker said nothing, his countenance grim as he manipulated the staff. The vampire child's body writhed in the air, twisting in unnatural ways. Unlike Cicero, she had no life to drain, so what served as her soul was collapsing in on itself. Babette cried out at first in her child's voice, so light and innocent, and it tore at Teldryn's heart how similar she sounded to Runa. But then Stoker intensified the torment, tightening his grip on the staff, and the small vampire let forth her true tone. It began to sound as if a horrible, shrieking animal was trapped inside the child. Is that what's inside me, as well? Even the roar of a dragon had some dignity in it, a layer of pride that was almost mortal. Babette had become nothing more than a screeching monster, black ichor leaking from her glowing yellow eyes. And the eyes were the worst. Like two scorching holes punched into the face of a little girl. Whatever mask of mortality Babette had put on to hide what she was had long since fallen away. Even Nazir could only stare in shock at what his companion was becoming.

Babette shrieked and howled, the sounds layering over each other to become the death knell of some beast that had crawled to their world from the deepest and blackest plane of Oblivion. Teldryn wanted it to stop before the screams were forever burned into his memory. Though it might be too late for that, now. Stoker continued until he was satisfied, until Babette's skin had turned nearly gray and it had pulled all its hair out by the roots. Teldryn didn't think of it as a she any longer. Will I become like that, in ten years or a hundred? A beast of no gender or morality, hiding inside the skin of a man once named Teldryn Sero? Finally, Babette's screams died to a low wail. Stoker raised his staff, moving the broken vampire higher into the air, and then jerked his arm to the side. Babette was wrenched through the air like a discarded toy, falling somewhere out of eyesight.

"Hmm." Stoker said. "That was certainly a fascinating test. Though it seems to have drained the Staff of Magnus to unacceptable levels. Archers, finish the last one off for me, please."

Nazir spat in their direction. The elves raised their bows and knocked arrows. And then the Dragonborn stepped out from behind a miner's shack, directly in their path.

The archers lowered their bows.

Stoker and Jax watched each other for a long while, the contents of their exchanged expressions out of Teldryn's view. He guessed there had to be some level of shock on Stoker's part, at the least. Jax was wearing only leather armor and equipped with a rusty steel greatsword from Dragon Bridge, but to Teldryn he would look like the savior of Skyrim had he come naked to the battlefield.

"Who brought you back?" Stoker finally broke the silence. "Auriel, or Akatosh as you call him? One of the Daedra? You can't be this blind, Amaton. Surely you see what's going on. They're willing to break their own rules in order to keep this facade going. If I managed to end this world and raise us to their level, their fun would be over. We would be equals, and that is unacceptable to them."

"This world is not yours to end," Jax called back. "That honor belongs to Alduin the World-Eater upon his return, long after both our bones have turned to dust."

Stoker shook his head. "If we leave it up to the gods, we'll always be slaves. They'll never willingly raise us up, and you're a naive fool if you think otherwise. Alduin will merely restart the world. In the next iteration, the powers of Magnus will surely be taken from us. I'm sorry, Dragonborn, but this is our only chance to break the cycle."

Jax drew his greatsword, the rasp of metal a beautiful sound to Teldryn. "I'm not going to kill you, First Emissary, but I can't let you continue on this path."

"If only you'd adopted that policy before massacring nearly every Thalmor agent you came across in your travels. Most of the Bosmer and Khajiit were forced to be there, you know. But I'm sure you had good reason for cleaving them in half with your greatsword, all for their crime of cooking biscuits for their Altmer masters." Stoker made a come-hither gesture with his off-hand, and from the direction of the mine two figures stepped into the daylight. A Thalmor soldier, his elven sword drawn, and a young girl with golden hair.

Runa. Teldryn began to leave his hiding place, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Serana was crouched next to him, her brow creased in concentration.

"Wait," She whispered. "Jax said we would know the right moment to strike. That moment isn't now, I don't think."

He was glad to have Serana by his side again, though his every instinct told him to run forward and kill the elf who was pushing Runa forward with a sword at her neck. I will trust Jax, as always. Hopefully this time, it won't end in his death.

"Let her go," Jax demanded. "She has nothing to do with this. Face me, one elf against another, and whoever wins can decide the fate of this world."

Stoker chuckled. "I'm no moron. I'd hoped you'd learned that when I killed you the first time, after my men and my dragon had nearly torn you to pieces. You would defeat me in ten seconds, and I'm not willing to risk all that I've achieved on my skills with a dagger." He stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I'd ask to to drop your sword, but we both knew its the least of your weapons. So I'll ask you to fall on it instead, or watch your daughter slowly die."

Jax sighed, and brought his weapon forward, turning it around so the point was facing up. Serana's hand tightened on his shoulder, and Teldryn knew the moment of action was fast approaching.

The Dragonborn looked up at Stoker, the edge of his own greatsword at his neck.

"Fall forward, and die. I'll let your daughter go. Please try to stay dead this time." Stoker smiled.

Jax smiled with him, and opened his mouth.

"TIID KLO UL!"

Time slowed to nearly a standstill, but Teldryn and Serana were already moving and firing spells. Experienced at moving in the slowed world, they were halfway to Runa before the corners of Stoker's lips had fallen. Jax, nearly unaffected by the Shout, brought his greatsword up and launched it forward with almost unimaginable power. Though Teldryn felt as if he were moving through jelly, the weapon flew through the air like a speeding javelin. It soared toward Stoker, who was only now raising his staff an inch at a time. The soldier holding Runa was quicker, and his sword was already raised for the killing blow. The blade fell towards her, slow and certain, but too slow. He had reacted a few seconds later than Serana, and so her ice spear tore his arm off just as time resumed with a tearing orchestra of sound. A millisecond later, Teldryn's fireball hit his falling sword and sent it flying, and the Dragonborn's greatsword had a similar impact on Stoker's staff.

Everything seemed to happen in an instant. Teldryn scooped Runa into his arms, turning from the dying soldier, and ran for the mine. Serana was at his heels, firing ice spikes back towards the reacting archers. Teldryn turned his head as he sprinted, and watched Stoker lunge for his fallen staff. Jax moved to intercept, too late. The Emissary's long fingers grasped the staff just as Teldryn made it to the entrance.

He set Runa down behind the smelter, and Serana joined them a second later. They didn't have a chance to speak before a ball of light shot into the sky, flying high above the village and shimmering river to the height of the mountains. Stoker lowered his apparently drained staff just as the Dragonborn reached him. The elven archers were dead, thanks to Serana, so the two stood alone.

"What have you done?" Jax reached for the staff, but Stoker drew back and pulled a dagger from his sleeve. "The mysteries of Magnus were not meant for us to meddle with. I'm not much of a mage, but even I know that, Stoker."

"A long time ago, people said the same thing about the power of the Voice. And yet, here you stand, despite my best efforts." Stoker started to move steadily backward from Jax, his dagger raised in warning. "Besides, it was no grand spell that I just shot into the sky. Merely a Candlelight charm, taught to Apprentice mages across Tamriel."

A sound Teldryn had not heard in a comfortably long while shuddered through the sky. The villagers that had hidden from the Thalmor now ran frantically for the mine, screaming and crying. A moment later, a second voice joined the first, distinctly different and no less terrifying.

"Teldryn." Runa said, rising from her crouch to look up at the sky. "Sounds like dragons. Two of them. You better get out there." He thought it so wonderful to hear her voice again.

For months Teldryn had been dealing with vampires, assassins, giant Argonians, and many other strange and altogether unpleasant creatures. But he'd been fighting dragons for five years, and welcomed the return to form. Especially with the Dragonborn fighting at my side.

"I'll get right on it, sera." He rose to his feet and pulled Runa into a hug, rubbing a hand through her golden locks. "Are you alright? Those murderers didn't harm you?"

"No. I think I was asleep most of the time." She looked up at him, concerned. "But you sure look different. Are you sick?"

"I'm just fine." Don't have time for that conversation right now. "Stay with Serana. I'm going to help your father." He looked towards the village center. Stoker had disappeared, and Jax had grabbed the greatsword from the ground. Over the trees, two monstrous shapes were soaring towards Darkwater Crossing.

"Wait!" Serana stepped close to him, to whisper in his ear. "You're much more vulnerable to fire now, so you'd better be careful if you don't want to end up ashes fertilizing someone's garden. And I'm coming with you."

He sighed, pulling her closer. Their cheeks touched, cool against cool. "We can't leave Runa alone. Besides, I've fought more dragons than you."

She moved her mouth even closer to his pointy ear. "Try really hard not to die." And with that, she pushed him towards the Dragonborn. Teldryn jogged up to his kinsman.

"I sincerely hope your newfound distaste for killing doesn't extend to our fast approaching winged friends." Teldryn said, drawing his shortsword.

Jax replied, "No." He watched the sky with almost disinterest.

"Are you going to call your crimson pet to help?"

The Dragonborn considered, drumming his fingers against the hilt of his greatsword. "Nope. Won't need him."

"Marvelous." The dragons roared again, having spotted the village and their supposed prey. They swept down towards the two Dunmer. The trees shuddered and their leaves fell like snowflakes, and the river churned and frothed at the beating of giant wings. The miner's tents were torn from the ground. Teldryn almost pitied the beasts, knowing their certain fate.

"I'll take the big one," Jax said. "You keep the other busy. Summon an atronach, if you have to."

"I think I'll handle the specifics, Amaton. I don't tell you how to eat dragon souls." Teldryn threw back his hood, his quenched thirst making the sunlight only a mild annoyance. He started to gather magicka in his off-hand.

"Right. Sorry." The Dragonborn replied. "It's been a while, hasn't it?"

"All too true. But it's like riding a guar; once you learn, you never forget."

Jax smiled. "Let's get to work." They raised their swords, partners once more, and as the dragons fell on them Teldryn realized his heart had never felt lighter.

Chapter Text

As the sun broke over the treeline and bathed their campsite in golden light, Ulfric sat on a tree stump in front of the campfire and remembered Frea. He forced himself not to glance at the tents, expecting her to emerge wearing her Nordic armor with an innocent smile on her face. She had been so pure, so courageous, so unlike me. And she'd been so young. At her worst, she was better than I've ever been or will be. And yet, she'd died cold and in pain in some nameless cave, while he continued existing. At least Rikke and Galmar had died fighting, in the second war of their lives. There were so many things he was sure Frea had never done, and would now never get to do. And why? Why did she consider her life to be worth less than mine?

"Pathetic." Tullius said, ambling out of his nearby tent. He stretched like an old war hound, waving a hand of irritation at the morning rays. "The Skaal girl didn't give her life so you could become even more of a brooding old man. Cook up some sausages or get out of my sight. You look so damn depressing sitting there."

"I think today is the day, general." Ulfric reached into his pack and grabbed the meat. "If we ride hard, we can reach Ivarstead by midnight. After that, it will be a matter of seven thousand steps."

"Don't remind me." Tullius walked groggily from tent to tent, waking his men. "By the time we reach the top, all the elves will have to do is watch us fall over and die. You do know this plan of yours is hopeless, don't you?"

Ulfric nodded almost imperceptibly, carefully cooking the sausages. "It's the only way. They're holding the Staff at the Throat of the World, and destroying the Staff will remove their ability to obliterate Skyrim's cities whenever they wish. We can't hide in the woods forever. Eventually, a passing dragon or scout will see us and report on our position before we move. The ground will vanish beneath our feet."

"Yes, yes." Tullius' knees creaked as he sat down opposite Ulfric and snagged a sausage. "You told me all this in Windhelm, and I was glad to leave your wretched city behind. At least we're out of the snows now."

"At least." They ate in silence, a few of the legionnaires joining them. Some of the others began to run their morning drills, jogging in place or practicing archery. Ulfric was comforted by the sight, remembering his own days in the Legion so long ago. His life had been so simple back then, with Rikke and Galmar beside him. They had done what they were told; the enemy had fought them in the open, sword against sword. Then Ulfric had been captured, and in the cruel hands of the Thalmor agent Elenwen his mind and his world had been forever changed.

Sitting in the Imperial campsite, he could at least take solace in the knowledge his thoughts and actions were now entirely his own. No Dominion agent dictated his movements, nor did any Legion superior tell him where to go and who to kill. Now, not even Frea could push him one way or another. And yet his memories of her, her voice still in his head, was so startlingly clear. After what Frea did for me, acting against her example would be wrong. No, worse than wrong; it would be a betrayal of all she was.

Maybe that's what your dead friends became, Ulfric realized. Voices in your head, fragments of the individuals they had been, urging you towards the right path. His own voice had made so many wrong choices. Galmar had been a true warrior and a worthy companion, but together they had caused so much death and destruction. Rikke and Frea, those were the friends he had to keep close to his heart. The former had died by his own hand, but when Ulfric's mind turned to her now there was nothing but love and regret. I wonder if they're speaking to each other in Sovngarde, even as I mourn them. I hope Frea found her mother. When my time comes, when I stand before Tsun at the bone bridge, will the doors to the Hall of Valor open? He could not hope for that. All I can do is live the rest of my life as Frea would have lived hers, and accept my final judgment when it comes.

After finishing breakfast, they broke down their tents and loaded all their gear on to the horses. Ulfric and a few others scattered dirt and leaves on the campsite to hide any trace they had been there. Though they'd seen no sign of the Dominion since taking back Windhelm, it couldn't hurt to be careful. If the elves did attack, they wouldn't be sending advance notice.

The closer their party got to Ivarstead, the more impassable the terrain became. The horses simply couldn't handle the rocky slopes and raging rivers, so they were forced to expose themselves on the roads. This was a unique area of Skyrim: the intersection of Eastmarch, the Rift, and Whiterun Hold. A combination of environments wholly unsuited for warfare. The Thalmor had chosen their fortress well. Of the band legionnaires riding behind him, Ulfric had little hope more than a few would survive to the end. As far as Tullius went, Ulfric was less certain.

"Tell me, general." Ulfric spoke, breaking a long period where the only sound had been the steady beating of hooves and the afternoon wind off the trees. "Why'd you return to Skyrim? You'd more than done your duty to the Empire."

"I'm no general anymore," Tullius replied, not looking at Ulfric. "And I never left your freezing wasteland of a country. I was living in a cozy little manor some distance from Riften. My retirement gift, for toppling the Stormcloak rebellion and supposedly killing their leader."

"Sounds like a fine place to reflect on times past."

"A fine place to get fat and lazy, you mean." Tullius pressed his lips together. "I was making too much noise back in Cyrodiil. I wanted us moving against the Dominion, yesterday. I knew if we let them strike the first blow, it could very well mean the end of the Empire entirely. Even so, I never thought it would come to this. I was still thinking like a soldier. I was a damned fool."

"None could have predicted what happened that night." Ulfric stared at the mountain before them, remembering the battle at High Hrothgar between the Greybeards and the Thalmor. He would always wonder if he could have won the fight, had he been fighting beside Arngeir instead of freezing in a pile of snow. That seems so long ago, now. "Even the Dragonborn and the Blades were caught unaware, and they fought the Dominion more fiercely than any."

Tullius snorted. "The Blades were half a hundred poorly trained vagabonds who knew a few tricks for killing dragons. And as much as Amaton helped against you and your rebels, he was still one man and he was caught by surprise. At the end of the war, I still had thousands of hardened legionnaires at my command. Now those men are guarding the borders of Cyrodiil while the Empire falls around them. I should have turned them over to Elisif, or pointed them towards Alinor and wiped out the Dominion once and for all."

Ulfric pulled on his horse's reigns, leading the beast around a twist in the road. They would be passing through Darkwater Crossing soon, where they might be able to resupply and prepare for the final ride to Ivarstead.

"That kind of talk is pointless now," he replied to Tullius. "And you still haven't answered my question."

Tullius spat. "You really want to know why I'm wasting the last years of my life riding next to an utter failure, leading a band of old men to their deaths? It's because the elves tried to kill me, too. They sent one agent to stab me in my home. As it happens, I was doing some garden work. The damned idiot smashed through my back door and ran at me with a sword, screaming about elven supremacy. I thought I was dreaming at first, it was so poorly done. I killed him with my shovel. For a long while, I stared at the broken door. Instead of fixing it, I decided to hit back at the bastards who thought me so old and feeble they could send a single Justiciary reject to kill me among my own cabbages."

"As worthy a reason as any." Ulfric smiled. The expression was strange and unfamiliar. "Maybe I can help you repair your door, after all of this is over."

"I don't think so, Stormcloak." Tullius spurred his horse forward, and turned to look at the Darkwater river churning beside the road. "Even if we don't die on that mountain, there are principles a man has to hold sacred. One of mine is you don't invite the exiled leader of a rebellion that killed countless thousands into your house. A strange ideal, I know, but it's one I hold close to my heart."

"Fair enough, general. I hold no such grudges. You're welcome to visit High Hrothgar."

Tullius chuckled darkly. "You really expect me to believe if you survive our little meeting with this golden dragon, you're going to hang up your sword and go back to praying at the sky? I'm no longer the fool who let Amaton spare you. Try not to patronize me."

Ulfric inclined his head. "Believe what you wish. I know what my future holds, and what it can never hold again. I'm weary of this road, Tullius. I've weary of standing over my dead friends and wondering why I'm not with them."

The talk died down, and they continued quietly down the river road. The legionnaires were the picture of discipline, and kept a close watch on the dark forest as well as the sky above them. Doubtless they recalled all too well what had happened to Elisif and her army at Labyrinthian, recounted to them by the crazed elf outside Winterhold. Ulfric would not soon forget. Though it was difficult to hold dark thoughts on such a lovely morning. Their horses trotted across mossy cobblestones, and crimson flowers sprouted between the rocks. The forest grass was a rich stretch of verdant, a paladin of life even in the early days of winter. Insects buzzed around the boundaries of the forest and the river, ignorant of Skyrim's troubles as they went about their business.

He wondered if Frea had ever walked this road, if the towering trees they passed had felt the attention of her kind and curious eyes. She must have seen more of Tamriel than any Skaal ever had, even at her young age. Is this how the gods reward the best among us? If she'd just stayed in her little village, Frea would still be alive. And yet this meant he would certainly be dead. Maybe his body would be rotting outside Pinewatch, where she had saved him from countless bandits. Or in the prison camp at Rorikstead, where he had intended to fall fighting the Thalmor. So now Ulfric was faced with another question. Why did she die so I could live? The measure of his worth and the potential of the rest of his days seemed a pittance compared to the wondrous experiences Frea could have had.

"Halt!" Tullius barked, and their small company came to a stop. Ulfric ceased his contemplations and beheld the strange sight before them.

A hooded figure knelt on the road, searching the corpse of a young child. The poor girl had obviously died in pain. Even from horseback, Ulfric could see the anguish in her still features. The figure ignored them completely as it slipped a bottle of some kind from the child's clothes into a fold of its cloak.

"Name yourself," Tullius commanded, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The figure looked up. A male Dark Elf, pale faced and black of hair, with crimson eyes that passed over the horsemen without interest or regard until they reached Ulfric.

"You seem to be in an awkward position." Tullius said, his lips thinning. "Best start explaining how you came to be robbing this dead child, and fast."

"Wasn't a child," The elf rasped, his gaze still on Ulfric. "Hadn't been a child for hundreds of years, or so I've been told."

"I don't like riddles." Tullius snapped.

"Nor do I. They generally lead to a lot of drinking and headaches on my part. What I mean to say is, this creature was a bloodsucker of the lowest sort."

"Vampirism," Ulfric spoke up. "A convenient affliction. Especially given we can't tell the difference between a farmer's rotting daughter and the monster you claim her to be without a mage who knows what to look for."

"That does seem to be a problem," The elf agreed. "Fortunately, not my problem. What I would like to know is how you happened to acquire that chitin helmet strapped to your horse."

Ulfric frowned. "A close ally fell in battle. I took the helmet to honor his memory, and remember his sacrifice."

The strange figure stood up, wiping his bloody hands on his cloak with apparent distaste. Then he crossed his arms. "It's poor manners to lie to someone in your first minutes of meeting them, old man. That's my helmet. It was crafted for me by one of Morrowind's finest armorsmiths, Grendis Rolovo. I recognize the scratch above the left eyepiece."

Ulfric didn't let his eyes leave the elf. "This helm belonged to Ambarys Rendar."

The elf inhaled quickly through his teeth and took a step backward. He moved so fluidly that for a moment Ulfric lost track of him. I wonder how quickly this one could have a dagger to my neck.

"Ambarys Rendar was a friend of mine," The elf said, his fists clenched. "And he loathed Nords. He certainly would never have given my helmet to one. Was his body still warm when you ripped it off him, you wretched bastard?"

Tullius sighed in irritation. "Settle down, stranger. I don't dispute Ulfric is indeed a bastard, and a wretched one at that, but Rendar found his end at the edge of another Nord's axe. I witnessed it myself."

The elf scoffed, looking past them to the gathered horsemen. "And who are you people, that I should take your word as law? I left that helmet in a city festering with Thalmor, and I know they aren't above using human agents to reach their goals. I'll die fighting before I end up in an Aldmeri torture chamber."

Enough with this verbal foreplay. "I'm Ulfric Stormcloak, and this is General Tullius, the former military governor of the province. We're traveling to the Throat of the World to destroy the Eye of Magnus and kill the dragon that immolated the High Queen and her army of thousands. You're one unarmored elf in our way, and there are thirty hardened soldiers at my back. However fast you believe you are, you won't be fast enough. Step aside, or end up like the child crumpled at your feet."

Before the elf could respond, approaching hoofbeats heralded the arrival of a rider from around the bend. Ulfric drew his sword, and Tullius and his men followed suit. The cacophony of rasping metal was a harsh contrast to the buzzing insects and chirping birds still concerned with the activities of morning. The cloaked elf didn't turn.

A dark horse rounded the bend, Jaxius Amaton sitting astride it. Ulfric nearly dropped his blade. I saw the ruins of Lakeview Manor. No man or elf could have survived that carnage unscathed. He tightened his grip on his sword hilt, and pointed the end towards the approaching rider.

The Dragonborn's horse slowed to a trot directly in front of them, blocking the strange elf. The mount was an unnatural shade of black, more devoid of light than even the darkest night sky Ulfric had witnessed. But that was nothing compared to its eyes. They were bright crimson, bringing to mind freshly spilled blood, and glowed with a light that seemed to drain what little happiness was left in the world. Nothing right can come sitting on a beast like this.

"Ulfric," Amaton said. His hands rested gently on the neck of his horse, but Ulfric didn't lower his blade. The Dragonborn wore only a thin leather doublet and cloak, and had no visible weapon. He was thinner than Ulfric remembered. "I recall leaving you on top of quite a sizable mountain. I recall telling you that if you left that mountain, I'd kill you and destroy Windhelm."

Tullius gaped at Amaton, his brow furrowed. Seeing the general wasn't going to provide intelligent conversation any time soon, Ulfric saw no other choice but to respond to this impossible ghost. He lowered his sword, but did not sheath it.

"The Dominion came to my mountain," Ulfric responded. "And to my city. As they came to your manor, and reduced it to a pile of burning rubble. There, you died. Any oath I made to Jaxius Amaton died there as well. Whoever you are, you've no right to his vengeance."

"A fair point," Amaton conceded. "Though I fell at Lakeview, I've now returned. I'm willing to put our past differences aside, if you are."

Ulfric shook his head. "I don't make pacts with the undead. Whether you're a lich, a ghost, or some other unnatural form of life is no concern of mine. No being has ever returned from death without a price attached. What have you done, if you are the one you claim to be? How many had to die so you could stand here before us?"

"Countless thousands," Amaton replied, his eyes far away. "But only my closest friends had to suffer in their journey to rescue me from the Soul Cairn. None had a true claim on my soul but Akatosh, and he isn't yet ready for me to join him. A dark force aspires to guide my movements, but none can control my fate now that I've returned from the land of the dead. Please close your mouth, Tullius. I'm truly here, and I'm not going away."

The general blinked slowly. "Oblivion take me. I'd thought the gods had finally given up on Skyrim, seeing as how the country faces the threat of destruction on an almost yearly basis. Is this how it's going to be, now? You die, and they sent you back to die again?"

Amaton shook his head, his eyes clouded. "My soul is dovah, and dragons have always been able to return to life when the right forces act upon them. We all witnessed that during Alduin's return. But like the dov, I can be killed permanently. I've no doubt our adversary is already working towards figuring out how."

"Don't speak so quickly of our adversary," Ulfric warned. "Does it not seem awfully convenient, Tullius, that we came upon this supposed resurrected hero on our way to strike the final blow against the Thalmor? The elves have powers beyond our darkest imagining, and treachery is the oldest tool in their arsenal. Perhaps this is nothing more than an illusion."

Tullius sighed, waving away a butterfly that flew too close to his face. "The last time I sat on this saddle, I was riding beside Amaton as we conquered Windhelm. I was an old man then, and damned weary of war, but I was at least secure in the knowledge Ulfric Stormcloak would no longer be manipulating citizens of the Empire into massacring each other. You're asking me to trust your historically unreliable sense of intuition over the word of the Dragonborn, and that's not really a choice at all."

Old fool. Can't he see that's exactly what the Thalmor expect from him? "Then you'll die in your sleep, with an elven dagger in your back." Ulfric tightened the reins on his horse, preparing to leave. "I, at least, will take some with me before I fall."

"Good riddance," muttered Amaton's cloaked companion, watching with unfriendly eyes.

"Wait." Amaton held out a hand. "There's a reason I found you in the company of General Tullius, six years after he failed to execute you. Even the broken Ulfric Stormcloak I banished to High Hrothgar would have cut his old enemy down without a second's hesitation."

Ulfric said nothing. What is this phantom playing at? Behind the surface of his mind, he already knew, but refused to confront it.

"Something has changed you," the Dragonborn continued, his brow raised. "Or possibly, someone?"

"No more words will pass between us." Ulfric replied coldly. "Both of us have paid for our mistakes. We owe nothing to each other. Goodbye, Dragonborn."

Tullius growled, "By my reckoning, you haven't paid nearly enough. Tell him about the girl, or I will."

"Damn you, Tullius. Damn you to Oblivion." Ulfric let the reigns slacken between his fingers, and hung his head.

"What girl?" Amaton asked. Even his cloaked friend cocked his head in interest.

"Frea, of the Skaal." Ulfric said, absently rubbing the leather of the reigns. "A braver warrior than either of us. She led me to the path I walk, and met a fate much crueler than she deserved."

For a long time, silence reigned on the sunny road. A rabbit peeked out from behind a snowberry bush, beheld the gathered men, and scurried away. Far above them, in the trees, squirrels ran from branch to branch on unknowable quests. The air was crisp and cool, heralding the approach of a chill that had not yet touched this part of Skyrim. It bit at Ulfric's exposed skin and he thought of death.

"Frea." Amaton said. "I think I remember her from Solstheim. She was the chief of her tribe, wasn't she?"

Ulfric replied, "The shaman. Are your memories of her so indistinct? Was she nothing more than a tool you used to accomplish your goals, an atronach of flesh and blood? Is that all any of us are to you?"

The Dragonborn shifted in his saddle, and for the first time let his eyes fall from Ulfric and the gathered riders. And then he spoke for a long while. "When I first realized my power in the plains of Whiterun, a beast awoke inside me. In my inner thoughts, I call it my dragon, but it's my soul. A prideful, powerful, and furious soul. His only desires are to dominate and destroy. What he loves most of all, though, is killing. I say, 'he', but of course I mean 'I.' In the burning ruins of the Western Watchtower, the urge to take life overcame me like a storm. I saw the bruised and battered Whiterun guards, and thought of how small and weak they were, and how easily I could cut them down. I almost did. My body shook with loathing for them. The guards thought I was afraid, offered some reassuring praises. How little they knew. How little you all know. An inhuman part of me looks at your too-thin armor, your too-slow weapons, and the stupid and vulnerable beasts you ride on, and wants nothing more than to show you how lesser you are. I could take Skyrim, even now. Toss my friends aside, call the dragons to my back. Destroy anyone who dares to stand against us. Seize the crown by force, and rule as the last Dragonborn victorious. The golden dragon would be no match for our combined forces, and no sinkings would halt my onslaught. Dragons don't need cities, Ulfric, and I hope you're coming to see now that I've always been more dov than joor."

Tullius exchanged a stunned glance with Ulfric, but neither Nord dared speak a word. The Dragonborn's companion chuckled awkwardly.

Amaton cleared his throat. "Yes, I remember Frea. But we fought together years ago, and only a few times. On Solstheim I met my friend Teldryn Sero, who stands beside me now, and his presence in my life thereafter overshadowed the memory of the Skaal woman. I never saw her again. That was perhaps a mistake. I'm happy to know she recalled me so fondly. Are you satisfied with my answer?"

Ulfric nodded. That is the best I'm going to get from this one. Frea would be pleased to see us speaking together in peace, if nothing else.

Teldryn spoke, "I don't know about the rest of you, but I've grown quite tired of standing in the road and watching two miserable people talk at each other. We're all going to the same place to kill the same dragon, so let's get on with it already." With that, he started off down the road in the direction the Dragonborn had come from.

"Your friend's a damn creepy son of a bitch, but he's not wrong." Tullius waved a hand to the mounted legionnaires. "While we're debating philosophy down here, the elves are deciding which city they'll send to Oblivion next. If this is a trick, then consider me fooled. There'll be plenty of time to prattle on afterwards. Or, there won't be. Either way, we're leaving." The soldiers followed after Teldryn, the footsteps of their horses sounding like the heartbeat of the forest.

Ulfric hesitated. The Dragonborn watched him steadily, unblinking, as did the demon eyed horse. I didn't come this far to turn back at the precipice. Frea would have sacrificed herself for nothing. Even if Amaton was an illusion of the Thalmor, it wouldn't matter anyway. He had already convinced Tullius and his men to join him, and without the legionnaires Ulfric stood alone. One man couldn't stand against all the forces gathered against Skyrim, unless that man was the Dragonborn. And I have not received such a blessing. Though, from what Amaton had said, the dov blood sounded more like a curse.

"This is where it all began," Amaton said. "On this very road."

"Did you think I'd forgotten?" Ulfric responded. "On that day of our capture by Tullius, our fates were irrevocably linked, Dragonborn. We seem destined to face each other. I wonder at that."

"You wonder if maybe we're meant to fight?" Amaton raised his brow. "That you must die at my hand, in battle, and that your survival in the Palace of the Kings was a mistake?"

"I used to wish I had died next to Galmar, yes." Ulfric finally sheathed his sword, and stretched his cramped hand. "But Frea helped show me other ways. Power, without dominance. Honor, without pride. I've made missteps. The Dominion led me to some of these false paths, but most of the mistakes were my own. I know I can't bring back the dead."

"I murdered the Emperor," The Dragonborn admitted. "And his cousin. And the leader of his personal guard. And that man's son."

By Shor. "Do you jest?" Ulfric asked.

"No." Amaton replied. "I'm trying to tell you that we're all capable of evil. The more power one has, the wider the breadth of possible ruin. An irate chef might poison a village. An upset guard might turn to banditry. The son of a Jarl, pushed to his limits in a lost war, stripped of his god and his freedom, might start a rebellion. I can't absolve you of your past sins, Ulfric. If a band of war widows came across us right now and demanded your head, I would step aside. But I'll never judge you again for what you've done. I know I can't expect the same in return. I killed your friends. I don't regret it."

Ulfric thought on that. He listened to the voices of Rikke and Frea in his head, voices that were quickly losing distinctiveness as they merged into his conscience. He considered the dead, Galmar and all the rest, soldiers that had fallen beside him and before him. He considered that the being asking to fight beside him had killed dragon gods, assassinated monarchs, and returned from death all in the last decade.

"Very well," Ulfric said. For Frea. He rode his horse past the Dragonborn, not letting his eyes stray from the path ahead. After a moment he heard the demon horse begin to follow. They continued down the road to Darkwater Crossing with silence and more between them.

Author's Note: Okay, well, I lied, it's going to be a few more. Because who on Nirn has the time or patience to read or write a 12,000 word chapter? Not this guy. 

Chapter Text

"Come on," Glarynil barked. "You're all so painfully slow."

Elisif glared at him through the falling snowflakes as she helped Jarl Ravencrone down the rocky incline. They were over halfway down the path from High Hrothgar now towards Ivarstead, and with every step her loathing for the Thalmor traitor leading them had grown.

"Not all of us are accustomed to such arduous treks, elf." Brunwulf, her strong and steadfast supporter, assisted Jarl Kraldar in stepping down. "I'm surprised you're faring so well."

"My fear of being burned alive by dragonfire is a strong motivator." Glarynil pulled his fur hood tighter around his face and hurried down the path, so the Jarls had to hurry to keep up. "And keep in mind that's a merciful execution in Stoker's view. For you scurrying cowards, he would think up something far more creative."

Elisif couldn't bear it any longer. This submortal wretch had murdered Jarl Merillis only days before, and he had the nerve to speak in front of them of 'merciful execution', as if such a thing existed. Did Siddgeir consider it a mercy when I plunged my sword through his breastbone? If traitorous scum had warranted such a clean death at her hands, than this monster deserved no such treatment.

"Wait," She called out. He stopped moving and began to turn, so the dagger Elisif slid into his back pierced lung instead of heart. The elf staggered forward, his mouth open in a silent scream. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brunwulf and the other Jarls step back. Glarynil fell to the snow, gasping and coughing, and the ground turned red around him. The Thalmor soldier on the road from Solitude. Jarl Siddgeir. It gets easier every time.

"Elisif." Brunwulf's voice was strange. She had never heard that tone from him before. "That was unworthy of you. Even Ulfric Stormcloak looked his enemies in the face before cutting them down."

She turned her head. "Never compare me to that man again, Jarl Free-Winter, or you'll discover just how unworthy I can be. This is not a council meeting. I am your High Queen, and my actions and words are the will of Skyrim. You've seen what happens to those that turn against me. Hrongar and the rest will face Stoker's retribution because they chose doubt over loyalty."

Torygg let Ulfric rise against him, and paid for it in blood. I have to be wiser than he ever was. She trudged past Glarynil's shuddering body, and after a moment heard the Jarls trailing after her. Sheep, that's all they are. If the Dragonborn hadn't rallied to the Empire's cause, we would have lost the war and they would have forsaken me as soon as Ulfric's battering rams arrived at the gates of Solitude.

"What's your plan, my High Queen, once we reach Ivarstead?" Brunwulf asked. "Will we fade into the hills of the Rift like common bandits? I do hope you don't intend to raise a shadow kingdom with three old Jarls and a bloodstained dagger."

"I don't know!" Elisif snapped, with more force than she intended. She wiped the snow from her face and dug her hands deeper into the pockets of her thin fur cloak. "Am I to explain my every step to you? I require your allegiance and your sword arm. Your questions you can keep to yourself."

With that, their descent down the mountain path became a much quieter affair. The wind blew as fiercely as dragon's breath, and brought up the snow in its wake, muffling the nobles so occasionally Elisif had to look behind her to make sure the Jarls still followed. As if they could do anything else. They're unarmed, freezing, stumbling towards uncertain freedom. In my hands I hold these three lives. After leading countless friends and citizens to fire and ruin at Labyrinthian, this smaller burden felt almost comforting. They trust me. They have no other choice.

In all her time imprisoned in High Hrothgar, Elisif had been consumed by thoughts of escape and revenge. Now, with the present dangers gone, with the wide open dawn sky before her, her mind seemed unable to focus. There was nothing left of what had been. The tapestry of her life had been torn to ribbons, the tattered remnants burned to ashes, and the ruin had started long before Stoker of Alinor came to Skyrim. When Torygg first presented her the Amulet of Mara, Elisif had wanted nothing more than to marry him and fill his household with laughter and love. The Empire and the Summerset Isle had been at peace, albeit an uneasy peace, and Skyrim had been whole and strong.

If I flee to Solitude, Stoker will sink the city into the bay. Cyrodiil is my only hope of refuge. The thought of actually fleeing to the bickering bureaucrats of the Imperial City, however, filled her with dread. There was no chance they had forgotten the skirmish in Skyrim's capital, mere days after the Dragonborn's death, when she had sent Bolgeir and his guards against Legate Aldis and the stationed legion men. Though Elisif doubted the Imperials would turn her over to the Dominion, the thought of rotting in a city prison cell while tribunals were formed to decide her fate was little more attractive.

Wherever you go, he will find you. Jax's voice in her head, stern and dark as ever. How dare he think to lecture her, after all of his mistakes had led them to this. Stoker was a monster, but nothing he'd told Elisif about the late Dragonborn had been false. She saw that now, as clearly as the snowflakes falling from the sky. The land of the Nords had, in the end, fallen because of the failings of three men alone. Torygg should never have accepted Ulfric's challenge. None of us in the Blue Palace would have thought any less of him had he summoned the guards immediately and thrown that traitor in the Castle Dour dungeons. As it happened, the soldiers of Solitude had only rushed into action when they heard Elisif's screams. The High King's body had been broken after Ulfric's shout, but it was the stab through his heart that killed him. Her husband's lifeless eyes still haunted her dreams.

"To Oblivion with your honor, Torygg," she said under her breath, trudging through a large snowdrift. The morning sun rose higher in the sky, illuminating the green valleys of Skyrim far below, but their downward trek was as frigid as ever. Elisif shuddered, flexed her numb hands to make sure she still could, and glanced back at the Jarls before continuing on.

Ulfric's crimes were obvious and unforgivable, but after all that had happened in the last few months she now realized an atrocity that had previously gone unnoticed. The Jarl of Windhelm had started a war he couldn't win without years of bloodshed and ruin. He could have at least had the forethought to take Solitude by storm after murdering Torygg, ending the conflict quickly. But no. He had to fight the Civil War the Nord way: slowly, painfully, honorably. Skyrim's dead filled the halls of Sovngarde, while elven vultures caught scent of the blood spilling from her homeland. Whatever his failings, Ulfric Stormcloak was no fool. He had to have known a second encounter with the Aldmeri Dominion was inevitable, a shattering sequel to the Great War he himself had fought and lost so much in. And yet the rebel had insisted regardless on depleting Skyrim's fighting population, pitting Nord against Nord in the name of a Divine Elisif was sure Ulfric had never given much thought to before pulling his sword out of Torygg's chest.

And then the Dragonborn entered the scene. He was as guilty as all the rest. After saving Skyrim from Alduin and Ulfric Stormcloak, after wiping out all the Thalmor outposts in a futile effort to stop them, what had Jaxius Amaton done with all his power? He built a house in the middle of nowhere, and waited for the Dominion to come knock on the door. With the power his name commanded in Skyrim and the Legion, Jax could have raised an army ten thousand strong. Alinor would have fallen in a matter of weeks, and for centuries the people of Skyrim would have been able to sleep soundly. He killed Ulfric Stormcloak, but dared not take his place. And why? Did the Dragonborn think himself too good for the High Kingship? Elisif would have gladly stepped down in deference to his power, and Jax had to have known that. He knew how young she was, how inexperienced, and he let her lead Skyrim to the end anyway. And then he had left her, as surely and swiftly as Tullius and Torygg. None of them understood the stakes. They could never conceive of an elf like Stoker existing, not in their world of honor and righteousness. That's why they're all dead.

Murmuring darkly, Elisif stumbled down the path, the hand under her cloak squeezing the cold and wet hilt of the dagger.

Nazir reminded Runa of a cat she once knew from her orphan days in Riften. Though the animal had lived on the streets, it ate better than any child at Honorhall, and Runa only had to study its glowing orange gaze for a short while before understanding how. Down in the shadowed tunnels of the city, no rodent could long escape the attention of those sharp and patient eyes. The restrained Brotherhood assassin looked at her in much the same way, his body language almost relaxed. They had tied him to an old stone pillar in a lesser traveled corner of Ivarstead near Shroud Hearth Barrow. Serana had warned her to stay away from the crypt, but Runa no longer feared the ghosts, draugr, and other phantoms of her childhood. Watching Nazir's hands flex experimentally against the binds when he thought he was alone, seeing the methodical way he tested every angle of restraint, was a far more frightening sight than any undead creature. Even still, Runa did not run away. Her father had tied those ropes. They would not break.

"Bye," she said to Nazir, knowing he couldn't respond with the gag in his mouth. Runa felt his eyes on her back as she walked away. She passed the legionnaire on guard. At least the other one of them is dead, now. Though the vampire Babette had kept her unconscious with a steady stream of poisons for most of her time in captivity, Runa would never forget the brief moments of awareness she experienced. The assassins had traveled clad in thick black cloaks, Nazir shouldering the burden of the enchanted cart carrying Runa and her father while Babette scouted ahead, in the shadows. Nazir apparently didn't know the right amounts of poison to give, though, because every few hours Babette would drift back and take care of it. With her father, they took no chances; he was given whole bottles at a time. They were less afraid of her.

"Time for your medicine, sweetie," Babette had cooed, pushing the hair out of Runa's eyes. The sedated child could do little more than stare hatefully. Even at the end of its dosage cycles, the poison left her groggy, unfocused, paralyzed.

"Hmm." Babette ran her cold fingers across Runa's neck. "Such a shame the Altmer has to have you. If you survive our little show in Darkwater, maybe I'll give you a gift." She bared her fangs, sharp points of stark whiteness under the shadow of her hood.

Runa made a desperate sound of pleading, her eyes wide and panicked. Anything but that. Please, da, wake up and kill her please help me please-

Beside her, her father snored unhelpfully.

Babette giggled at the sight of Runa's fear. "Don't cry, I'm only teasing." She held up a potion bottle to the paralyzed girl's lips and let the liquid pour down Runa's throat. "Though it would be nice to have a sister again. All mine burned away, not too long ago."

When Babette had burned away herself, suspended in the air by the Altmer's staff, Runa hadn't tried very hard to find pity for the vampire. She understood the difference between living with such an awful disease, as Serana did, and choosing to become the kind of stalker of the night Babette had been. Even now, days later, when Runa closed her eyes she could still see the twisted and screaming unchild writhing in the open sky, the pale orphan skin that had disguised it melted away. When the nightmares of those days on the road came upon Runa it was that true and ugly vampire that stood bent over her and giggled like a little girl. I'm glad she's dead. She can burn in Oblivion right next to Grelod the Cruel.

She slipped between some farmhouses and nearly collided into another crimson armored legionnaire.

"Sorry," Runa said. The soldier eyed her suspicously. He was old, like many of the other men that had come into Ivarstead led by her father and two other elders. One of them had obviously been the leader of the Imperials, with his shiny golden armor and short haircut. The other elder had been a far more interesting sight; a bear of a man in thick black furs, powerful looking, with long strawberry blond hair going gray at the edges. Even her father, thin as he was now and in dirty leather armor, looked less impressive riding next to the bear man.

"Villagers are to stay inside their houses," The legionnaire said, crossing his arms. "It's too dangerous to be wandering the streets, citizen."

"I'm not a villager," Runa replied. "I'm gonna go see my father at Vilemyrs'." Ivarstead's small inn had become the headquarters of their group, being the only building in town with enough room for more than five people at a time.

A drawling voice broke into their conversation.

"Is there a problem here, friend?" Teldryn asked, ambling up to them from out of nowhere. Though the hood he wore now hid most of his face, Runa could tell from his voice he was smiling.

"Teldryn," Runa grinned, and hugged him. Though they'd seen each other hours before, she'd never take his presence for granted again. 'Specially after what happened to him at that castle.

"Apologies, sir." The soldier straightened and saluted. Teldryn snorted and ushered Runa down the street. She noticed how he was careful to stay on the shaded side of the cobblestones. It hadn't taken long after the battle at Darkwater Crossing for her to figure out what Teldryn had become, after months of traveling with Serana.

When they'd first started walking in Falkreath, all those months ago, ash had been raining from the sky. Teldryn hadn't said anything about it, but she'd known the ash to be the embers of Lakeview Manor and the cindered remains of the burned forest she'd spent her childhood exploring. Now snow was falling on Ivarstead, and though the white flakes were a prettier sight Runa still shuddered at the memories they stirred to the surface of her mind.

"Are we all going to die?" Runa asked.

Teldryn paused for a second before responding. "Everything has to end eventually, sera."

"That's not what I mean." She kicked a rock off the road as they turned a corner. Another legionnaire passed them. "My pa is back, and there's soldiers everywhere. They're arguing and yelling all the time. I know something's about to happen."

"Should know better than to try to keep something from you." Teldryn yawned. "We're all going to traipse up that dreadfully tall mountain quite soon, and make some foolhardy attempt to kill the dragon living on top of it."

"And there's something else up there, an eye or a staff or something? And you have to destroy them too?" Runa inquired, trying to recall the confusing talks at the inn between her father and the two elders.

"That part, I'm a little cloudy on." Teldryn shrugged. "Seems a little over my pay grade. I'll shoot fireballs at the things your father wants to die, and leave all this magical end-of-the-world nonsense to the heroes."

Runa frowned. "You're a hero too. Without you my pa would still be dead. Without you I'd be.."

Teldryn shushed her. They paused in a shadowed corner of the street. "Don't think of such things. What happened was always going to happen. In no plane of existence would I have left you in the hands of those Brotherhood wretches. I'm no hero. I'm an old sellsword, in way over my head. Though I don't think I'll be getting much older, now."

"Dragons breath fire, Teldryn." She tugged on the sleeve of his robe, trying to make him understand how important this was. "You can't go up there with the rest of them. You'll die!"

"Hush, child." Teldryn started walking again, letting her hold on to his sleeve. "I've already died once. There are worse things that can happen to someone."

Before Runa could think up a response, they were at the doors to Vilemyrs. Teldryn gently pushed her inside.

Ulfric looked up from the maps spread across the table. The Dragonborn's child had entered the inn, and now stood watching them. She was a slight, blonde haired girl, and he was sure she had led quite an interesting life, but he hadn't the time to care. Whilst they were fighting for the fate of Skyrim at the Throat of the World, the child would be down here in Ivarstead. Irrelevant. A non-entity. Ulfric let his eyes slide past her to the cloaked figure that had followed her in.

Teldryn Sero. An elf he could put to good use.

"Runa," Amaton called out from his chair. The child ran down the inn, past a sighing Tullius, and hugged him tightly. Ulfric had witnessed a similar event several times now since their little group had come together. At first he had been annoyed with the interruptions, as Tullius was, but now watching Amaton and his child just stirred a small sadness in him. I wonder if I ever could've raised a daughter, had things gone differently. Rikke would have been a wonderful mother. Thoughts like this, strange musings on subjects he had never considered, were becoming all too frequent. He supposed it was natural his mind conduct a reckoning of events at this stage, when mere days or hours remained in his life.

"The words we speak here are not fit for a child's ears," Ulfric said.

The girl looked up at him, eyebrows raised. "I'm not a child."

"We're running out of time, people," Tullius interrupted, his hands clenched on the table. "None of us have a snowball's chance in Oblivion of surviving once the Thalmor recharge their city-sinking staff and decide to point it down the mountain. That is, if they don't decide to send a dragon at us first."

"Stoker will keep Merkoorzaam nearby to protect the Eye of Magnus," Amaton said softly, as Sero walked up to the table. "And the other dragons dare not interfere. The two I bent to my will at Darkwater will have warned them away by now."

"This Shout of domination will not work on the Thalmor's dragon?" Ulfric asked. The very thought of words of power that could overtake a dragon's mind was incredible to him. He was certain the Greybeards and Paarthurnax would have been horrified to learn the Dragonborn had such an ability.

"No." Amaton's eyes fell. "Odahviing and I will keep Merkoorzaam busy while the rest of you engage the Thalmor. If needed, I can summon Durnehviir as well."

"You're too weak," Amaton's sellsword said, agitated. He stared at the Dragonborn from across the long table. "If those dragons at the Crossing had decided you weren't worth listening to, our body parts would've been scattered halfway to Morrowind."

"I'm fine. I kill dragons, Teldryn. I've had a lot of practice at it." Amaton replied, his tone offering no room for complaint.

Sero pressed on. "Maybe the old Jax Amaton could've pulled it off. But you're weaker now, and you don't want to hear that but it's the truth. I saw it in Darkwater, in the minutes before you used that Shout to turn the dragons. You're slower than a pregnant netch."

"I'm the last Dragonborn." Amaton's shoulders slumped. "Only a Dragonborn can kill a dragon, and so only I can kill Merkoorzaam. That's all there is to it, serjo."

"Perhaps I can help you," Ulfric suggested. "Though my mastery of the Thu'um is limited compared to yours, I could at least attract the beast's attention."

"You would get in my way. I'll be riding Odahviing into battle, and even if we had another dragon, he wouldn't accept a human rider."

Tullius spoke up, his arms crossed. "Not to mention, Ulfric, that as much as I'm loathe to admit it I'll be needing you during our ground attack on Hrothgar. No one else here has such intimate knowledge of the monastery's layout."

Ulfric nodded. "I've been thinking on that. Any kind of frontal assault will end in your legionnaires sharing the same fate as the elves that still lie frozen before the steps. Though it's not the Nord way, we'll have to employ subterfuge if we want to make it past the front doors."

"Since following the Nord way lost you the war, I agree." Tullius leaned back in his chair. "But I'm too old to go sneaking around in waist deep snow, and so are most of my soldiers. The Thalmor will hear our knees creaking from leagues away."

"You're not wrong. We're men of the open battlefield, unsuited to stealth tactics. For this part of the plan, I had a different agent in mind." Ulfric directed his gaze to Teldryn Sero, who'd settled into a disappointed slouch at the head of the table. In the dim candlelight, the elf's skin looked as white as dragonbone.

"No." Sero sat up, incredulous. "You've convinced my damn fool of a friend to throw his life away, but I'm not so easily turned to suicide, n'wah. I've been to that freezing keep a couple of times in my life, and not once did I see any handy barrels to hide behind or well placed shadows to lurk in."

"You won't be alone," Ulfric said. "The woman you travel with. She seems to be in the same class as you, as it concerns sneaking about unseen. I don't think I've seen her more than twice since we arrived in the village."

"It just so happens she cares to talk to tired old soldiers about as much as I do," Sero spat. "You're all the same, with your fatalistic notions of honor and sacrifice. Even you," he waved his hand at the Dragonborn. "I'm sure you don't intend to return from your little dragon ride. And the rest of us will just have to pick up the pieces again after you're gone, unless this poorly conceived plan kills us as well. Ambarys followed you, Stormcloak, and so did the Skaal girl, and look where they are now."

With that, he pushed back from the table and left the inn, leaving the door swinging behind him. Amaton's child made to follow, but was held back by a firm hand.

"This is why I hate working with mercenaries," Tullius grumbled. "They're unreliable. Unstable. I can't build a strategy that depends on the emotional state of a volatile Dark Elf."

"He'll come around." Amaton said. "Teldryn is not one to leave his friends to fight alone, even if he complains every step of the way."

Ulfric said nothing to that. Sero's words about Frea had struck an uncomfortable nerve. Years ago, he had sat at a similar table and made battle plans with men who were now rotting in the frozen ground. Now, the only Stormcloaks left loyal to him were the most craven. The vile remnants, those rat-like scavengers that had refused to fight with the true Nords of Skyrim and yet trumpeted Ulfric's cause in the name of human supremacy in Skyrim. The elf may be right. His friend in Windhelm followed my lead, and his reward was an axe to the skull.

The atmosphere in the room had a cloak of melancholy to it, an underlying dread that took hold of all who passed through the inn doors. He had been here before, not in this place but in a building not too far away, in the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm before the Dragonborn's final siege. In the legionnaires who passed through for the changing of the guard, and even in Tullius and Amaton, he saw an all too familiar pattern in the way they moved and spoke. Old men like him, thinking: will this be the last time I have a drink of ale? Is this the final Morndas of my life? Despite the doubts that haunted their every action, there was one unsaid certainty among all who entered Vilemyrs' inn on that fateful Frostfall day: not all who left through these doors tomorrow would return.

This is not the time for indecision, Ulfric. Frea's voice, focusing him in death as she had in life. Walking to the inn alone, to speak with an old man that hated him and an elf that had struck him down, Ulfric ached for her presence like never before. In the eyes of every one of Tullius' legionaries, he saw judgment and scorn. And the same from Amaton's pet sellsword and the pale company he kept. Frea hadn't care about his past. She'd been pure, honorable, and so damned young. What kind of gods guide our path, that would take from us such a woman as Frea?

Keep your mind in the present. He pushed away his dark thoughts and looked up at Tullius. There were still many details to work out, and even as they spoke the Thalmor were surely making designs of their own.

"Elisif?" Stoker asked, his head cocked to the side like a startled hound. The Emissary was farther down the path from them, though still much too close for Elisif's comfort. He appeared alone, without even a horse, and cradled a dimly glowing scepter in his arms. The Staff of Magnus.

"Drop your weapons!" She ordered, drawing the dagger from her sleeve. Behind her, the Jarls stood quietly watching. Brunwulf would leap to their defense if needed, Elisif was certain, but for now he would only get in the way.

"The power is drained, my dear," Stoker said, leaning on the staff. "This precious artifact of Magnus is little more than a walking stick now until I can recharge it. And I've such a long way to walk."

She took a step closer, the snow crunching under her thin fur boots. "I thought you said we were done playing games."

Stoker straightened, the corners of his lips rising. "Sometimes I just can't resist. I'm going to miss our little bouts. I fear this may be the last time we speak on peaceful terms."

"You're not going anywhere." She'd already taken a life on her way down the mountain. One more wouldn't weigh too heavily on her conscience. "Glarynil's dead. I killed him."

He raised an eyebrow. "In cold blood, I assume, judging by your lack of wounds. When we first met, Elisif, I never could have imagined you'd turn into such an adversary."

Elisif raised the dagger. "Everything was fine until you came along. All my friends were alive." Her voice trembled.

Stoker chuckled harshly. "If it were my hands alone tugging the strings of fate, not a single soul would have died past that first night. I think you know that, behind all your bluster and turmoil. Legate Aldis. Jarl Siddgeir. Sybille Stentor. They all died because of you."

"Shut up!" Elisif was aware, in a detached fashion, she was losing control of the situation. But it was if she was on a runaway horse. The frustration and fury that had built up inside her was demanding an outlet. "You're a liar. You deserve to die."

"Have I ever given you less than the truth, my High Queen?" His voice had turned sharp as a whip. He moved closer with each word. "I won't deny I use knowledge to my benefit, but I've never once fabricated it. I told you about Siddgeir's betrayal, and the crimes of the Dragonborn. Now I've one final truth for you."

"Stop talking," she hissed, and lunged forward. Her dagger encountered only air as Stoker ducked and pushed her away. Elisif stumbled down the path, nearly falling, but managed to pivot and raise her weapon.

Stoker now stood between her and the Jarls. Brunwulf stood in front of the two elders, his fists raised.

"He's alive," The Emissary said, his voice soft and sympathetic. "Jaxius Amaton lives again. The gods have played one final trick on us, dear."

"Lies," she murmured, unsteady on her feet. "You'd say anything to save your life."

He shook his head, as if he was speaking to a confused child. "Why would I say something that would upset you so? I know you don't care for him, not anymore. I saw it in your eyes after our conversation in the courtyard. You loved the character he presented to you, that gentle honorable dragon of the north."

"Silence!"

"Sithis was the one who pulled the Dragonborn from the grave. The patron of the Dark Brotherhood, if you weren't familiar."

Brunwulf spoke, his mouth agape. "Impossible."

"Now," Stoker said calmly. "I'll tell you what's going to happen. Put the blade down, Elisif, and let me continue on my way. I'll let you go-"

Elisif took two steps forward and thrust the dagger into his eye. Stoker thrashed out with the staff, blood and other fluids dripping down his face, and by chance the thick metal rod connected with her forehead. Elisif stumbled away, her head spinning. She tried to get back to him, to finish the job, but her legs wouldn't cooperate. A furious scream, like that of a wounded daedra, echoed off the mountainside. I have to end this. I can break the cycle! No one else has to die.

"My Queen!" Brunwulf's hand caught her shoulder just in time, before she could fall off the trail. Below her, the forest and grasslands of Skyrim danced and contorted into alien shapes.

"Kill him," Elisif murmured. She was having trouble thinking straight. Seconds or minutes passed while they stood on the edge. "We have to kill Stoker."

"He's ran off the other way," Brunwulf soothed her. He guided her back to the other Jarls, who were already hurrying down the path. She wasn't too groggy to notice how Brunwulf patted her sides to check for other weapons. "Don't worry yourself. We'll be someplace warm soon enough." He spoke as if consoling an upset child. Her ears rang like the bells of Solitude during the year of the vampire raids, so long ago now. Solitude. I must return soon. Falk must be worried sick.

"Ivarstead," Brunwulf squeezed her shoulder. "Even if we can't stay there for long, I've no doubt the locals will spare a few horses for the High Queen."

There was a wetness on her forehead she hadn't noticed until now. Elisif put her hand to it and winced. Blood, dripping from a gash in her forehead. She'd have to ask Sybille to heal her when they reached the village. Does she know any restoration spells? I can't seem to remember.

By the time the stone bridge of Ivarstead came into view, the blood on her face had dried or frozen. Elisif broke free of Brunwulf's grip.

"Elisif, wait!" The Jarl of Windhelm tried to grab her, but he hadn't been a young man for quite a long time and she dodged him easily.

Her mind had cleared somewhat. We have to conscript the village guard and return to the monastery. Even if the dragon kills us all, Stoker's death will end this madness. Emboldened by this certainty, Elisif increased her the pace of her trudge through the thick snow, hurrying towards the village below.

Chapter Text

Ulfric came to a halt in the middle of the road. He'd left the inn to clear his head, weary of arguing with Tullius over the details of their assault. Now he stood watching Elisif the Fair stumble across the bridge from the mountain, a few others trailing behind her. No elves, but that didn't mean the Thalmor weren't behind this. They've certainly used human agents before. A few legionaries ran forward to stop Elisif's approach. Ulfric took a few steps closer himself, to get a better look.

The Jarl of Solitude had been treated wretchedly. That much was clear. Her long blond hair was matted with blood and dirt, sticking out at odd angles across her head. The torn cloak she wore couldn't quite hide the ragged leather armor underneath, the cuirass burned black in many places. What Ulfric had first thought to be soot on her face was actually dried blood on closer inspection. Through the gore, her wide bloodshot eyes went from soldier to soldier and finally looked past them.

"Elisif," He held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Steady yourself, girl."

She cocked her head, saying nothing. Ulfric recognized the look on her face from the many battlefields of his past. Shock, anger, pain. A wounded animal.

"What's this?" Amaton called out, approaching from behind Ulfric. He looked past his shoulder and gasped.

Elisif saw the Dragonborn at the same time, and took a shaky step back. Her followers had caught up with her now; Ulfric recognized Brunwulf Free-Winter, he who had taken Windhelm with the help of the Empire. A traitor. But such things mattered little, now. Two other Imperial Jarls were with him.

"No, no, no..." Elisif said, her hands grasping at her throat. Her breaths came faster and faster.

"It's alright." Amaton walked quickly past Ulfric. "It's truly me, Elisif. I've returned."

"Liar!" She hissed, nearly hyperventilating. "You told me Ulfric was dead!"

Elisif turned to Free-Winter and shoved the Jarl away, swiping a long elven dagger from him in the process. She twisted as quickly as an ice wraith and pointed the blade towards Ulfric and Amaton. With a gesture from the Dragonborn, the legionaries retreated behind Ulfric.

"Dead." Elisif said. "You're both dead!" Her hands were steady on the hilt of the dagger.

"There are things I couldn't tell you," Amaton soothed. "For your own safety. Put that down. You have no enemies in this village."

Elisif spun again, pointing the dagger at Free-Winter. The fool had been slowly edging closer to her as the Dragonborn spoke. Ulfric knew a sharp blade in unstable hands could spell doom in seconds.

"No enemies?" She smiled, too widely. "I'm no warrior, Jax, and it turns out I'm not much of a High Queen either. But I know when a man walks into my husband's court and stabs him to death, that man is my enemy."

"Torygg died in honorable combat," Ulfric spoke. A voice, Frea or maybe Rikke, spoke in his mind. Not the time for this, Ulfric. Truly not the time. "He went to Sovngarde a true Nord."

"He went into the freezing ground before his twenty fifth year, you bastard." Elisif took a step towards him, fire in her eyes. "We were going to start a family. Go to parties, laugh at stupid jokes, entertain foreign dignitaries. You burned it all down."

Ulfric kept his hands clear in front of him, free of weapons. If the girl decided to throw the dagger, he wasn't certain he could dodge it in time.

"Ulfric's saved many lives fighting the Thalmor." Amaton said, his own weapons similarly sheathed. "Whoever he was before, Ulfric's a different man now. Please trust me, Elisif."

That was evidently the wrong thing to say. Elisif stepped closer to the Dragonborn, her face contorted into an ugly snarl.

"Trust you?" Elisif's bottom lip trembled. "If a tenth of the horrors Stoker told me about are true, you're not the man I fell in love with."

Amaton's eyebrows raised. "The Thalmor always lie. He knew his words would turn you against me."

"He thought you were dead!" Elisif yelled hysterically. "By the Eight, Jax, you murdered the Emperor, didn't you?"

This is getting out of control. A surprised murmur ran through the Imperial soldiers gathered behind Ulfric and the Dragonborn. Amaton himself pursed his lips tightly, his eyes downcast.

"What in Oblivion is everyone gawking at?" Tullius pushed through the legionaries, sword in hand. Ulfric stepped aside to let the general stand with them, a careful eye watching Elisif.

"Tullius, my faithful ally," The High Queen beckoned with the dagger, regaining some of her composure. "Ulfric Stormcloak stands alive, against the will of the Empire and the Divines themselves. Did you lie to me when you told me my husband's killer had been executed?"

Tullius, evidently stunned to see the girl alive, took a moment to respond.

"Damn. I'm sorry, Elisif. I'd say it was all Amaton's idea, but it's not in me to pass off blame like a chastened recruit. I let the Dragonborn spare Stormcloak, and helped him move the traitor to the top of this mountain to rot. It was my call. Maybe it was a foolish one."

"Maybe?" Elisif asked. "Maybe it was foolish to side with an unstable Dragonborn regicide, over the High Queen of Skyrim? Almost a year after Titus Mede breathed his last, you betrayed his memory to please the elf that cut him down."

The general's brow furrowed. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about." His eyes flickered to Amaton, who stood stone-faced. "But we can surely talk about it without daggers being waved around. I know you, Elisif. You're no killer."

Elisif's fingers tightened around the hilt of the dagger. She's been reduced to two options. Use her blade, or lose it. In a fraction of a second, she made her decision. The High Queen lunged forward. Ulfric reacted.

"FUS!"

Elisif staggered backward, shaking in terror.

"ZUN HAAL VIIK!"

The Dragonborn's voice sent the dagger flying to the ground. Free-Winter snatched it before Elisif could respond. The girl stood frozen, looking at Ulfric as if he was a dragon preparing to devour her. Amaton took a step forward and she flinched.

"You men," Tullius said to two of his soldiers, his arms crossed. "Take the High Queen to the private room in the inn. Make certain she has food and water, but lock the door."

If Elisif had an objection to this, she didn't voice it. The legionaries led her away. After their footsteps faded from hearing, silence fell on the road and those gathered there. The rising frost bit at Ulfric's exposed skin. He welcomed it as an old friend. Tullius stared hard at the Dragonborn, who refused to look up at any of them. Even the soldiers who had been set astir by the girl's words had quieted down.

"Tell me she was lying, Amaton." Tullius looked older than Ulfric had ever seen him. "Tell me the Thalmor up there scrambled her mind."

The Dragonborn didn't respond. Ulfric stood between the two men, his muscles tensed.

"We can tear at old wounds later, surely," Ulfric said. "For now we have to remember our common enemy."

"Shut up." A strange pale light had come into the general's eyes. "I'm talking to my Legate. He knelt before me and swore an oath to the Empire. The Dark Elf Jaxius Amaton. An Imperial name, given to you by your Imperial parents. You fought for the Legion in the Great War, and again to topple this usurper. You're a hero. You didn't kill the Emperor."

Amaton didn't look up. Damn it all, lie to the old fool!

"Say those words," Tullius said, an edge of desperation in his voice. "By Akatosh, soldier, say you didn't end the Mede Dynasty."

"I did." The Dragonborn replied quietly, so only they could hear him. "I can't deny my past, not in this second life, no more than Ulfric can. I put a crossbow bolt through the Emperor's heart."

Tullius said nothing. The fingers of his right hand tightened and relaxed. Leaves of the aspen trees around them crackled like the coals of a dying campfire. The stone-faced legionaries stood waiting, and so did Ulfric. If it comes to blows, if I have to choose between them, there's truly no choice at all. Only one person in Tamriel could kill a dragon.

"So Elisif was confused," Tullius said loudly. "I can't imagine what they must have done to the girl to put such ideas in her head."

He turned to his men. "This commotion is over. Return to your duties!" They dispersed quickly, and soon enough the three old soldiers were left standing alone.

"Well." Tullius walked slowly to the bridge, leaning over the stone bricks. "I'm the only one of us here who hasn't murdered the leader of his country in cold blood. The Eight must have been laughing down at me when I made you a Legate, Amaton."

The Dragonborn looked up and spoke. "If you let me explain-"

"No." The general said, watching the water below them. "Out of respect for all you've done, and all you 're going to do, I'm not going to march you back to Cyrodiil for summary execution. Some foolish part of me even thinks you'd agree to come willingly."

"I-"

"We'll not speak again."

Amaton stared at Tullius' back for a long moment before quietly departing. Ulfric watched him walk down the cobblestone road, shoulders slumped.

"You're going to lead my men tomorrow." Tullius said, fingers drumming on the stone. "Though most of them considered you a damned traitor when we first set out from the College, they've bled alongside you a few times since. They're loyal soldiers. They'll follow you into Oblivion and back."

"I wouldn't presume to command your legionaries," Ulfric responded. He was out of place, confused at this new dynamic. "Surely they'd rather follow their general into battle."

"I'm not a general. And I won't be coming," Tullius said. The rays of the sun bled through the distant clouds, bathing them in a pale light. "I'd say it was because I don't want to walk up an obscene number of steps to get an elven arrow in my face, but that'd be a lie. I've marched into certain death before for the Empire."

Ulfric waited a minute before responding. "What, then?"

"I swore an oath." Tullius ran a hand through his thin white hair. "So long ago, now. I spoke the same words as you and the Dragonborn, pledged my loyalty to the same Emperor. A man's word has to mean something, Ulfric. 'May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty.' I've certainly failed. I'm not fit to lead a Saturnalia parade march, let alone a band of hardened soldiers."

"You're the greatest warrior I've ever encountered," Ulfric said, stunned. "Even when I wanted nothing more than to see your head rolling from your body, I respected your abilities."

"The praise of a kingslayer." Tullius chuckled harshly. "And I'm sure if you asked the killer of Titus Mede II, he'd confess his love of me about as quickly. Not exactly the kind of approval I'm looking for, Stormcloak."

"Very well." He tried to channel some of Frea's stubbornness, finding his own soul too weary. "Do you plan to weep on this bridge until your bones rot to dust?"

Tullius snorted. "Like you were doing up in that monastery? No, I plan to walk into the forest and-"

"Wait." An echo from the mountain, distant but unmistakable. The Thu'um, not shouted, but whispered. To someone who didn't know the telltale rhythm of the words of power, the vibration might have sounded like nothing more than a gust of faraway wind. "It's happening, general."

"So Amaton was wrong. They're sending that dragon down at us now." Tullius sighed and stretched his shoulders. In the village behind them, doors were slamming and men were running. The Dragonborn must have heard it as well.

"Unfortunately." From the peak, a murky ocean of fog was rolling towards them. The sky above had turned black in seconds. Fat raindrops began to ping off of Tullius' armor. Beyond the false clouds, the silhouette of a gargantuan dragon flickered into view for only a moment.

"How many men was it, that Elisif had at Labyrinthian?" The general scratched the back of his head.

"A thousand. Maybe twice that." The image of the monster's shadow burned into Ulfric's mind. I'm here, Frea. I'm ready at last. He was grimly reminded of Helgen. The people of Ivarstead won't live to regret the day the Dragonborn came to their village.

"And we're twenty. Well," Tullius drew his sword. His men had already rallied to the bridge, and stood ready. "Let's go knock the ugly bastard out of the sky. Crossbowmen! With me!"

Ulfric was about to unsheathe his weapon and join them, but the general grabbed him by the shoulder first.

"Only two people left in Skyrim can shout the path clear to the Eye." Tullius' callused hands tightened on his collar. "Do you understand? Run, fool. And don't look back."

He was about to protest, but Tullius had already pushed him back and ran into the fog. His soldiers followed behind, single file, and soon enough Ulfric was alone on the bridge. The unnatural clouds gained speed as they soared down the mountain and engulfed the village of Ivarstead in darkness. For a long minute there was a muffled quiet, and the air was so still he could hear the small rocks crushed under his boots as he went down the road.

"Hmm." Teldryn tried to rub the black from the window again, with no success. "Something's gone quite wrong here, Serana."

"You're not kidding." She cracked open the inn door and peered out. "This fog's everywhere. I've never seen anything like it."

"When's my pa coming back?" Runa paced around the central table, arms crossed. Besides for the innkeep cowering somewhere unseen and Elisif locked away in the side room, the three of them were the only ones who hadn't ran outside with the Dragonborn. The Jarls who had come with the High Queen had been sent away from the village with a single soldier. Jax had ordered Teldryn and Serana to guard his child, and he was loyal, if not entirely pleased with the arrangement.

"I'm not certain, sera." Teldryn tapped his fingers against the window impatiently, straining his enhanced vision for any sign of movement in the fog. "But if we have to go all the way back to the Soul Cairn to save his sorry carcass again, I'm definitely going to complain about it a lot."

"At least we don't have to worry about the sunlight," Serana pointed out with a smile.

"Only the dragonfire, dear." Out on the street, a large Nord in heavy armor materialized out of the mist. Even from a distance, Teldryn recognized the cold eyes of Ulfric Stormcloak. Can't say I'm overjoyed to see this wretch still alive. Out of all the uncertainties that consumed his life, there were a few things he was assured of. One such absolute was the fact Ambarys Rendar would never have fought alongside that n'wah walking towards the inn.

"Open the door," Teldryn said.

"Who is it?" Runa rushed to the front of the inn, but Teldryn grabbed her shoulder before she got there.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he replied shortly. "We'd better hear what he has to say."

Serana's eyes narrowed as she opened the door. Based on her prior experiences with lords and kings trying to seize power for themselves, Teldryn was sure she liked the man no more than he did.

"Sero." Stormcloak's hand rested on the hilt of his sword. He didn't step inside. "We need to move out, now."

"Jax told us to stay here," Serana responded coolly.

"This building is wood and straw." Stormcloak met her crimson eyes without fear. "Ivarstead will soon be ash, like Helgen before it. All who remain will share that fate."

"He's right," Teldryn admitted begrudgingly. "I've fought quite a few dragons in my time. The safest place now is on that mountain path, where the snows and rocks can hide us from that wretched beast."

"What about my pa?" Runa pushed past Teldryn, fists clenched. "We're not gonna leave him. Not again."

At the sight of her, something in the man's expression softened.

"I passed by the Dragonborn on my way here," Stormcloak said. "He and Tullius will distract Merkoorzaam while we make our escape. Afterwards, they will follow behind us."

Teldryn had some heavy doubts about that plan, but didn't voice them in front of Runa. As if to answer Stormcloak's words, a deafening roar broke through the fog and rattled the plates and cups on the inn tables. A goblet fell to the floor and shattered. The time for talk has passed. He put aside his doubts and questions and let Teldryn the Protector take hold. Have to keep them safe.

"Okay." He clasped hands with Serana and Runa. "We'll make haste up the mountain."

"A wise choice." Stormcloak looked past them into Vilemyrs', shifting on his feet. "I'll join you shortly. Elisif needs to know what's transpiring."

"Good luck with that." Teldryn couldn't imagine the rebel would have much luck. And I wouldn't blame Elisif for not trusting a word he says. The trio proceeded past Ulfric, and soon enough the inn faded into the mist behind them.

Elisif stared up at the ceiling. Her mind churned and boiled, having long ago lost the capacity for coherence. Ulfric Stormcloak lives. Jaxius Amaton lives. Had it been wrong of her, to ever expect the world to behave in a normal fashion? The only certainty of existence seemed to be that existence was uncertain. The dead men didn't stay dead, unless they were good. Everything Elisif tried to control got away from her, and it seemed foolish she'd ever tried to hold power over anything at all.

By the Divines, all the people I've killed. The Thalmor soldier outside Solitude, Siddgeir in Whiterun, Glarynil on the mountain. All that blood spilled had brought her nothing but pain. Elisif saw that now. She'd tried to kill Ulfric only minutes before. Even that had been an ill done. If she'd succeeded, they'd have one less weapon against the Thalmor, and the bastard would be drinking in Sovngarde. If only that first elven soldier had done his job right, I might be with Torygg now. If I'd never gathered the army of Labyrinthian, all this could've been avoided.

Weeping over the past isn't going to get you out of this mess. That's what Sybille would be saying to her. An uncomfortably close roar rattled the whole inn for a moment. Somewhere in the structure, a dish shattered. You're not dead, Elisif, so get up and act like it. There are still lives that can be saved. She had to put away her grief and misery, at least for now.

Loud footsteps outside her door. Jax? No, that would be too easy. There was only one person it could be. When Ulfric Stormcloak appeared in the open doorway, Elisif was not surprised. I wouldn't mind so much if this man killed me, as he killed Torygg. There would be a poetry in that. When she had felt the power of his voice after the failed dagger attack, Elisif had imagined for a moment how frightened her late husband must have been in the last moments of his life.

"High Queen," Ulfric said awkwardly. She could tell it caused him pain to address her as such. Good. "The Dragonborn was wrong in his reckoning. The Thalmor's dragon is here, now, and we have to leave before this place burns to the ground."

The foolish girl she was five years ago would have meekly complied. The brave leader she had tried to be would not have left the people of Ivarstead to die. It's long past time we stopped putting on faces, dear.

"Fine," Elisif replied numbly. She put her boots on and followed. Somewhere far away, crossbow bolts were thwacking away and men were shouting. They've already lasted longer than the soldiers of Labyrinthian. Perhaps Merkoorzaam was toying with them.

They stepped out of Vilemyrs' into a world of shadowed fog.

"Is this the Dragonborn's doing?" As much as Elisif loathed to talk with the kingslayer, she needed to know what was going on. They went down the steps carefully. As far as she could see, the road was empty.

"No." Ulfric moved like a stalking draugr through the streets, slow and watchful. "The Golden One sent the fog down before his attack. Likely meant to disorient us, keep us separated so he can pick us off one by one. The Thalmor weren't counting on battle-hardened Imperial Legionaries being here."

"The Golden One?"

"That's what a woman I traveled with called the Thalmor's dragon," he replied. "She was a Skaal. They have strange ways of naming things."

Elisif struggled to keep up with Ulfric's long strides, but dared not show weakness in front of him.

"This woman," Elisif said. "She's dead." It wasn't a question. She already knew by the way he'd spoken. Death had become a familiar acquaintance in recent times.

"Yes."

"Did you kill her?"

Ulfric glanced back at her, his expression blank. "No."

They didn't speak after that, as the battle drew closer. The fog lit up in shades of sapphire, a color she recalled all too well. Immolated trees cast long dancing shadows along the side of the scorched road. A few dead soldiers materialized out of the mist, burned beyond recognition, but Elisif suspected that was not the full blood toll Merkoorzaam had demanded. She tasted ash on the wind.

"Now, we run," Ulfric ordered. "There's are ten wayshrines on the path to High Hrothgar. Don't stop until you see the third one. There's a place there where we can take refuge."

She nodded, in no mood to argue.

"Go!"

They sprinted down the bridge, past more bodies and piles of ash. The air was fire and metal and the coppery tang of blood.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

The dragon's shout sent them both stumbling, and the fog cleared from the area in seconds. No! They were utterly exposed, and with nowhere to run.

Ahead of them, Tullius stood alone. His armor was burnt and melted in many places. The crossbow in his hand was undamaged, and he pointed it up towards the sky.

The gigantic golden dragon soared in the direction the ground, terrible and beautiful, but not towards Tullius. She looked past him, where three figures were running for the mountain steps. The smallest figure was falling behind, even as Merkoorzaam descended.

Tullius yelled at the dragon, in vain. Ulfric and Elisif continued running, almost to Tullius now, and she saw the small figure was Jax's daughter. Runa Fair-Shield.

The shouting didn't bother the dragon, but the girl turned to look and saw the terror falling on her. She froze on the road. The two other figures turned to notice her absence, too late. Merkoorzaam's jaws opened. Even from down on the bridge, Elisif could see cobalt light running up the beast's long throat.

A crossbow bolt struck it in the eye. Merkoorzaam screamed, veering off course, but what was started could not be stopped. A long stream of sapphire flame came down from the sky, exploding across the ground right in front of Runa. She was blown backwards from the impact. The blue torrent moved faster than wind, flying down the road and across the bridge like a force of nature. For a moment, they saw the silhouette of General Tullius aiming his crossbow once more against a storm of azure death. And he was gone.

The flames stopped right before reaching them, and Ulfric wasted no time. He grabbed her shoulder, and Elisif didn't have the mind to flinch. As they raced past golden melted armor, she stopped herself from glancing up at the sky. Will the last thing I feel be a warmth at the back of my neck?

They reached the fallen girl before the other two, and Ulfric scooped her up without stopping.

"I can't see," Runa moaned, rubbing her hands against her eyes. "Teldryn, help me.."

Elisif looked back at the sky, unable to resist. Merkoorzaam blocked out the setting sun, his golden scales almost blinding. And a second shape flew through the air, smaller and crimson but nearly as fast. The other dragon slammed into Merkoorzaam with an ear-splitting crash of thunder. Elisif thought she saw a figure on top of the red dragon. The few remaining legionaries rallied to the sight, rushing forward with their crossbows aimed.

"Move!" Ulfric yelled in her ear, and she hurriedly complied. They ran up the steps, and a pale skinned elf and a fair woman of a similar shade rushed to meet them.

"Runa," the woman cried, her voice cracking. Ulfric passed the girl into her arms without stopping, and the four of them continued racing up the mountain path. With all the adrenaline pumping through her veins, Elisif hardly noticed the rising frost biting at her skin and the rough stone steps slowly destroying her thin boots. There will be time enough for that later.

They passed the second wayshrine, hardly pausing to glance at it, and the roaring of dragons grew more distant behind them. Runa wept softly into the pale girl's shoulder. Poor child. Elisif couldn't imagine the pains she must have experienced at so young an age. I would have fallen apart long ago, were I in her shoes.

The pale elf had to be Teldryn Sero, though the last time Elisif had seen him, he'd worn chitin armor and Dunmer markings had adorned his face. Now, the famous companion of the Dragonborn seemed worn thin, his face naked and impossibly white. This trauma has undone all of us. Nothing can be what it was. Isn't that was Stoker had told her, before murdering Jarl Merillis? She was beginning to see nothing he'd told her had been truly false. I'm going to kill him. That's one promise to myself I have to keep. Ulfric can live, but the Emissary must die.

At one point in their climb, the unholy scream of a dragon echoed off the mountain. The sound sent dread through Elisif's heart, though she knew not why. Something beautiful has gone from this world.

The weathered stone of the third wayshrine finally came into view. Ulfric guided the others towards a dark opening in the side of the mountain, but Elisif remained for a moment to read the etching in the rock.

The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old

Times

Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices

But the Dragons only shouted them down and

broke their hearts

"Teldryn," Runa spoke, her voice shaky. "I still can't see. I open my eyes and everything's black."

The girl sat between the dark elf and the pale woman, rubbing her eyes. Elisif walked to sit near them under the rocky outcropping. Ulfric knelt in the middle of the small cove, attempting to start a fire.

"I could try to heal her again, Teldryn," The woman offered, biting her lip. The elf was holding his face in his hands, shoulders slumped.

"No," he replied. "You've done all you can." Teldryn shifted closer to Runa, and took her hands in his.

"Your eyes might get better on their own in a day or two, my love." His drawling voice was soft and comforting.

"And what if they don't?" The girl trembled.

"Then we'll travel to the ends of Tamriel to find someone who can help you," Teldryn replied, sounding like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. Runa began to cry softly, burying her head in Teldryn's shoulder. The pale woman moved closer and held the girl tightly between them.

Elisif looked away, feeling like an intruder. The traitor had succeeded in creating a few embers. She stood up and walked over to the fire, resisting her instinct to recoil from him, and knelt before the growing flames. The two of them said nothing as Ulfric nursed the embers into life. Elisif held her hands out towards the warmth, and muttered thanks to the man who had murdered her husband. I think Torygg would laugh, to see where I am now. And that thought was not so disturbing.

"General Tullius is dead," she murmured.

Ulfric nodded, and the two of them sat quietly as the sun set on the Throat of the World.

Chapter Text

Teldryn drank deeply, letting the blood rush down his throat. The liquid warmed his core, bliss rushing to every part of his body. This feeling, I don't mind so much. He sighed, satisfied, and passed the bottle to Serana. They sat on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling far above the forests of Skyrim. An amethyst aurora lit up the night sky. Not quite the sun, but it'll serve.

"Fortunate you managed to bring a few bottles up with us," He remarked. "I wasn't looking forward to asking Ulfric Stormcloak for a quick bite of his neck."

Serana smiled. "Something told me we'd be leaving Ivarstead in a hurry."

Teldryn returned the smile, but only for a moment. He glanced back at the rocky cove, where the three living members of their group slept soundly. "I find myself at something of an impasse. If we leave Runa here alone, she'll freeze to death. If we take her with us, she'll be a sightless little girl in the middle of a one-sided battle."

Serana put a hand on his shoulder. "She's safest away from the Thalmor in that monastery. We'll both die for her, in a second. And somewhere around here, there's an elf with the soul of a dragon who feels the same way."

"I hope so," Teldryn responded, running a hand through his mohawk. "Some part of me thinks that n'wah got himself killed again, just to make my life that much harder. We all heard Odahviing scream on our way up here. Nothing makes a sound like that and keeps on kicking much longer."

"Even if the dragon's dead, that doesn't mean Jax is too," Serana said. "We never heard him call for Durnehviir. That has to mean something."

Might mean that blue fire found him before he could open his mouth. But Teldryn didn't voice his worries. There was enough sorrow in their little camp already.

His heart broke for Runa. How could I have let this happen to her? What kind of guardian am I? Even if she survived the next day, she'd face a difficult path in the years to come. But he knew in his heart there was no other child in Skyrim more suited to face such challenges. Blindness was far from a death sentence, even in this cold and unforgiving land; very far from it, indeed. There were spells to be learned that would give her aid. He'd heard the College of Winterhold even held special classes for those in her condition. Runa could become a great mage, if not a powerful warrior. And Skyrim will surely need more healers than killers after our work on this mountain is done. He turned back to Serana. "Tell me. What is Coldharbour like?" 

The question gave her pause. She knew as well as he did that they might be in Molag Bal's plane of Oblivion before the next sunrise.

"It's sort of a copy of Tamriel," Serana said, her eyes staring off into the distance in remembrance or dread. "If Tamriel was a dark, frozen, sludgy wasteland where the soulless dead roamed in eternal torment. "

"Oh my," Teldryn said. "That sounds depressing. Am I right in assuming that we won't receive special treatment from the warm and benevolent Molag Bal?"

She shook her head. "Vampirism is a bargain, Teldryn. Even with the downsides, living in the mortal world with our powers gives us a pretty undeniable advantage. When we go to Coldharbour, Bal will come to collect his part."

"I intend to make that quite difficult for him." Teldryn took her cold hand and squeezed it. "Standing together, we could take on all of Oblivion."

Serana smiled. "You think so?"

"I know it. We'll turn Coldharbour into the premiere afterlife destination."

After that, they didn't talk for a while. Teldryn kept an eye on the moon as well as the shapes of the humans in the cave. Quickly enough, though, he found himself quite distracted.

"I think it's about that time, dear," Teldryn said a little while after, placing a hand on her bare shoulder. "It'd be terribly embarrassing if we ended up piles of ash on the steps. I expect the morning sun is fairly bright up here."

"You're right." Serana stood up, pulling on her clothes. She looked towards Runa, a small and pitiful shape on her meager bedroll. "How long do ya think she'll hate us for this?"

Teldryn sighed. "Years, I expect. But someday she'll understand."

He'd thought about asking Elisif to stay behind, but then recalled the cold fire in her eyes during their ascent yesterday. The High Queen had business to finish at the Throat of the World, and Teldryn sensed that a blind little girl would not be enough to sway her. She deserves so much more than life has dealt her. But I can secure her a future, at the least. 

He found himself staring at Runa as well, reluctant to leave.

"Come on," Teldryn finally said. "We have to move now, or none of this will matter."

And so they continued the climb up the Seven Thousand Steps.

Elisif was reminded of a sleeping bear she'd encountered in her childhood, on one of the rare occasions her father allowed her to join the hunting party. They'd come upon the slumbering beast and Elisif had marveled at its beauty and quiet grace. Then one of the hounds had stepped on a branch, and in seconds the bear awoke and summoned its fury in an instant. The dog didn't have time to yelp before the beast tore it apart. The men filled the bear with arrows, and her father finished the monster himself with a sharp dagger. Watching Ulfric sleep so soundly in the corner of their little cove, Elisif's hand ached for a blade. They'll be time enough for that after, dear. Sybille's words, tempering her anger. She was right, of course. If they made it off this mountain alive, Elisif was going to ensure justice for Torygg one way or another.

"Wake up." She moved as close as she could stomach to the usurper and kicked him none-too-softly. "The Dragonborn's friends are gone." For some reason Elisif couldn't bring herself to say Jax's name with familiarity any longer. The elf I knew as Jax was a fabrication.

"What?" Ulfric replied groggily, shaking the snow from his hair and beard. "Gone where?"

"Up the mountain," she replied coldly. "Where else?"

"Did they take the girl?"

"No. So be silent before you awaken her. We have enough to deal with as it is." Out of the corner of her eye, Elisif saw the child shifting on her bedroll.

"Damned fool," Ulfric said, rising to his feet. "He's likely hoping they can take enough of the elves out to improve our chances of making it past the monastery."

"Certainly a better plan than running in swords drawn," Elisif countered. They walked outside of the cove, more out of their shared desire to keep the girl asleep than anything. Ulfric's boots crunched loudly in the snow. "That's what you were intent on doing, I'm sure."

"Such an approach would've afforded us a better chance of survival." Ulfric looked grimly at the rising sun. "Before you were born, I was fighting elves in Cyrodiil. While you were learning your first words, I was toppling the Forsworn uprising. I know how men like Teldryn Sero fight. Once his stealth advantage is compromised, it will just be a matter of time."

"Okay, fine." As much as she hated the man, Elisif had to admit to his strengths. Use him, my Queen. Sybille again, as wise in memory as she had been in life. "We'll do it your way."

"No." Ulfric sighed. "As four, we had a slim chance of making it to the peak. Now we are two and a blind girl."

"Maybe Stoker was right." Elisif didn't know why she was speaking so openly with this man. It was as if all of a sudden the absurdity of her life had come into focus. The melancholy overcame her. "More and more, it seems we were put on Tamriel just to watch our friends die one by one while we patiently wait our turn. The Divines watch us cry out while they do nothing. The Daedra wring all the anguish out of us they can before our short lives end. Who molded the world into such a cruel shape? I don't know which possibility is worse; that all the tears of mortal suffering are being collected for some malevolent purpose, or that all this is for nothing."

"You've fought as well as you could be expected to, Elisif." Ulfric looked troubled. "The gates of Sovngarde will open for you. Of that I have no doubt."

She laughed, an ugly sound that slapped against the wind.

"I'll have to share this wonderful afterlife with Ysgramor, who slaughtered entire races of elvenkind. With the thousands of Stormcloaks that died cursing my name. With you, in all likelihood. And where will my friends be, those not fortunate enough to be born Nords? I want to see Sybille Stentor again. And Tullius. I want to walk with Torygg through the streets of Solitude, not drink with him trapped in some ethereal mead hall."

"Stoker's alternative sounds little better," Ulfric responded. Snowflakes slowly collected on his furrowed brow. "He seeks to unmake the world. I'd rather suffer for an eternity as myself than become some formless spirit. To choose to never feel anything at all, rather than dare to feel pain. That's what separates us from the Daedra and Aedra, Elisif. That's what the Thalmor can never understand. What happens after the end doesn't matter. Agony is what gives our lives meaning."

Elisif looked away. She tried to summon her hatred, but found her heart numb to emotion entirely. She wondered if she would ever feel anything again, and whether or not she really wanted to. Every person I love will die and be forgotten. Everything I care for will become dust, everything I work towards will inevitably fail. And the same thing will happen to everyone else.

"Someone's coming," Ulfric said. They looked down the mountain path, where around the bend shadowed figures staggered into view. She recognized the limping silhouette of Jaxius Amaton. With him were Tullius' singed legionaries, the trials of the last day evident even from a distance in their slumped shoulders and downcast expressions. A miracle that any of them survived. Then again, the Dragonborn had a way of making sure he didn't suffer through life alone. His battered friends and family were testament enough to that. Elisif turned away from the approaching men and returned to the cove. Ulfric did not follow.

"Amaton," Ulfric greeted him. "You survived."

A close thing, from the looks of it. The Dragonborn's hair had been scorched off, and his blackened leather armor seemed to hang off him on pieces. Judging from how the elf limped, a chunk of his left calf had been torn away. The soldiers following him were in little better shape.

"It seems so," Amaton said.

"Tullius fell in battle." Ulfric let a moment pass before continuing. "What of Odahviing? Long ago, the red dragon and I started a conversation on the top of this mountain. I should like to finish it."

"He's gone. Sacrificed himself to ensure our escape." Amaton glanced down at his own burned hands. "Merkoorzaam tore him apart. But that was not the end. Death is not usually permanent for dragons, you know. More of a temporary inconvenience. Unless I'm present. Odahviing knew the risks, of course. Still, he screamed as his soul was ripped from his bones. I ate my friend, Ulfric."

Ulfric said nothing to that. What could one say? The Dragonborn lived on an island of despair that no other mortal could reach. To make such an attempt would be an insult.

"Where are the others?" Amaton asked, looking around their little encampment. His eyes fell on Elisif and Runa, sitting together in the cove, and before Ulfric could respond he was moving towards them.

"Pa?" The child whimpered like an infant, reaching out. Amaton crouched down to take her hands in his. Past his shoulder, Elisif looked frightened. And I thought she had feelings for the elf.

"What's wrong?" Amaton's voice had lost the dreamy quality it had held when describing Odahviing's demise. "What happened?"

"My eyes," Runa whined. "The fire was so bright. I looked and everything went dark."

The Dragonborn's shoulders stiffened. Blood dripped from his torn leg on to the white snow, and the exposed muscles tightened gruesomely. Standing aside with the weary legionaries, Ulfric suddenly understood Elisif's fear.

"Teldryn and Serana," Amaton said softly. The wind seemed to still in respect, so Ulfric could hear every powerful breath the elf took. "They went up the mountain, didn't they?"

"No. He's here. He said he'd stay with me." Runa stumbled to her feet, swaying uncertainly. "Teldryn? Where'd you go? Teldryn!"

Amaton steadied the child, saying nothing.

"Jax," Elisif said pleadingly. She leaned forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You have to calm yourself. We're running out of time."

Whatever rising fire she saw in the Dragonborn, her words didn't seem to quench it. Amaton let go of the child and pointed sharply at the Imperial soldiers.

"Two of you will guard my daughter. Lead her back down to Ivarstead, and then make haste to Winterhold's college. Seek refuge with the mages. If she comes to harm, I'll see you melt on the blasted crater of Red Mountain."

The men nodded, moving forward to flank Runa Fair-Shield. The child cried out for her father and Sero, but the Dragonborn ignored her. Amaton walked to the mountain's edge, a trail of blood behind him. Elisif followed.

"What's your intention?" Ulfric recognized the restrained wrath in the Dragonborn's posture. He'd seen it directed towards himself five years ago, in the Palace of the Kings with a greatsword at his neck.

"DURNEHVIIR!"

The shout stunned Ulfric, and he nearly fell. Elisif reached out and grabbed his arm at the last second, pulling him from the brink. He stared at her in disbelief, but there was no time to dwell.

A dead dragon had materialized in a burst of purple light, clinging to the mountainside with decaying claws. Flesh dripped from the monster on to the snow below, and under the dragon's ripped skin more of the amethyst energy pulsed, the heartbeat of a thing that shouldn't be.

Elisif cried out in terror or disgust, and the legionaries drew their swords. Ulfric was too taken aback by the High Queen saving him to properly react.

"What's happening?" Runa wailed. "Someone tell me!"

"Wait, Jax!" Elisif yelled.

Amaton ignored them. He nodded to the dragon, and the beast seemed to understand his meaning without words being spoken. Durnehviir took off from the mountain, the rush of rotten air sending nearly all of them to the ground, and the Dragonborn leapt on to the undead creature as it flew past. In seconds, they were around the curve of the mountain and out of sight.

Ulfric began running up the path, and Elisif had little choice but to follow. The soldiers not staying with the girl quickly fell into formation behind. As the group trudged through the heavy snow, Runa Fair-Shield's cries gradually faded from hearing.

"I'm not sure what the Dragonborn is thinking," Ulfric said. "Flying into battle alone, against the full strength of the Thalmor, is as reckless as it is foolish. Even he is not immortal."

The same description might apply to a man walking into the capital of Skyrim to murder his king. But Elisif held her tongue. Thanks to Jax, Ulfric was her only ally left in this fight. Her heart ached for the poor child they left behind, but she banished that pain with a little effort. My mind must be clear for the battles to come. 

"His temper helped get us into this mess," Elisif replied. "Stoker told me he wiped out entire Thalmor strongholds without regard to mercy."

"I would have done the same, if I had his powers at my command. As would any true Nord."

"Even the kitchen staff? The Khajiit and Wood Elves? The Nord prisoners beating against the bars of their cells? The old and the injured and the young?"

"Perhaps." The usurper helped her up a particularly steep incline. To their sides, the legionaries climbed up in mere seconds. "That does seem a bit...overenthusiastic. I must confess something."

Elisif paused for a moment before responding. What could this man say that I wouldn't find contemptible?

"Yes?" She glanced at him.

"Not too long ago, I held my friend as she died. Frea. The Skaal girl. On that fateful night, I thought my fear of death conquered. If she could go into the darkness with courage, so could I."

"I'm sorry." And why shouldn't she be? Frea didn't share the crimes of the bastard she traveled with. "What's changed?"

"I saw Lakeview Manor in ruins. No living being could have survived that devastation. So when I saw Amaton riding towards me, on the road to Ivarstead..."

"I understand," Elisif blurted out. The words seemed to come forth without her permission, from the depths of her heart. "When I saw you both, I didn't know at first why I was more afraid of him."

"The dead should stay that way," Ulfric said. He pulled his cloak tightly around him as a gust of wind blew across the path. "Knowing now what Amaton is capable of: cutting down the Emperor in cold blood, slaughtering anyone that strays in his path, commanding dragons to do his bidding. He could rule the world if he so wished it."

"Make me a promise," Elisif said quietly. "If I die up there, don't let him bring me back. I don't know if he can, or even if he would want to, but-"

"I promise." Ulfric looked at her gravely. "If the worst should transpire, I swear by the Nine Divines your soul will reach Sovngarde without intervention."

"Thank you, Ulfric." The word of a kingslaying rebel. And yet his promise comforted her somewhat.

They didn't speak after that, too concerned with conserving their energy for climbing. The thought occurred to Elisif that if she survived this, she'd have to travel down the mountain again soon enough. I might die just to spare myself a third climb in three days. Sybille would've laughed at that, if she were here. I have to remember my friends, the love between us. Fanning the flames of her rage had only brought more death and ruin to Skyrim. And from the sound of it, Jax's anger hadn't helped him either. I hope the Jarls were spared Stoker's fury. She wanted to see Hrongar again, to apologize for all she'd done.

Finally, the monastery materialized out of the distant snow. The dark stones seemed unchanged for all that had happened here. When she'd escaped with Brunwulf, the morning had been dark and Elisif hadn't seen much. That may have been a blessing. Parts of frozen corpses poked out of the snow, mostly clad in golden armor or black robes. Elisif cocked her head at them. These elves fell long ago.

Ulfric lumbered towards High Hrothgar without fear. She supposed that there was no use in being stealthy; the front of the monastery provided no cover save for a lone altar stone. Elisif and the legionaries trailed behind him. The soldiers unsheathed their swords and bows, and she drew her own meager dagger. Still, no arrows flew towards them yet. The front-facing tower of the monastery appeared empty and dark. Strange.

She found Ulfric in front of a corpse leaned against the altar. The dead man was a Nord, mostly buried in the snow, but Elisif could see in life he'd worn a tattered monk robe.

"A Greybeard?" She asked.

"Yes. His name was Arngeir. I wanted to bury him, but the ground was too hard."

"We should probably get moving," Elisif said softly. It was as much empathy as she could extend to the man who'd killed her husband.

Ulfric nodded. He led the way towards High Hrothgar, sword drawn. She strained her ears for sign of movement inside, but the wind was too strong or the stones too thick. We'll be going in blind. Ulfric pushed open the heavy doors, weapon at the ready, and they stepped inside.

The sacred shrine to Kynareth was splattered with blood. Ulfric shuddered at the sight. Arngeir, you'll never know how sorry I am. The rest of the interior was in a similar state. The bodies of the Thalmor were scattered around, some of them in pieces. Elisif and the soldiers were gathered behind him, on the lookout for any sign of movement. He was strangely glad to have the High Queen at his back, at the end of things.

"Where's Runa?" From the second level, Teldryn Sero glared down at them. Beside him was Serana and a large burly Nord covered in gore.

"She's safe. Two legionaries are spiriting her to Winterhold. Explain what happened here," Ulfric demanded.

It was the Nord that spoke. "The elf returned with one eye and hell to pay. Seems whatever wicked deeds he's planning to carry out with that staff, he's ready to do it. He ordered a few of his men to execute us, then fled with the rest."

"Hrongar?" Elisif asked faintly.

The Jarl of Whiterun grimaced. "Elisif. Glad to see you among the living. There's not enough of us left to hold anger in our hearts."

The High Queen's face fell. "None of the others made it?"

Hrongar shook his head. "Bastards came to my room last. Might be they were smart enough to know I was the only one capable of givin' them a fight. Black-Briar and Igmund went quick. Dengeir held on for a little while."

Ulfric asked, "Where's the Emissary now?" He eyed the dark corners of the room warily.

"Serana and I searched everywhere," Sero spoke. "The fetcher must have slipped away. We couldn't follow with the winds blocking the path, so we've been waiting for your painfully slow arrival."

"We'd best make haste," Ulfric replied. "Your friend is as foolhardy as you are. The Dragonborn's gone ahead riding a dragon, to face all of them alone. He's likely already at the peak."

Sero cursed. He and Serana moved faster than Ulfric's eye could track them, pulling on their hoods before running outside. Hrongar and Ulfric's group followed as quickly as possible.

The courtyard was exactly as Ulfric had left it after the massacre, the stone practice arches a somber reminder of years past. He rushed past them without stopping, the soldiers close behind. After the Seven Thousand Steps, the climb up to the gateway seemed child's play. The shear wind barrier capable of blowing a mammoth halfway to Whiterun did not.

"Come on, then." Sero stood by the gate, agitated. "Too much time has passed already."

The last time Ulfric had used this shout, he'd been trying to get counsel from Paarthurnax on what to do in the wake of the Thalmor's attacks. Instead, he'd been nearly killed by Odahviing and sent flying off the mountain by a rogue dragon. I wonder if this time could go any worse.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

The barrier dissipated, and everyone hurried on to the thin path. Ulfric paused on the precipice, an uneasy feeling tugging at his attention. You're forgetting something. Frea and Rikke, ever watchful, calmed the part of his soul that wanted nothing more than to rush into battle with the Thalmor. Breath, and focus.

"Are you coming, sir?" One of the last soldiers asked him, a gray-haired man with scars across his face.

"I need to check on something," Ulfric replied. "Tell Sero not to attack without my command."

"Aye." The legionary hurried after his compatriots, and soon enough Ulfric was alone.

"Elisif." He said the name out loud, and it was lost in the wind as swiftly as a raindrop in the bay.

Ulfric walked down the steps to the gate, slow and watchful. The only movement in the courtyard was the gentle swaying of the practice arches. The large doors to High Hrothgar were closed. Did one of the soldiers close them? Did I? All of a sudden, he couldn't recall.

He opened the doors and slipped inside. Something told him not to call out Elisif's name again. Ulfric crept through the monastery past the corpses, hand on the hilt of his sword.

"My Queen," Stoker sang, the blade of his dagger held tight against Elisif's neck as he pinned her against the wall. Judging from the deep cut across her cheekbone, he'd already done grievous harm to the girl. "You had to go and spoil everything, didn't you?" The dagger hovered near her eye, dripping blood.

Ulfric saw the bloody pit where Stoker's own eye had been cut out. Fortunately, he was approaching from that side. He moved as quietly as possible, grateful for once that the ground was cold stone and not creaky wood.

"Kill me," Elisif hissed through clenched teeth. "If you're even capable. Seems those you murder have trouble staying that way."

Stoker growled, grabbing a handful of her tangled hair and pulling upward sharply. Elisif gasped, and the blade traced against her pale neck.

Ulfric lunged forward, his sword moving faster than a hummingbird's wings. Stoker screamed as his hand was separated from his body, the dagger at Elisif's throat clattering to the ground. Ulfric followed up with a swipe at the elf's midsection, but Stoker had enough presence of mind to throw Elisif in his way and stumble towards the other side of the room. Ulfric redirected his sword at the last second, letting it impact against the stone floor. Sparks flew and he cursed.

Stoker thrust his bloody forearm into a brazier, howling in agony. Impossible. No one being can handle so much pain and remain conscious. But even as Ulfric stepped over Elisif to finish the job, Stoker was downing a potion with shaky hands. By the time Ulfric was in fighting range, the Emissary was regarding him coldly.

"I don't know who you are," Stoker said. "But you've wandered into something far beyond your comprehension." His voice was unlike any other Thalmor Ulfric had encountered; deep, rolling, like a historian.

"I'm a servant of the High Queen." Ulfric stalked towards the crippled elf, sword raised. "You needn't know anything more than that."

"More than a servant." Stoker moved so the brazier was between them. "I heard you clear the path winds. You're one of the Greybeards."

Ulfric was mindful of where Elisif was on the ground, careful not to let Stoker past. The only problem was, this prevented him from advancing on the elf.

"But we killed all the monks," Stoker continued. "I like to make sure of these things. I counted the bodies myself."

Behind them, Elisif groaned and rose to her feet. Ulfric heard her picking up a sword from one of the fallen Thalmor. Brave, and stupid.

"Stay back," He warned. "You're in no condition to fight."

"Shut up, Ulfric," Elisif said, moving up beside him. Blood covered her face like a mask, but her blue eyes were clear and unwavering. She held the elven blade up with steady hands.

Stoker laughed. The alien noise echoed through the monastery halls.

"The Ulfric Stormcloak? Some rebel you turned out to be." The Emissary moved closer to them, in a seemingly suicidal move. Ulfric and Elisif, caught off guard, took a step back. "How fortunate. I'll get to rid the world of all the leaders of the Civil War in one day."

Elisif said nothing, and Ulfric followed her example. I suspect this elf is as sharp with his voice as he is with a dagger. Well, Ulfric had a Voice of his own, sore as it was from clearing the winds.

"FUS!"

Stoker stumbled backward, and Elisif lunged forward just a second too early. The Emissary's beard floated to the floor.

Ulfric fell on Stoker with his own blade, aiming to finish the job. Impossible. His sword met metal. Stoker had caught the blow with a hidden gauntlet on his amputated arm. The working hand held another dagger, which drew a thin cut across Ulfric's thigh. He hissed in pain and retreated alongside Elisif.

"You've lost," Stoker announced. He walked slowly backward, and they followed.

What's the fool talking about? He's used every trick in his arsenal. But Ulfric felt an unfamiliar sensation creeping up his body. The dagger Stoker cut him with dripped with a red substance too dark to be blood. I've been poisoned.

"Yes," Stoker said, smiling. "You'll soon find yourself quite busy, my dear Queen. I'm sorry I can't stay to watch the fun. I have business of my own to attend to elsewhere."

"What?" Elisif glanced fiercely at Ulfric. "What's he talking about?"

From the pocket of his robes, Stoker produced another potion bottle. He drank it quickly and vanished in an instant.

Elisif slashed at the air where the Emissary had been, yelling in frustration. Watching her, Ulfric found himself becoming dizzy. Who am I fighting? Why am I fighting them? The frantic voices of Rikke and Frea faded away in his mind. An old friend rose to the surface, a man he'd seen cut down by the Dragonborn five years before. Galmar.

Kill the bitch, Ulfric! Galmar had always loathed Elisif for being the Imperial puppet standing against them. Maybe he was right. Look what's happened to Skyrim under her rule. Ulfric trembled. High King Ulfric! Cut the wench down, take your throne!

He backhanded Elisif, sending the girl flying across the room. Go on, do her like you did Deadking Torygg! Ulfric readily obeyed, his anger boiling over. He ran towards the crumpled High Queen, sword already swinging down.

Elisif rolled out of the way and his blade hit the stone, rattling the bones in his arms.

"You bastard," she snarled, scrambling to her feet. His first blow had split her lip. "I shouldn't be surprised a little bit of fury poison has turned you into a wild dog. Some part of you has wanted this for a long time."

In a distant and powerless corner of his mind, Ulfric wondered at the wisdom of taunting him at this stage. Run! But even if he could speak the word to her, it would be hopeless. He was stronger, faster, and uninjured.

Regardless, Elisif picked up her sword and squared off against him. They moved parallel to each other among the stone pillars.

"By all rights, you should be rotting in the ground," Elisif said. "The Dragonborn made a mistake letting you live." She might be trying to make me angrier, sloppier in my reactions. Clever, but it won't work fast enough to make a difference.

"A mistake you'll pay for," Ulfric growled. "You've led Skyrim into ruin. The Emperor that gave you your throne is gone. And you'll soon join him!"

He roared and advanced on the girl, battering down her meager defenses with strong blows. Elisif was good, but he was far better. She was panting in seconds, her blocks coming up slower and slower. She's losing, far too soon. The effects of the poison were still strong in his system. The High Queen would be dead long before they wore off.

So we have to act. He watched almost from a bystander's perspective as the furious monster that he'd become destroyed Elisif's guard. Galmar's voice screamed through his mind, urging him to take the kill and avenge the thousands of Nords that had died because of this damned foolish girl in way over her head. Ghosts fought in the depths of his awareness, the furious Stormcloak grappling with the repentant Ulfric.

"You want me to close my eyes? Would that even things up a little?" He taunted Elisif. Her sword spun away, and he knocked her to the ground with his sword hilt. She looked up at him, her face a mess of bruises and dried blood, and closed her eyes.

"Remember your promise, Ulfric. Whatever happens after this, please remember. I don't want to come back."

Time stopped. In the cyclone of his consciousness, Frea was bleeding out in his arms. Galmar was dying beside him, the light leaving his eyes. Rikke was staring, shocked, as his sword entered her chest. Arngeir was pushing him into the snowdrift to save his life.

He screamed internally at the painful effort of wrenching back control. The end of his sword moved slowly towards Elisif, as inevitable as the snow falling outside. No. This cannot be. But Ulfric felt his own strength failing. All seemed to be lost. Talos, forgive me. I gave it all I had. Ulfric closed his eyes, and suddenly felt the presence of others in his mind. Rikke, as young as she was when they first met in that war tent outside the Imperial City. She whispered, Let me help, old man. Her power joined his own, and the blade stopped an inch from Elisif's throat. Frea laughed, just as she had on the boat to Solstheim before everything went wrong: Ulfric, will you never accept that you are not alone in this world? Her force joined the fold, and the sword receded further. And yet it wasn't enough. As soon as he lost control to the fury, the blade would fall just as quickly. All of a sudden, Ulfric knew what he had to do. All of my life has been leading to this moment. So many have died for me. Now the dial turns upon the name Stormcloak.

His old housecarl's true voice was unmistakable, echoing through his head. Galmar said in that gravelly tone: I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion, you know that. So let's get this over with before you start weeping in front of the girl.

The blade of the sword turned, and Ulfric's wrists twisted painfully. Every minuscule measure of distance was a colossal endeavor. Finally, the sword's aim was true. He took a deep breath, feeling the potential energy of his muscles ready to be released. Old friends, I'm ready.

He surrendered control.

Ulfric fell forward on to the sword, unable to keep from screaming. The agony was like nothing he'd ever felt, a torrential storm of hot fire erupting from his chest. Is this how it felt, Rikke?  White spots danced in his vision. Groaning involuntarily, he fell on to the ground beside Elisif. A sticky warmth spread around him.

I can't move. Ulfric rolled on to his back, the sword still in his chest. You're not supposed to remove it, I don't think. Such details seemed less and less important. He watched Elisif rise shakily to her feet, wiping the blood from her eyes. The girl paused for a moment over him. Ulfric couldn't summon the strength to speak. There's not anything to say, in any case. She'd made no promises. No one would be coming to resurrect him. Sovngarde awaits.

Elisif left at some point. He stared up at the ceiling, the pain throughout his body gradually numbing. Too slowly for his liking. I'm ready to go. Haven't I done enough to deserve death, at the very least? Will the gods have mercy on a dying old man?

"Please," he said to an empty room. "Let it end." 

After a little while, Ulfric found he could move his arms again. He pushed himself over, and nearly fell unconscious from the agony. When his weary eyes flickered open, the Greybeard's shrine to Kynareth was in view. Before, the monument had been covered in blood. Now it seemed strangely clean, glowing softly. And an object leaned against the side.

Ulfric laughed, blood leaking from the corners of his mouth. The sword in his chest vibrated from the motion. An old tree branch, fashioned into a cane, had materialized at the shrine. The Divines have not yet taken all they can from me.

He pulled himself towards the cane. 

There'd been no time to wait for the old Nord. When Teldryn reached the Throat of the World, Jax and his dragon had been engaged in aerial combat with that golden monster. Elven archers had been trying to shoot his friend off, taking cover behind a Word Wall at the edge of the clearing. Above the Wall, a mystical orb covered in strange runes thrummed powerfully. The other Thalmor soldiers watched the unbelievable clash, their swords drawn in case the Dragonborn tried to land. There was no sign of the Emissary, but Teldryn knew Jax couldn't hold on much longer. One of those archers would eventually get lucky, and all would be lost.

The morning sun on the snow glittered beautifully, seeming entirely out of place with current events. Never before have I wished so dearly for a good old fashioned Solstheim ash storm. Teldryn pulled his hood closer over his face. Beside him, Serana did the same and smiled at him. He squeezed her hand. It's time. A cloud passed in front of the sun.

"Charge, you fetchers!" Teldryn raised his sword in the air, and the legionaries rushed past him yelling battle cries. Even in the dimmed sunlight, their armor must have been blinding to their unprepared adversaries. The Thalmor turned just in time to block the first blows, and then the battle began in earnest. Arrows and spells flew in every direction. Men and elves yelled out in pain or triumph. The glowing snow ran red. 

A purple rip in the fabric of Aetherius opened as he summoned a flame atronach into the chaos, surprising a few Thalmor who'd been preparing to skewer a legionary. Teldryn raised his blade to block an elven sword, and felt Serana's back against his own. They moved as one, attuned by love and blood, cutting down Thalmor too slow to adapt to their supernatural speed. Being a vampire does have its advantages, from time to time.

Above the peak, Durnehviir fought tooth-and-claw to keep Merkoorzaam at bay. Even the undead dragon could only take so much damage. Judging from the pained roars that shook the mountaintop, Jax's dragon was having a difficult time of it. The Dragonborn himself glowed orange and sapphire. Dragon Aspect. Shouts from all three of the dov echoed off the mountain, momentarily drowning out the clashing of swords.

An Imperial soldier to his left stood over a dead elf, pulling his blade from the corpse. The legionary staggered as a dagger appeared out of thin air, stabbing through the back of his throat. Teldryn watched in disbelief as the man died. 

"Serana?" He shouted. He'd lost track of her among all the combatants. Teldryn ducked under an incoming mace and cut the leg off an Aldmeri soldier, not pausing to listen to the elf's cry. He ran past two legionaries dueling Thalmor of their own.

Finally, Teldryn found her standing over a fallen Thalmor, grinning triumphantly. He raised a hand to beckon her over.

And then Serana gasped. An elven dagger stuck out of her back, a shimmering shape grasping the handle.

Teldryn hissed like a wounded animal. He fired fireballs at the invisible n'wah even as he rushed towards his beloved's fallen form. One of his hits found purchase, and Stoker cried out in pain, running away towards the Word Wall. In his hand was the Staff of Magnus, pulsing with power. Teldryn didn't follow.

"Don't go," he croaked. He'd drug Serana behind a large rock. Past them, the battle was coming to a bloody end. "Don't leave me alone with all these s'wits."

Serana smiled. Her head was in his lap, frighteningly still. This isn't fair.

"We'll see each other again, stupid." Though her voice was steady, Teldryn could see she was fighting to keep her eyes open. "I'll just have a little head start."

The thought of her alone in Coldharbour, with Molag Bal free to do whatever he pleased, sent his heart into fits of terror. This can't be how it ends. Not again. In Teldryn's mind, the graveyard of his past employers grew larger by one. He saw himself kneeling at Serana's grave, bitter and alone.

"Please hold on for just a moment," he pleaded. "I'll grab one of these bastards for you to drink. Then you'll be fine, and we'll leave this dreadful place behind and go fetch Runa."

She smiled weakly, her eyelids falling, and took his hand.

Elisif stumbled to the Throat, doing her best to ignore the aches and pains all over her body. The winds were beginning to return to the path, and getting this far had almost spent the last of her energy. I've arrived too late.

Imperial and Thalmor bodies littered the clearing. Hrongar sat up against a boulder, groaning. Only a few soldiers were left standing, and Stoker was making short work of them. With a blast from the Staff of Magnus, he sent a legionary flying off the edge of the mountain. The staff's counterpart spun above the Word Wall.

Above them, Durnehviir held on to the mountainside weakly and the golden dragon tore at his wings. Jax clung to the undead dragon's scales in a similarly desperate fashion.

The High Queen grimaced and spat blood on to the snow. She drew her sword and staggered forward.

"No more," Elisif yelled. Stoker turned to look at her. His eye wound had been torn open, and blood ran down his golden face and stained his teeth red. His handless arm now sported severe burns as well. But she knew the monster was still dangerous.

"Elisif!" Stoker laughed, moving towards the Eye of Magnus. "I'm shocked to see you again. I'd heard many tales of Ulfric Stormcloak's skill with a sword."

"You've lost!" Elisif raised her weapon, hands shaking. "This world has earned its existence. Hasn't enough blood been spilled for you to see that?"

"All I've seen here is needless suffering," Stoker said. He stood below the Eye, and the glowing runes cast dire shadows across his broken body. "We're going to ascend, my dear. Ascend beyond fury and bloodshed."

"We don't want to ascend," Elisif limped forward, past the dead and dying. "A world without consequence has no meaning. Why do you think we fight so fiercely to preserve it?"

"You're wrong," Stoker snarled. "We were meant to be divine. I'm going to take back what they stole from us! Reclaim our rightful place among the spirits. We won't feel pain anymore, Elisif. How could you refuse such a world?"

She thought of Ulfric Stormcloak. "Someone once told me our existence is defined by suffering. I'm not sure I believe that, but I know every life must have an end. The final days give definition to all that came before them. The Dragonborn should be dead, just as you and I will someday die. I miss Torygg, every day and with all my heart. But I am thankful that he was ever a part of my life. I would never wish that pain away. Death is not the tragedy you believe it to be, Stoker. That we ever live at all is the true wonder." 

"No. No, mortal life is not enough." Stoker took a deep breath, and raised the staff. "I reject this false reality. Goodbye, Elisif. When we speak again, it will be as fellow gods."

Elisif prepared to throw her sword, too late. Durnehviir roared his last, slamming into the ground and sending them both stumbling. Snow went up in white clouds and she lost sight of Stoker. The undead dragon vanished into purple mist and the Dragonborn fell. His body landed with a hollow thump near the Word Wall.

She rose to her feet, disoriented. The staff. Before Elisif could move, a shadow fell on Jax's limp body. Merkoorzaam. The beast landed with a shuddering boom in the clearing, and she was knocked off her feet. The dragon had a singular target. Elisif could only watch in horror as Merkoorzaam's sapphire eyes looked towards Jax, blue fire already lighting up the beast's throat.

Merkoorzaam loomed, unimaginable power gathering in its gullet. Jax, you n'wah. Look at the mess you've got yourself into this time. Lakeview was a while ago now. Let me repay this one debt.

The metal of the Staff of Magnus was cold in Teldryn's hand. Serana clung to his side, barely holding on.

She turned towards him, and Teldryn kissed her pale forehead. 

"Together," Serana whispered weakly. Her hand reached out to grasp the staff below his.

"Always."

The air seemed, for a moment, to be completely still. Then Teldryn's fireball hit the side of the dragon's head, and Merkoorzaam turned towards them by instinct, jaws open. Once such a power as a dragon's fire was summoned, it could not be stopped. And one of the only sure things in this world was the anger of a dovah.

"Don't look away," Serana said. The flames reflected off her eyes in a lovely manner. Teldryn held her tight.

"Never."

There was brightness, and nothing.

Ulfric reached the Throat just as Merkoorzaam shuddered violently. Past the dragon, the Staff of Magnus was a molten pool of metal hissing in ashy snow.

This is it, Frea. The Golden One has been defeated. Merkoorzaam was silent as his scales fell away in a wash of ethereal light, the sight nearly blinding. Unbelievably, under the discarded flesh, a second coat of armor appeared. These scales were duller in color, more bronze than golden.

Underneath Merkoorzaam's disintegrating skin, smaller and more tattered wings revealed themselves. Ulfric lurched forward on his cane, past the fallen soldiers and scorch marks in the snow. He'd been forced to pull the sword out of his chest to get this far, and one of his arms was now devoted solely to keeping the important parts of himself together. The arm grew more wet with every step he took.

"You can't create a dragon," the Dragonborn said. He was leaned up against the Word Wall, watching numbly. "But you can corrupt one."

The sapphire light drained from the fallen dragon's eyes, and in its place a familiar light dawned. Ulfric watched in awe.

"Paarthurnax."

Amaton nodded. "He'll take some time to wake up. I can't imagine what he's been through."

A shrill voice split the air. "Damn you!"

Ulfric looked up to see Stoker advancing on a fallen Elisif. The Emissary had a dagger in his hand, and murder in his eyes.

"You've ruined it all!" Stoker raised the weapon. Amaton looked on, drained and helpless.

"FUS!"

The effort of even the partial shout nearly finished off Ulfric. Stoker floundered backwards, the dagger falling to the snow.

Ulfric staggered forward and swung the cane. Stoker screamed at the impact. He kept swinging until the elf's arms and legs were broken beyond a doubt, and then Ulfric felt the last of his strength drain away and he collapsed.

"Kill him and be done with it," Elisif said. She stood with the Dragonborn over the two forms. "He's taken so much from us."

"That's exactly what he intends we do," Jax responded. He leaned on Ulfric's stick, one of his legs a ruin. "Stoker wants to be with his gods. Beyond mortal suffering. If we kill him, we grant him his greatest desire." Above them, the Eye of Magnus spun on. Without the Staff, it was little more than a party decoration.

Elisif gathered her fury at the Emissary, let it burn so hot she could scarcely breathe, and then let it go. What's the point?

"You're right." She wiped the blood from her eyes. "Put him somewhere he can't hurt anyone else ever again."

Elisif's legs gave up on her. After lying in the snow for a heartbeat, she crawled to the sleeping dragon and rested her head against his warm scales. With a groan of pain, Jax joined her, the walking stick discarded.

His eyes turned to the melted Staff of Magnus, and the piles of ash already blowing away. His gaze hardened.

"Elisif."

"Yes?"

"The Dragonborn died here. Do you understand? All of this was in response to my power. I rose to heights no mortal should dare to reach. And I fell further than you'll ever know."

Elisif nodded wearily. She closed her eyes. The battle's over. It's time to rest now. She reached out and took Jax's hand, and they joined Paarthurnax in sleep as the rays of the sun broke through the clouds to greet the Throat of the World.

Later

The caretaker looked behind him to see the gangly priest of Kynareth struggling up the steps. They seem to get younger every season. He'd led many eager disciples up from Ivarstead in his time, and more than a few of them had given up somewhere along the Seven Thousand Steps. This boy seems spirited, though. I think he'll make it.

"You're stronger than you look," The priest panted, his hands on his knees. "If you go up and down this path so often."

The caretaker smiled. "The stick helps." He held the tree branch cane up and wiggled it in the air.

The priest laughed at that. For a time, they went up the steps in silence. The day was a beautiful one, alive with the arboreal scents of the Rift in summertime. Every climb, without fail, the caretaker reminded himself to be grateful for what he had. In the folds of his thick robes, a letter from his daughter shifted around. He was excited to read it. She was studying at the College of Winterhold, and loved to keep her father up to date on her latest adventures.

Eventually, the holy man asked the inevitable question. I wonder how I'll feel when the day finally passes where no one cares anymore.

"Were you around when the Dragonborn died?" The priest glanced at him as they walked, eager for a possible answer.

"You should brush up on your history, son. Everyone knows only High Queen Elisif and the Jarl of Whiterun made it off that mountaintop alive."

"I know, but the Dragonborn had to have passed through Ivarstead on his way up. Surely you must have seen him. People said the sky lit up from all the dragonfire!"

The caretaker chuckled. Over the years, rumor became legend and inconvenient facts were discarded. "If I remember right, the sky was lit up from the sun. The final battle took place in the morning, boy."

"Oh," The priest responded. But he didn't seem to take the caretaker too seriously, and the old elf was gladdened at that. The day people look to me for wisdom again, Skyrim will fall into peril once more.

They eventually turned the final bend, and High Hrothgar waited before them. The priest of Kynareth gaped at the sight, frozen on the path. I wonder if I'll ever tire of seeing the wonder in young eyes.

"Come on, boy," The caretaker said. "You'll grow tired of these stone bricks soon enough." He was eager to return to his small cabin up on the Throat. To read his daughter's letter, speak to a teacher far wiser than he'd ever be, and light two candles for friends long gone. Gone, but not forgotten.

The priest followed him to the monastery steps.

"Wait here," The caretaker said. He went up carefully, his bad leg always limping slightly behind. He knocked sharply on the iron entrance. Behind him, the priest waited.

The doors to High Hrothgar opened. Ulfric Stormcloak, five years a Greybeard, looked down at him with restful eyes.

The End