Invictus

“Lok… Vah…Koor!”

The Shout echoed through the mist, breaking it apart. Gormlaith was confident that Alduin was weakened and would be forced to fight them instead of hiding in the mist. “The endless wait gives way to battle! Alduin’s doom, his death or ours!”

Meliandra’s eyes scanned the skies, her heart racing. Beside her the fallen heroes from a time so long ago stood along with her, swords drawn as they too searched for the dragon that had plagued their world and now hers. Her Elven eyes caught sight of the large black wings cresting the rocky crag before them and called out, “There!” as she pointed into the sky.

“Fo…” came Hakon’s Shout, “Krah…Diin!”  

“Yol…Toor…Shul!” followed Felldir with his.

Their Shouts struck Alduin, and he began fighting the forces that fought against him. “Pah look joore! Hin kah fen kos bonaar!” The dragon careened into the firm earth below, shuddering all those who stood there. She drew an arrow, crafted by the highly skilled blacksmith of the Skyforge, Eorlund Gray-Mane and enchanted by the court mage, Farengar, apparently Balgruuf had made requests of his people to pray for the Dragonborn’s victory over the World-Eater with some of the citizens of Whiterun gifting her potions and enchanted armor and weapons to increase her chances at success. With a trained eye, she aimed the nocked arrow at the dragon’s vulnerable, soft underbelly where few scales gave what little protection they could and, saying a quick prayer to the Divines, let loose the arrow.

Alduin Shouted in the direction the arrow came from; Meliandra dropped to her knees against the force of his Shout, but stayed where she was, her specially crafted bow from Adrianne made from the bone of the dragon slain so many years ago at the Western Watchtower, gripped in her hand.

Their eyes met.

He was still strong and fought valiantly at the strength of the words Shouted at him; his eyes shone with the fire of his contempt.

Meliandra stood to her feet; she felt something warm on her leg, and looking down, saw a jagged gash running down the length of her calf, a pool of blood staining the ground where she had been brought to her knees. She absently noted the beginnings of bruises on exposed skin and found herself oddly thinking of how many marks were revealing themselves beneath her armor, Alduin’s attacks had included boulders hurled towards her and her companions and had caused many an incident she had crashed hard against the ground in an effort to avoid being squashed beneath one.

She was tired, both in mind and body. From the moment she had landed in Skuldafn she had been fighting everything from skeletons and draugr to dragons and a dragon priest. By the time she had gone through the portal to arrive in Sovngarde, she had begun to believe that this was a fool’s errand and she would meet the fate she was destined for: death.

“Die, World-Eater,” came Felldir’s voice, “in despair and fear.”

She looked at her companions; death had not stopped them, merely postponed their greatest battle millennia, until the appointed time, until now when she was fated to join their fate.

“Weak,” hissed Alduin. “You are weak.” Arrows fell upon him yet he struggled toward her as if there were none. “You are nothing, a mere insect to squash beneath my feet. You are not worthy to be called Dovahkiin, the audacity of you, a mere mortal, to consider yourself worthy of the title. You shall always be weak. Your name shall be forgotten.”

Her eyes narrowed. “I am not the one who is weak, World-Eater,” she snarled.

He Shouted at her, but her ward was faster and bore the brunt of his attack.

“You who run and hide here in Sovngarde, licking your wounds as you lose power over the dragons you have raised. They question you now. Are you worthy to lead them? They are beginning to doubt you, Alduin.”

He struggled to break the Dragonrend Shout her fellow warriors threw at him as their blades struck him drawing blood.

“I thank the Divines for my unconquerable soul,” she stated determinedly as she drew an arrow on the dragon. “My head is bloody, but you shall not see it bowed.” The arrow sliced through the air, striking him in his maw. “You, the menace of the years, have found me unafraid.” She drew another arrow and took aim again. “I am the master of my fate.” She let her arrow loose and struck him through the neck. “I am Dovahkiin.”

The ground shook as Alduin reared up, the length of his body stretched to its fullest as he cried out, “Zu’u Unslaad! Zu’u nis ablaan!”

They stood in amazement as they watched the great beast convulse violently, the ground quaking beneath them, and the skies lit up as lightning streaked above them. Alduin gasped as his immense body began to rupture before their eyes, an agonized scream ripping through his throat before dying to a high-pitched whine right at his body burst into nothingness.

Meliandra collapsed to her knees, an audible sigh escaping her lips. She began to pray to the Divines as tears began to creep out of her eyelids. She had survived, she had not believed that she would, yet here she knelt, bloody but breathing and able to walk away. She ached, her muscles complaining at the slightest movement and her body longed for rest.

Victorious cries rose up around her and soon she felt the hands of the warriors of old resting upon her shoulders and begin to shout, “All hail the Dragonborn!”

“This was a mighty deed!” came the booming voice of Tsun. “The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor’s Hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting. When you are ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back.”

“Come, feast with us,” Gormlaith requested joyfully.

“I must get back,” Meliandra responded. “My job is not done yet.”

“Dragonborn,” came a voice she did not recognize. The young monarch approached her and asked, “Tell me, what has happened to my kingdom? What has happened since Ulfric challenged my rule?”

“High King Torygg,” she said with recognition and a slight bow. “Skyrim is at war with the Empire. Ulfric challenges Elisif’s claim to the throne.”

“Ulfric challenged me in the Old Ways. I accepted and lost. He should sit upon the throne.”

“Too bad the Empire doesn’t agree. Now that Alduin is defeated, the fighting will resume. That is why I must return as soon as possible.”

“Then you shall,” Tsun interjected. “Return now to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need.”

She gave a brief nod and braced herself.

“Nahl…Daal…Vus!”

She felt herself falling, fast. The world was distorted as she seemingly fell through time and space. ‘Is this what it was like when Hakon and Felldir sent Alduin to her time? Is this what the dragon experienced?’

She fell, face first, into a snowbank. “Gotta work on that landing thing, Tsun,” she muttered as she brought herself up, dusting the snow from her body and shaking it from her hair. Suddenly she sensed the presence of others and began to turn around.

She was greeted by a group of Thalmor, their conjured swords in their hands, all watching Meliandra. “Shit,” she mumbled as she tried to summon her strength to conjure her own swords, but a voice stopped her where she stood.”

“It’s time to come home, Areyna.”

#

Skeletons From The Closet

Rumair stalked into the room, his irritation pronounced in his demeanor. He stood just inside the door as if venturing further would somehow soil him, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Elenwen. “You said you had information for me?”

“Yes; please have a seat.”

He cast a sidelong glance to the chair before the desk then back to the ambassador. “I shall stand.”

“As you wish.” Elenwen folded her hands before her and began. “As you are probably aware, the Greybeards called a peace council.”

“Yes, some sort of truce so the dragon problem can be dealt with. It will not last.”

“No, it will not,” she agreed. “But that is not why I’ve asked you to come.” Swallowing, she looked directly at the Mer before her. “It is about the Dragonborn.”

“Ah, yes, the Nords prophesied hero. What does this person have to say that would be of interest to us?”

“Areyna is the Dragonborn.”

He stared at her. “Are you sure?”

“My agent Rikke has confirmed it as well as the fact that she now goes by the name of Meliandra Valeria, has aligned herself with both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood as well as having a romantic relationship with Ulfric Stormcloak that has produced a child.”

“A child?” he repeated as he began to pace, excitement shining in his eyes. “This is most wonderful news. I must have the child.”

“Pardon me?” Elenwen looked at him incredulously. “Did you not hear what I just said?”

“That there is a child. What else do I need to concern myself with?”

“That this child is borne of our enemy in this insurrection of Ulfric’s? That it is the Dragonborn’s child? Any action that is taken about this child will most certainly affect the rebellion, possibly tilting things into their favor.”

“The rebellion is your concern. Areyna and her child are mine. If you had not lost your control on your asset, we would not find ourselves fighting the insurrection.” He turned to leave.

“By your way of thinking, if Ulfric were still my asset, there would not be this child you seek to now find.”

Rumair paused. “She would have been impregnated many times over by now if her wench mother had not run off with her all those years ago. If she had not escaped, we would be well on our way of producing stronger and more powerful Elven children, giving us the upper hand at ridding the world with these lesser, unworthy specimens of life. Now, find me Areyna and her child before I experiment on you.”

#

Rumair rode the horse back to North Keep in excited silence, his security detail, two horse lengths behind. His mind raced with the many possibilities that lay before him and all the plans they entailed; he needed to recruit mages with strong seed to impregnate Areyna, she could carry a child with success, she would be needed to help create a new breed of Elves and he needed the child to be trained properly in the magic arts as soon as possible.

Rumair was about to become a very busy man.

#

The wind was howling.

Ulfric sat alone in his chambers, a bottle of Bloodwine before him, half-empty. His eyes, blood-shot, stared at the fire burning beyond the table he sat at, the flames almost extinguished as the logs had burned away til they were nearly ash. He had not slept since High Hrothgar and now he was watching the beginning of yet another dawning day.

The wind howled again.

He had an heir, a son, what every father desired, a boy to inherit his name, granting him immortality in the annals of history. But his pride at his siring of a son was dampened by the fact that his son’s veins flowed with Elven blood.

Vladimir. A reluctant smile played at his lips as his son’s name echoed in his ears. Vladimir Stormcloak. A proud sounding Nord name.

‘But he’s not a Nord,’ came the voice in his head.

He picked up the bottle and took a long pull as the comment echoed in his ears. ‘Elven,’ came the menacing taunt of a secondary voice in his head.

‘And you lusted after her,’ came a third. ‘You laid with her,’ it continued, ‘multiple times.’

‘And you enjoyed it,’ came the first voice again. ‘Over and over and over.’

‘She’s a Breton,’ came a new voice.

‘She’s an elf,’ countered the first.

‘Only because her mother was raped.’

‘She lied about it.’

‘She never mentioned it.’

‘A lie by omission is still a lie.’

“She is the Dragonborn,” he growled aloud.

The voices in his head grew silent and again, he took another long pull off the bottle of Bloodwine.

The wind howled again.

No, he realized, it was not the wind but his war hounds howling in the palace kennels and it sounded as if all twenty of them were going off. They must sense something was different.

His door creaked open, startling him. Turning to look, he saw his steward enter. “Jorleif?”

“My Lord,” he responded, “you are already awake.”

“That would require my having gone to sleep.”

“Oh. Something troubles you, my Lord?”

“When is there not something to trouble me?” he slurred.

“I would venture that all great leaders suffer from some sort of trouble or another.”

“I never saw my father suffering any troubles,” he said, bitterly.

“Forgive me, my Lord, but you were not around to see him deal with his troubles.”

“Yes,” Ulfric responded after a moment, “you’re right, of course; I was not.” He took another long pull, draining the last of his fourth bottle. “Bring me more Bloodwine.”

“Forgive me, my Lord, but I do not think that more drink is going to help you right now.”

“And what do you think will help me?”

Jorleif shifted on his feet. “Forgive me, again, Lord Ulfric. I have spoken out of place.”

Ulfric sat up straighter. “No, you haven’t. You are one of the few who knew my father and gave him counsel. What do you think he would do were he in these circumstances?”

Jorleif spoke hesitantly as he answered his jarl. “As you know, I served your father for many years, ever since I was a young boy. I was honored to serve him as it is my honor to serve you.”

“But?”

“But you are two separate people with two separate sets of experiences that have colored your views the way only you see them.” He stammered. “What I mean is, you rule differently than Hoag did.”

“Differently how? In a good way or a bad way?”

“He would have agreed with your fight against the Empire, but he would not agree with your rule, my Lord.”

“How do you mean?”

“He would have wanted a return to the worship of the Nine Divines, he would not agree to the removal of Talos worship and would have done as you did, sir, and rose up against the Empire’s taking the knee to the Thalmor. But he would not treat the Elves, the Orcs, or any of the beast folk differently as you have, and he would not agree with your battle cry of ‘Skyrim is for the Nords’.”

Ulfric sat back, his hand resting against his chin, thinking. “Meliandra is of Elven descent,” he stated flatly finally. “To put it more accurately, her mother was raped by one of the Thalmor responsible for the torture I suffered during my imprisonment.”

“I was unaware.”

“So was I until she revealed her past to me at High Hrothgar.”

“And she is the Dragonborn?”

“Yes. A Breton fathered by an Elf is the Dragonborn.”

“That means Vladimir is part Elven.” At Ulfric’s stare, he ventured the question he feared would find him in the stockades. “Does this mean that you plan on denying your son?”
#

Brynjolf had barely made it to the bottom of the ladder when Rune’s voice reached him. “Bryn, you’ve got some great timing; there’s a courier in the Flagon looking for you.” He paused. “How’s the kid?”

Bryn shot him a look and headed toward the Ragged Flagon. It had been a long night, Karliah and he had been discussing the state of the Guild with Meliandra’s banishment and what it meant to them as Nightingales. And while he enjoyed being a father figure to Vladimir, he could not deny the pang of anguish, he felt when he thought of his child Meliandra had lost. He had never saw himself as a father but now he desired it more than he ever had imagined he would.

He spotted the courier immediately, he sat at the bar, nervous as Vekel eyed him suspiciously. Brynjolf sat down beside the courier, gave Vekel his drink order, then turned to the stranger. “My man tells me you’re looking for me.”

“You’re Brynjolf?”

“Aye; now you want to tell me why you’re looking for me?”

“I have a letter for you, your hands only.” He reached into his bag.

“From whom?”

“Meliandra Valeria in Whiterun.”

Brynjolf felt the blood drain from his face as held his hand out. “Vekel, give this man food and drink and a bed for the night.”

“Yes, sir.”

Brynjolf dropped some coin before the courier then retreated back to the room he occupied, the Guild Master’s room. As he sat upon the bed he had often shared with Meliandra, he gazed at the folded and sealed paper in his hand, asking himself if he was prepared to read what she had to say. He was the guardian of her child, a child borne to another man, and borne of the woman he loved. He was the man who ousted her as the Guild Master and took the position he had never wanted for himself. He was just the latest in a long line of people who had betrayed her.

He broke the wax seal and opened the letter.

#

Destiny

Meliandra had barely slept all night, tossing and turning restlessly. She had determined that the guards had indeed stayed at their posts all night, ensuring that she did not sneak out through the window. Smiling to herself; she thought how she would let Balgruuf play his hand, allowing him to believe that he had any real power right now, especially over her; it suited her purposes for now. Rising, she began to dress, her tunic over her undergarments, then the leather pants, newly bought and freshly enchanted with wards. She picked up the leather top and pulled it on, her fingers working the pieces of bone through their holes, bringing the material close to her body, hugging her frame. She glanced at the bed, Vladimir’s blanket laying atop the top fur next to where she had laid during the night, her gingers airily touched the material as her thoughts drifted to her son. Would he know her, of her? Would he understand if she never came back? Would he be proud of her, or would he be ashamed? She fiercely wiped the tear from her eye as she pulled her attention back to the task ahead. She finished dressing and prepared to leave.

As she opened the door, the guards turned to her, stern looks upon their brows. “Thane,” said the one to the left, “the jarl has asked for us to escort you to the Throne Room.”

She smiled sardonically. “Lead away,” she replied, hitching her knapsack on her shoulder. She had already made plans for once she had convinced this dragon that she would soon capture regarding her and the things she would leave behind. Balgruuf believed he held all the cards to force her into being his pawn as revenge for what slights he perceived she caused him, but he would soon discover she was not one to manipulate.

They brought her from her lodgings by the dungeon by means of the barracks. Catching glimpses of the outside through the arrow slits of the outer wall of the palace, she began to think of the people of Whiterun, those she had helped, those she had loved, and those that she had betrayed. These were the people she was sworn to protect as thane, but protect from whom? Ulfric and his army of rebels? The Empire and its enslavement to the Thalmor? The Thalmor who sought to eradicate all races inferior to their own, the Altmer? Regardless of which side, Stormcloak or the Empire, the enemy truly was the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion. The Empire would send its citizens to the gallows if the Dominion required it, long past were the days of the might and glory of the Empire.  And while Ulfric would unshackle the people from the chains of the White Gold Concordant, he would not hesitate to oust the Elven and non-human races from this land. Would he? She wondered, questioning herself. His son is part Mer, would he banish his firstborn, his heir?

That was the question echoing in her mind as she ascended the steps to the Throne Room.

#

She immediately sensed the tension in the air as she was brought forward; everyone was staring at her, watching her. They knew what she was going to do, but were those looks of fear or of awe? She pushed them from her sight and met the gaze of the jarl and walked purposefully toward him. Irileth’s hand remained close to the hilt of her sword as she stood protectively over the jarl; Meliandra smiled.

“Are you ready to spring the trap on the dragon?”

He nodded. “We’re ready, Dragonborn. As I promised, my men stand ready. The great chains are oiled; we wait on your word.”

Taking a deep breath, she nodded. “I’m ready.”

He looked at her for a long moment in silence before standing and saying, “Speak with me,” with an indication of his hand that she should follow while indicating with his other hand that Irileth and her guards should follow behind, putting a safe distance between the two. As they ascended the stairs, he asked, “Do you believe in Ulfric’s cause?”

She kept her eyes focused ahead. “Do you?”

He glanced at her, a look of curiosity crossing his eyes before he shook it off and continued. “I know the kind of man he is, more than you do, I guarantee.”

She raised an eyebrow yet remained quiet still.

“Do you think he cares about you? Do you think he will care about your child once he has the babe in his grasp?” At her continued silence, he went on. “His only concern, his only care is for power, it always has been and it always will be. Did he tell you why he left High Hrothgar all those years ago?” He carried on without giving her a chance to respond. “It’s because he couldn’t use the power of the Voice to get his way; he doesn’t want peace or to follow on the same peaceful path as the Greybeards. We had peace after the Great War, and what did Ulfric do? He went into Markarth and stirred up problems. He killed the High King-“

“What is the purpose of this, Balgruuf?”

“Aligning yourself with him does us no good.”

She stopped walking toward the doors to the Great Porch. “There are bigger things happening right now than this war. You seriously cannot be pitching an alliance with the Empire while Alduin is set on devouring this world and all the souls that inhabit it.”

“When you return then.”

She stared at him and forced a fake smile. “Yes, we’ll talk then.” She turned and walked through the doors.

There were guards out on the Great Porch, more than she had seen before, she caught sight of the twin Companions standing amongst them. What she was about to do weighed heavily upon her shoulder; her pulse quickened. Outwardly calm, she walked to the porch determinedly, aware of the eyes upon her. Murmurs reached her ears, questioning if this Breton could truly capture a dragon or if she was offering up the citizens of this Hold as a meal.

Closing her eyes for a brief moment, her fingers released the arrow sending it into the open maws of the dragon’s mouth. The dragon shook its head as it cried out, bits of the arrow spraying back at them as it’s weakened vocal cords tried to Shout.

“Joor Zah Frul!”

The Dragonrend Shout wrapped itself around Odahviing like mystical tendrils and brought him down from the sky. The tranquilizing potion, a recipe used for mammoths modified to work on a beast three times the size of the furred creature, taking effect as the dragon stumbled forward, venturing into the walls of the palace and closer to the trap, ready to be sprung.

With a loud, resounding thud, the top half of the trap dropped down into place, locking the dragon’s head in place in a specially designed stockade; Odahviing snorted as he saw the predicament he had found himself in. “Nid!” he cried out once more. Meliandra handed the bow to a guard and walked toward the immobile creature, a smile playing upon her lips. Odahviing watched her suspiciously as she approached. “Horvutah med kodaav,” he grumbled. “Caught like a bear in a trap…Zok frini grind ko grah drun viiki, Dovahkiin.” He snorted; she felt the expelled warmth and rose her eyebrow. “Zu’u bonaar.” He sneered. “You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this…humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm?” At her silence, the dragon spoke to her using the Common Tongue. “No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?”

This time the smile was not kind in appearance but rather menacing. “Yes,” she answered, “I do.” She stood next to his large head and leaned forward, staring directly into the looming eye before her. “Where is he hiding?”

The creature’s large wings moved up, then down, a shrug, as he responded, “Rinik vazah. An apt phrase. Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu’um for myself.”

“Test my Thu’um?”

“Many of us have begun to question Alduin’s lordship, whether his Thu’um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni Meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him.”

She leaned in again. “You were telling me where to find Alduin.”

Almost abashedly, Odahviing answered, “Unslaad krosis. Innumerable pardons. I digress. He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejoor…the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards…” He brought his attention back to her. “His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. Mindoraan, pah ok lavraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there.” The dragon paused. “Zu’u lost ofan hin laan…now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?”

She shook her head. “Not until Alduin is defeated.”

The dragon smiled. “Ah. Well. Hmm…Krosis.”

Sensing there was something he wasn’t telling her, she pushed. “What?”

“There is one…detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention.”

“Of course, there is,” she said flatly. “Tell me what you know, then.”

Again the dragon snorted and shrugged before saying, “Only this. You have the Thu’um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn.” He smiled broadly. “Of course…, I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this.”

“Do you expect me to take your word for that?”

“Ahraan. You wound me, Dovahkiin. I may not tell the whole truth, but I am no liar. Go and see for yourself. Zu’u ni bo nol het. I will be here…unless Alduin returns before you do.”

“We seem to be at an impasse, then.”

“Indeed. Orin brit ro. I cannot leave here until you defeat Alduin, which you cannot do without my help.”

Frustrated, she walked to open air of the Great Porch, ignoring the eyes of those there. Could she trust this dragon? He could fly her right into a trap, a gift to Alduin, so to speak, and there would be no escape. But she saw that she had no choice, there was really one option. She called Balgruuf over and requested a scroll of paper, a quill and inkwell, and for a courier. Once she had written her message and instructed the courier on where to deliver it, she returned to Odahviing.

“Fine,” she said. “I’ll set you free if you promise to take me to Skuldafn.”

“Onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. And you can trust me. Zu’u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me and I will carry you to Skuldafn.”

“Loose the chains!” she called out.

The guards looked at her. “Are you sure about that?” asked one. “You want to let that dragon loose after all the trouble to catch in there?”

“I am sure.”

“Do as the Dragonborn commands,” came the jarl’s voice. “It’s all according to her plan.”

The guard shook his head. “Your funeral. Someone else is gonna have to help you get him back in there again.” The guard turned around to the lever, calling out to the others, “Get ready to open the trap!”

She turned to Odahviing and said, “I’m still wondering if I can trust you.”

“Zu’u ni tahrodiis. It was you that lure me here and took me prisoner…vobalaan grahmindol. I have done nothing to earn your distrust.”  

The chains clinked and clanged as the trap was released; the dragon stretched his neck, his teeth bared in the motion, then he backed out, turning himself around, Meliandra walking next to him.

“You did try to trick me into letting you go.”

“Hin aar orin nu,” came his response. “And yet here I am, still your prisoner.”

She looked at him. “I guess I’ll have to trust you, then.”

“Onikaan koraav bein miraad. Zu’u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule.” His head turned to her as they came to a stop. “Saraan uth – I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?”

Taking a deep breath she answered, “I’m ready. Take me to Skuldafn.” She climbed upon the dragon’s back.

“Zok brit uth! I warn you, once you’ve flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase. Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselak.”

And with a jolt, Meliandra found herself being lifted high above the palace and over the mountains, Skuldafn bound.

#

A Pocketful of Breadcrumbs

Balgruuf sat at the dining table in his chambers, Irileth and his brother Hrongar sitting on either side of him. They had been told of the terms of the peace treaty and that Dragonsreach would be used to capture a dragon once again. They did not care for the plan.

“I, for one, do not trust the Breton,” Irileth stated icily.

“You’ve never trusted any woman who came close to my brother,” Hrongar retorted.

“And each time I’ve been right about them.”

“Of course, you have. Things always seem to go the way you say they will, don’t they?”

The Dunmer’s hand slowly reached toward the knife on the table before her. “Pardon me?” Her voice came out hard and calculating. “Are you implying something?”

“Implying?” came the sarcasm filled reply. “What would I ever be implying?”

“You’re the one who mentioned the locked-“

“Enough!” Balgruuf’s voice rattled against the walls, his eyes boring into his brother’s. “I have told you before, you will not bring up that incident!” He turned to Irileth, lips pursed, eyes revealing he knew her secrets. “Your concerns are noted and shared.”

Glowering, she gave Hrongar an “I told you so” glance; he ignored her.

“Meliandra will be arriving in the next day or two. She is to be given a room within Dragonsreach and guards posted outside her room. She is to be escorted at all times upon her arrival. She might be the Dragonborn, but she is wanted for the assassination of the emperor.”

“Why don’t we just arrest her?” The Dunmer stabbed a piece of meat and put it before her on her plate.

“Are you going to capture the dragon and fight the World-Eater?”

She shoved the piece of meat into her mouth.

“Will you two just stop with the bickering? You act worse than an old married couple.” He ignored the stares they gave him. “Hrongar has a point. I cannot order her arrest while she is dealing with the dragon problem. My hands are tied on the matter.”

“Hardly seems appropriate.”

“What would you have me do, Irileth?”

“I know what I would do,” she mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

Ignoring his question, she continued, “When will this dragon trap be ready?”

Balgruuf ran his thumb over his lip before answering. “Another day or two.”

“And the Breton…?”

“Like I said, tonight, tomorrow?” He shrugged. “Depends how long Ulfric detained her.”

“What’s with that?”

Balgruuf sneered as he poured himself more wine. “The whore has a child with him.”

The silence was deafening. Irileth picked up her own drink, and pausing a moment, said, “Maybe she’ll meet the same fate as the wenches before her.” And with that, she drained the goblet of mead.

#

Meliandra approached the gates of Whiterun, her anxiety climbing as two city guards stood before them, barring her way.

“Pardon me, Thane,” came the calm voice of the first guard. “Jarl Balgruuf has instructed us to escort you to Dragonsreach.”

“I am in no need of an escort.”

The guard nodded. “We have our orders.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. “Very well. Might I get a room at the inn and leave my things?”

“No, Thane,” came the reply of the other guard. “The Jarl has had a room prepared for you at the palace. If you’ll please come with us.”

“Do I have a choice?” She indicated the gates. “Might as well get going, then. Wouldn’t want to leave Balgruuf waiting.”

The guards ignored the sarcasm in her words as they turned around and unlocked the gate. Walking through, Meliandra looked toward her old home. She had intended on stopping there to see her former housecarl and her family, but now that did not seem much of a possibility. With her frustrations growing, she realized that despite the peace treaty and her being the Dragonborn, she was far from safe.

“I saw the youngest sneaking around that old storeroom again,” the first guard was saying.

“That kid is weird. Even the jarl calls him a dark child.”

“What do you think he’s doing in that storeroom?”

The second guard shrugged. “I don’t know. I do know that you’ll never catch me by that door though.”

“Why not? You scared or something?”

“Damn right, I’m scared. I could have sworn I heard him talking to some lady down there once, but when I turned the corner, I only saw him sitting on a crate next to the door, looking like he just got caught doing something wrong.”

“Did you open the door?”

“That’s the thing. I tried but it was locked up tight. I asked Proventus about it, who had the keys for it, and he said that the only people who have the key is Farengar and the jarl himself and that no one was to enter the room. Ever.”

Meliandra idly listened to the conversation between the guards with mild interest. As she listened to the two talking, she glanced around at the townspeople, wondering if they were aware of the plans their jarl had agreed to. She saw Carlotta at her produce stand with her daughter by her side while Nazeem spoke to Fralia at her jewelry stand, all of them seemingly without a care in the world.

She looked ahead and saw the blossoming Gildergreen, the sapling she had brought to Danica having grown quickly in the passing years. She heard no preaching about Talos, and looking, saw the priest kneeling in prayer before the Altar of Talos. She found comfort in the scene.

Her eyes looked up and above the statue of Talos to Dragonsreach just beyond with a slight sheer, she thought to herself, “I’m coming for you.”

#

“You played me for a fool.”

Balgruuf sat behind his desk in his chambers, Meliandra standing before him, the guards assigned to her waiting outside the closed doors; he wanted to make sure that no one heard them, her obvious loyalty to the Stormcloaks complicated his own neutrality in this fight between the Empire and the rebels. “You manipulated me to get me to this fool hardy plan of yours.”

“You had the chance on more than one occasion to not agree to this.”

“I was made to believe that I was going to be…compensated by you, personally, for my cooperation.”

She smiled. “Yes, I did, I told you things you wanted to hear to get what I wanted. It’s not an uncommon practice.”

“You played me for a fool!” he repeated angrily. “I could look past you giving Ulfric a child, all of us could, but you showed unfaltering loyalty to the very man who is wreaking havoc upon this land and who has brought war during a time of peace.”

“A time of peace?” Her voiced, edged with astonishment, rose slightly. “Do you have blinders on your eyes, Balgruuf? Do you not see the people of Skyrim reject the Empire, that the Empire is weak and has been enslaved by the Dominion? This land is not at any kind of peace and no amount of chests laden with gold will change that.”

“How dare you!” He quickly rose to his feet.

“How dare me?!” She laughed hollowly. “How dare you! You act high and mighty sitting on your throne, ‘ruling’ over this Hold while ignoring your people and their needs as Thalmor agents hunt them down and butcher those who would dare worship Talos, right outside your own city walls! How dare you judge me for choosing a side int his war as you hold onto your ‘neutrality’.”

“Remember your place!”

“Or what? You’ll have me imprisoned? She took a step toward the desk; Balgruuf took an unconscious step back. She smiled at him. “No, Balgruuf, you need to remember who you’re dealing with. I’ll let you put on a show of having guards follow me so you can feel like you have some form of control over the situation but know this, my Jarl, there is nothing you can do to stop anything I might do and you are too weak of a man to even try.”

His face revealed the deep-seated anger that quickly rose within him. “Guards!” he shouted. “Bring the Dragonborn to her room. She is to remain there, under guard, until I call for her,” he ordered once they entered, glaring at her the entire time, a look of disgust in his eyes. “Get her out of my sight.”

Meliandra smiled as she turned and left the room, a song humming upon her lips.

Quutamo

She ended her tale shakily, surprised at the emotions she still felt about that time in her life. She lifted her eyes towards the man who had demanded knowledge of her past, the man she had kept secrets from, the man whose child she had borne and denied him and searched his face for some clue as to where his thoughts were. She watched him as he fiddled with the whiskers of his beard thoughtfully, until he stood up and walked to the window, looking out across the land below them.

“Altmer,” he spat out, his knuckles turning white as he clenched the windowsill. “I would have guessed Bosmer-“

“-due to my height,” she finished for him. “Height was something my mother lacked, and her shortcomings passed onto me.”

He sneered. “Your father is part of the Dominion? Working with the Thalmor?”

“He’s only my father in the biological sense of the word,” she snapped. Sparks of flame ignited the air by her fingertips.

“What would you have me call him, Meliandra?”

“Whatever you want to call him but not that. He’s anything but that.”

“Fine. That bastard is a Thalmor agent. And how do I trust you’re not one as well? Some kind of trick to make me lower my defenses?”

“For the love of Mara!” she exclaimed. “What do I have to do to prove I’m not your enemy?”

“Bring me to my son.”

She closed her eyes with a deep breath. “I can’t.”

He slammed his fist onto the windowsill. “Why the fuck not?!”

“Do you want Rumair to discover Vladimir’s whereabouts? Don’t you realize what will happen when Rumair discovers I have a child? And what do you think Elenwen will do when she discovers that child has your blood?”

“Why?” he demanded. “Why do they know?”

“They don’t yet. But the die has been cast and they will be finding out after today.” At his confused look, she continued. “The Legate is a Thalmor asset. She reports to Elenwen. And Elenwen must answer to Rumair regardless of her ambassadorial status.”

He began to pace the room. “What exactly are your ties to the Legion, to the Empire?”

She sighed. “The same as others, too many others. I was caught with a bounty on my head; I had been running with a group of bandits ever since my mother died and after a failed raid on what we thought was rival groups camp, we were arrested by Imperial soldiers and given an option, either join or hang.”

“So, you joined.”

She stared at him with slitted eyes. “Wouldn’t you have?”

He begrudgingly agreed.

“I was eventually recruited into a select group of soldiers working special assignments that came down from the Imperial City.” She hesitated for a brief moment then continued, “Sullerus Philodus was a member of that group.”

“Sullerus Philodus, that name… The Imperial we captured after the Winter Festival?”

“Yes. And I killed him purposely because he knew who I really am and was reporting back to Rikke, who in turn would inform Elenwen who would notify Rumair that I had been found.”

“And how am I to believe that?” he snapped. “Why should I believe anything you say?”

“Because you don’t have any other choice,” she said matter-of-factly. She stood before him now, halting the pacing he had been doing. “Our son is safe and will be kept safe.”

“He’ll be safe in Windhelm.”

She scoffed. “And how do you figure that when Elenwen will send her agents into Windhelm looking for him. And that’s if she doesn’t already have agents in place throughout your city, perhaps even in your palace.”

He remained silent as he digested her words then, “And Riften is safe?”

“Vladimir is in the care of the Nightingales at a safehouse. I don’t know where the safehouse is, he’s safer that way.”

A storm raged behind Ulfric’s eyes. “You are intent on keeping me from my son, aren’t you?”

She turned away from him. “That’s not my intention.”

“Not your intention?!” He strode up to her, and, taking her by the shoulder, turned her to him. “Not your intention?” he repeated. “You left, no, you ran away from me when you found out, when you realized that you were pregnant! Don’t lie to me, Meliandra! You wanted to keep Vladimir from me from the moment you learned of him!”

A flash of anger flashed in her eyes. “Fine! You want the truth? Here it is. I wanted to protect my child from you! I was afraid to have your child! I am of Elven descent, and not just any Elven man sired me but a monster of one, a Thalmor wizard feared even amongst his own kind. I feared your reaction to having a child with Elven blood.”

He dropped his hand and walked away. “You were right to run,” he admitted softly. “I would have thrown you in irons as soon as the evidence of Elven blood revealed itself.” He paused. “I might have even killed the boy.” His shame to those words were audible to her ears, the swallowing of his admission. He turned to her. “What are your motives, Meliandra?”

“My motives?” She laughed. “My immediate goal is to trap this dragon and force him to tell me where Alduin is and then I’m going to kill the bastard. After that, I need to insure that Vladimir is safe from those who hunt me. After that, I don’t know.”

“You’re a Stormcloak, or so you said earlier,” he stated as he turned and looked her in the eyes. “Would you come back and fight for me?”

#

Ulfric walked alongside Galmar as they descended the 7000 Steps toward Ivarstead, his thoughts tormented. Could he believe Meliandra and her story? He wanted to, so he told himself, but he kept returning to the fact that she was Altmer. She had lied to him by omission, she had deceived him about who she was. He had trusted her. He had loved her.

“The Dragonborn, ‘eh?” came Galmar’s voice breaking the silence.

Ulfric sighed deeply. “I had rather hoped that we’d have gotten to the inn before you brought that up.”

“And wait even longer to know what the girl said/ Where is your son? Why did she keep her being the Dragonborn from you? You cannot expect me to not want to know!”

“Damn you, Galmar!” he exclaimed through clenched teeth as he spun toward the man.

For a brief moment, Galmar feared death at his best friend’s hands, the anger, restrained, blazed hotly behind his cold eyes. He took an involuntary step backward only to hear the skittering of frozen loose pebbles as they cascaded off the side of the mountain. Behind them, Ralof and the rest of the men stopped short, watching.

“What I spoke about with Meliandra is between her and I, not for all to hear.” He glanced behind them, looking beyond Ralof and asking himself if any of his men had been compromised as Meliandra had insinuated, knowing full well that it had not been long ago that an agent of the Empire had braced his bed on many occasions.

He looked confused. “What’s going on, Ulfric? You have a child with the Dragonborn!”

“Keep silent, Galmar!” he hissed. Instructing the rest of the men that they should follow at a larger distance, he began to walk again. After a few moments, he began to speak in lowered tones, relating all that the Breton had told him, avoiding his friend’s eyes at the revelation that he had bedded and impregnated a woman of Elven descent.

“An elf is the Dragonborn?” the general repeated in shock.

“Yes, apparently so. But there is more I am afraid.” He began explaining the finer details of Meliandra’s parentage and the dangers it imposed upon his son, watching the realization of the situation spread across his face, knowing the predicament they now found themselves in. There would never be peace with the Empire if the Thalmor took his child. The need to rid Skyrim of the Empire and their puppet masters was not more important than anything else.

“And what does Meliandra say about all of this?”

“She is focused on the World-Eater at the moment.”

“And after that?”

“After that?” he repeated. “You seem confident that she will survive her impending encounter with Alduin.”

“I have seen her fight, Ulfric. Impressive enough without use of Shouts or even the magic she employs. She has fought and slain an unknown amount of dragons as it is.” He shook his head. “I don’t know if I’d trust her to fight alongside us, but I do have confidence in her ability to take on this quest regardless of how fool-hardy you or I might think.”

“Coming from you, that’s high praise.”

“Don’t let her know that.” He hesitated slightly, choosing his next words carefully. “Do you think she will rejoin the war?”

“Yes, I do. She intends to insure Vladimir’s safety, or that’s what she’s said. She would have to fight the Empire to do that. And then the Thalmor as well…” His voice trailed off.

“Ulfric?”

He looked at his friend. “I do not know when I will, if ever, see my son.”

#

Meliandra stood by the bed in her room, gathering her belongings together in preparation for her departure in the morning. Keeping busy was helping her anxiety from talking with Ulfric ebb away, her thoughts slowly shifting from him to what she was getting ready to do, lure and trap a dragon. She was becoming convinced that she had taken leave of her senses. All she had ever wanted was to live her life away from all the things that had caused her the pain and heartache she hid deep within, no reminders of her days as a prisoner, no looking over her shoulder for bounty hunters, no one to hide from. But fate had thrust her onto this path and despite how much she didn’t want to care what happened here in Skyrim, she had come to consider this place home and she had begun to care about the many people she had befriended through the years. She thought of the day she met Paarthurnax.

… “But why? Why must you stop Alduin?” the dragon had asked.

“I like this world,” she had responded. “I don’t want it to end.”

He had continued on, speaking almost philosophically. And when she told him that she didn’t believe in destiny, his words in response stuck with her and now echoed in her ears. “And so, perhaps, your destiny will be fulfilled. Who can say? Dez Motmahus. Even to the dov, who ride the currents of Time, destiny is elusive.”

A knocking broke through her concentration. Sighing, she went to the door and opened it to reveal Delphine standing before her in her Blades armor, shined to a gleam. “We need to talk,” she said, entering the room without waiting for an invitation. “Shut the door; I don’t want to be heard.”

Meliandra rose an eyebrow but shut the door. “What is it?”

The woman walked the length of the room and back before looking at her. “We know about Paarthurnax.”

“You know…what?”

Delphine’s eyes grew small. “Paarthurnax. The dragon, you know the one the Greybeards have been protecting all these years.”

“What about him?” Her voice was ice cold.

“He needs to die.”

Meliandra stared at her.

“Look, I know he’s helped you; we needed his help. Now we don’t, and its long past time for him to pay for his crimes. And he’s not just any dragon. He was the right hand of Alduin. He committed atrocities so infamous, they’re still remembered, thousand of years later.”

Meliandra began to speak, but Delphine silenced her before continuing, “He needs to die. He deserves to die. And it falls to you to kill him. Until he’s dead…well, I’m sorry, but we would dishonor our oaths as Blades if we continued to help you.”

Again, Meliandra began to speak only to have Delphine stop her. “Do the right thing. Paarthurnax deserves to die.” And then she walked out.

In The Beginning

Ayrena sat huddled in the corner behind the screen separating the room. The tall elven man was there again, his voice raised towards her mother. Ayrena had known this man her entire life, all five winters; but he never spoke to her, though his presence frightened her greatly.

“You think you can train her?” he berated Ayrena’s mother. “You’re nothing but a Breton with a millennia’s worth of diluted Elven magic.”

“She is not going to be your weapon!”

Ayrena heard the sound of his hand across Mother’s face followed by the sound of a chair scraping across the floor as she collapsed onto the floor. The young girl bit her lip and clasped her hand over her mouth so as not to alert the man that she was awake, unlike what her mother had told him.

“She is whatever I want her to be, woman.”

Another hard slap against the weaker Breton, this time accompanied by anguished cries as repeatedly cried out, “No!”

“She belongs to me, just as you do.” A sound of ripping cloth was heard. “I will do with her as I please,” he grunted, “just as I do whatever I want with you.” More grunting followed accompanied by her mother’s cries and the sounds of a struggle. “You gave me her, and now you will give me more.”

For a time, all Ayrena heard was whimpers from Mother and grunts from the Elven man. She held her legs against her body, trying to quell the shaking that vibrated through her tiny frame. Afraid to make a sound, wanting to run to her mother, she sat there for what felt like an eternity until eventually the grunting stopped, but her mother still whimpered.

“Girl!” The man bellowed for her.

Her heart beat faster.

“I know you’re awake, child, I can hear your heart racing.”

“What do you want-“

A loud slap echoed off the walls as Mother cried out. “You will tell her to come out.”

“Ayrena…” Mother’s voice was weak. “Come child, come out.”

Still, she hesitated.

Another loud slap echoed through the room. “Girl!” His voice was loud and angry. “If you do not come out here I will hurt your dear mother.”

Slowly, Ayrena stood up and came around the room divider. The Elven man held her mother by the throat, her eye swollen and fresh blood spilt from her lip. She looked at the man, his amber eyes staring back at her.

“Show me your magic, child.”

“My magic?” she asked timidly.

“Cast a flame in the hearth, girl.”

Ayrena began to shake. She had been forbidden by Mother to use magic.

He hit her mother again as he looked at the woman. “I will remove her from here if she continues acting the fool.”

Before Mother could respond, Ayrena held her hand towards the hearth, an uncontrolled spray of flames emitting from her. She looked at him defiantly.

He cast an angry glare at Mother. “You’re training her? You expect me to believe that after this display?” He struck her again…

#

Ayrena stood in the Altmer’s laboratory. For seven years she had been forced to spend part of her days here, listening to the lecturing her Elven captor gave of the superiority of the Mer races over the races of man while teaching her how to master the magic that came naturally to her, magic that had the potential to be the most powerful to exist for generations.

She hated him.

“Again, girl.”

“I’m tired,” she stated.

“You’re lazy,” he countered.

She threw a ball of flames under the pot in the hearth. “I am not lazy; I am tired and want to sleep.”

“You are weak.”

“I am not!” she yelled back at him; her fists clenched tightly at her sides.

“Anger is weakness.”

“Everything to you is weakness!” she snapped.

He slammed his quill onto his desk. “Girl-“

“I have a name!”

“Your name is of no matter to me. Your abilities is my only concern.”

“Why me?” she demanded.

“Excuse me, girl?”

“My name is Ayrena, not girl!”

He sighed. “Fine. Ayrena. What do you mean ‘why you’?”

“You have other prisoners that practice magic better than me. Why is it me? What makes me different than them?!”

“They’re not you,” he said simply. “You are special.”

She blinked. “Why am I special?”

“Because you are half-Altmer.”

Confused, she asked, “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Child…Ayrena, the mixing of Altmer blood with the blood of man, as distasteful as it is, is a rare occurrence. You, my girl, have provided me a wealth of information, information that I hope will make us stronger. It is my aim to discover what makes you as powerful as you are so we can replicate it, making the Altmer the dominant of the Mer.”

“How will you do that?”

“Breeding, of course.” He picked up his quill and turned back to his papers. “Now, continue….”

#

She began to turn down the corridor that took her to the lab when Rumair spoke up. “Your lessons will be elsewhere today.” He walked a head of her, his height always making her feel small. Her shortened height was only one more aspect about her that he said made her inferior to the Altmer. Mother despised looking at her, the Altmer features made her angry, Ayrena believed her mother hated her, for she was not Breton in her eyes, just an elf.

“What am I learning today?”

“Do you recall a few years ago when we spoke of your being half-Altmer?”

“I do.”

“You have powerful magic, Ayrena, more powerful than any half-elf I have ever encountered. And now after all these years, you have it under control, you can use it as expertly as a novice Altmer mage.” He looked at her. “I am proud of that, though you could do so much more if you only applied yourself more diligently.” He looked back ahead. “Today you will be meeting an Altmer mage that comes from a long-standing family renown for the powerful mages that have come from their line.”

“What will I be learning?” she asked again.

Ignoring her question, he continued on. “Calien has agreed to assist me; it would be highly improper for me to participate in these sets of tests and experiment, and I need to insure samples with no abnormalities caused by…” He trailed off, giving a slight shake of his head. “No need to give the subject any more discussion.”

“Sir?”

Ignoring her, they walked in silence. Ayrena focused on her hearing, tuning all noise out and listening for the sounds Rumair had taught her were most important, heartbeat, breathing, footsteps. Her ears picked up his measured breaths, but the quickened rhythm of his heartbeat with the slight hurried pace of his steps belied the calm he portrayed.

Her own heartbeat accelerated.

Rumair stopped at a door; she noted the guards within proximity. “Today, everything changes,” he said, a smile appearing on his face, the first she had ever seen. He opened the door and told her to go in.

The golden-skinned Altmer sat at the table against the wall. He looked at her with emerald eyes, a lecherous leer in them. She heard the door shut behind her; her pulse quickened. Calien stood and that was when Ayrena realized how little he wore. She turned to Rumair who now stood blocking the way to the door. Her eyes started to widen.

“This her?”

“It is.”

Calien smiled. “She is quite attractive.  For a half-breed.”

Ayrena stared at him angrily.

Calien walked over to her, examining her, but speaking to Rumair. “Breton, you say?”

“Yes, magic is already innate to her race.”

“Short, isn’t she?”

“A defect; but one unforeseen given the circumstances of her conception.”

“A male would have had more height.”

“A male cannot procreate the way a female does.”

Calien looked at him. “A male would create hundreds more in the time it takes a female to grow one, two if she’s lucky.” He paused. “Can half-breeds create more than one at a time?”

“There is enough difficulty in creating one from Altmer and man, and it is rarer still for a product of such a union to be successful in creating a child of their own. I would assume that multiple births would be rarer still.” He tilted his head. “If a set of twins were to come my way, I would be most excited about the possibilities they would present.”

Calien smiled. “It is common in my family for multiple births; perhaps our arrangement will be most beneficial to both of us.”

“How so?”

Ayrena began to shake.

“I’m being paid for each attempt and if I succeed, I am paid a bonus. You’re only counting on one. If there’s two, that bonus needs to be more.”

Rumair nodded. “Agreed.”

Calien looked Ayrena. “She knows why she is here?”

“She’s not stupid; she has deduced what her ‘new lessons’ are and what is expected of her.” He looked at her. “She will comply; she knows what fate will befall her mother if she does not.”

Ayrena held back her tears.

He turned her head towards him forcibly. “Anything I want?”

“Within reason.”

Suddenly his hands were on the bodice of her dress, clutching the fabric and viciously rending it down the front, exposing her naked breasts. He watched her for a reaction, and, seeing only fear in her eyes and noticing the barely controlled shaking of her body, asked, “Are you staying?”

“No, I’ll be assisting with the re-education of the Stormcloak boy.”

“Then I suggest you leave me to my work….”

#

Ayrena was returned to Mother the next evening, bruised and sore. As her mother looked at the broken girl before her, she gathered what had happened. Mother took out a drawer from her dresser and removed a false bottom, taking out a select group of flowers, then turned and went to the hearth where she put a pot full of water on to heat, and stuffed the glowers in a tankard. Then she grabbed a knapsack she had secreted from view and began throwing things in it. “The time has come.”

“Time for what?”

“We’re leaving.”

“Leaving?” she repeated. “We can leave?”

“I’ve been working on an escape plan; it’s not perfect, but it’ll have to do. I will not have him do to you what he has done to me ever since my capture.”

“So he is my father.”

“He is the monster who caused your conception, yes, but father, never. He gave you to another beast to impregnant you, did he not?”

She tearfully nodded.

“You know his plans, don’t you?” At her nod, Mother continued, “You will not be used as some elf baby making whore for the Aldmeri Dominion.” She returned to the hearth and carefully took the pot out, pouring the water into the tankard. “Every time that bastard puts his cock in me, I drink this. Ever since you were born, for I swore I would never birth another elven child.”

“What does this do?”

“It makes the womb reject his seed.”

“What will happen if we’re caught?” Ayrena drank the liquid her mother gave her.

“What do you think will happen?”

“They’ll bring us back?”

Mother laughed mirthlessly. “Your naivety will get you killed out there.” She closed the knapsack. “Rumair has tried with multiple Breton women to have another child. He has killed every single one of them for failing. He favors me anyhow.”

“Favors you?” she cried. “How does he favor you when he beats and forces himself on you?”

“Look around you! We are the only captives that have their own room in this place. Locked as it may be, no one else has this. We are privileged.”

“Why does he favor you?” “Because I gave him you. Because he can control me using you as leverage. And simply because it causes him great pleasure to see the power he lords over us, his most successful test subjects.”

Hello Again

The door loomed before her, large and daunting. Beyond its heavy wooden weight was the room she had been given to use as her own when she sheltered here during her pregnancy; it was in this very room that Vladimir had been brought into the world. And now Ulfric waited for her just beyond them. Her heightened hearing told her he was not ranting or raving in there, in fact she heard nothing at all. She cast a spell illuminating his life essence and saw that he was in a sitting position and was alone. Taking a deep breath, she entered the room.

He sat on the bed she slept on, holding a small thin blanket in his hands. At the sound of the door opening, he glanced up at the woman who had given him a child, his eyes showing the pain he felt and had kept hidden from everyone.

“I wondered where that had gone off to.”

She shut the door behind her, her eyes keeping hold of his as she made her way to a chair overlooking the vastness of the world below. Sitting, she began to speak once more, her voice calmer than she had expected as her heart still threatened to pound its way out of her chest. “Thank you for agreeing to wait-“

“Cut the bullshit, Meliandra,” he growled. “We both know you played that to your advantage.”

“Played what?”

Ignoring her question, he continued on, “All that time, I sought the Dragonborn, and you were right there, in my bed, lying about who you were.”

“What would you have done if I had been truthful and told you that I was?”

He stared at her. “I would have enlisted your aid in the fight against the Empire, just as you did on your own accord.”

“You would have weaponized me in your war, just as you did when you discovered my ties to the Brotherhood, and you would not have given me a choice.”

He nodded. “Yes. I would have. But how is it that you even came to be there and eventually working for me? You stole from me, Meliandra. Don’t forget that if it weren’t for your particular set of skills that you are so adept at, you would never have come to be in my employ simply to save your neck.”

“As if your jail could have held the Dragonborn.”

“Then why didn’t you escape?”

“Because I didn’t need to. The mission was to make the Guild’s presence known in Windhelm, to tell people that we’re still around, especially after dealing with an upstart guild trying to move in on our territory. I made our presence known, just not the way we intended. And it’s not like there wasn’t an escape plan in motion; two of my own people were about to break me out when you came down to the cells.” Steepling her hands before her, she leaned back into the chair. “Now, Ulfric, why don’t we stop pussyfooting around and get to the heart of things, shall we?”

Eyes cold, he stared at her. “Yes, lets. Where’s my son?”

“Safe from any danger that might befall the son of the Dragonborn.”

“Where?!” he bellowed.

She stood up and walked to the bedside table where a pitcher of water sat and poured herself a tankard. “Riften, Vladimir is safe in Riften.”

“Vladimir?” he repeated. “You named him Vladimir?”

She nodded, ignoring the light that appeared in his eyes.

Ulfric’s pleasure at his son’s name was quickly replaced as the rest of what she had said sank in. “He is in that den of thieves?”

“He’s safer with that den of thieves than he was at the orphanage.”

“So you did put my son up for adoption!” He advanced on her suddenly.

“Yell at me one more time, Ulfric, and I will Shout you straight out of this room and out that window.” A dagger appeared in her hand; he recognized it as the blade she had claimed to have won at a game of chance. “No, Vladimir was not put up for adoption. He was being taken care of by the lady who runs the orphanage. Until a group of Stormcloaks came through the town, terrorizing the very people who support you, looking for an infant who was under their noses the entire time.”

“He was at the orphanage? When I was there?”

It was her turn to advance on him, lunging out of her seat towards him. “You denied him when you discovered his Elven blood!”

His eyebrow rose. “Elven blood?” His thoughts went back to the day he had rode into Riften and demanded to see all the children at the orphanage. The babe that had been brought to him, the only child in that place that could have been of his seed, had indeed had the same color of hair that crowned his head, and his eyes did bear a resemblance to his own. But the child had had Elven ears. His eyes flashed angrily. “How is it that you never once thought to make mention to me that you have Elven blood running through your veins?”

“To make mention of a parentage I wish I did not have?” Her hand angrily flew in front of her face as she responded. “To make mention of having the blood of my enemy in these veins?” She narrowed her eyes. “You would have believed I was an enemy agent if you knew of the cause of my birth.”

He nodded. “Yes, I would have.” He swallowed, shifting his eyes. “And I would never have lain with you.”

Her lips upturned slightly, she said, “I doubt that Ulfric. You and I, we have a common enemy in the Thalmor.” She reached into a pack she had left on the table earlier and removed a leather-bound journal. She extended her arm, offering him the book. “And knowing that the Thalmor are truly your enemy, I’m sure you don’t want this blasphemous dossier on you getting into the hands of our allies.”

His eyebrow arched. “Our allies?” He took the journal.

“I am a Stormcloak, am I not?”

He did not answer but instead opened the journal and began to read. “That bitch!” he seethed. “She poisoned me, she made reality morph into a delusion and created a delusion so real, I believed the delusion was reality.” He slammed the book down. “An asset!” he growled. “Only because of what she did to my head…she almost succeeded in bringing me back into that delusion, but something happened, as if whatever spell she had cast on me so many years before had broken, it had lost its hold on me.”

“She tried to turn you into a type of thrall.”

Her matter-of-fact tone made him look at her. “How do you know that?”

“It was a project my…” she paused “…my captor worked on.”

“Your captor?”

Swallowing, she nodded. “My mother and I were prisoners of the Thalmor and subjected to a variety of tests and experiments by an Altmer commonly referred to as ‘The Mad Wizard’.”

A slow nod came from the jarl. “I recall the moniker. Why were you and your mother prisoners of the Thalmor?”

Sighing, she sat back down. “I was born after they captured my mother; she had been part of a group of Forsworn that wanted to rid the Reach of all non-Reachmen. She had been captured during a raid of what had been thought a simple envoy of Imperial travelers; they did not realize it was a couple wagons bringing a couple of Thalmor dignitaries into Skyrim in disguise.”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “A group of Forsworn who wanted to rid the Reach of non-Bretons? But she was pregnant with an Elven child?”

“If only it was that easy.” Sadness colored her voice as she began to tell Ulfric her story…

#

Reunions

The Stormcloak entourage made the long climb up the 7000 Steps, heavy cloaks on all as the winds blew hard with a freezing chill. Ulfric led the group, Galmar and Ralof taking each of his flanks, three more soldiers half a length behind them. While the men thought of warm bowls of stew and mugs of mead, Ulfric spoke about days of his youth spent here training with the monks. “I missed out on a lot of things other children took for granted,” he answered to one of the men’s questions. “From my earliest days, my father had spoken of the stories of our legendary heroes and the responsibilities they had to the people. He spoke of these stories with such passion that I longed to be remembered in a similar way that we do people like Ysgramor. Then I was sent here. It seemed like everything I had hoped for was nothing but a dream.”

“What would have happened had the Great War not happened?” Ralof asked.

“I would probably still be here, a Greybeard.”

“I cannot imagine you as a Greybeard,” Ralof said shaking his head.

Ulfric smiled. “Neither can I.”

They continued in silence, the cold making it difficult to do much more than focus on the end of the trip up here, Ulfric lost himself in his thoughts, his plans for this meeting. From what the courier had said, he assumed the Dragonborn was already a sympathizer if not possibly a supporter of his cause. He began to convince himself that he would be able to secure the help of the Dragonborn and that would secure his victory in this war. He would agree to anything the Dragonborn put on the table in exchange for an alliance with her. He was confident he’d be able to secure an alliance one way or another. Soon, the imposing Temple came into sight and Ulfric had to admit he was invigorated at the thought of a blazing fire, some warm food and good drink as his steps quickened ever so slightly.

The large doors opened to envelop them with the warmth of many fires burning. The jarl led his group into the vast hall, stopping briefly at the altar to give a quick prayer in recognition of the god’s influence here. As he turned around, he saw three of the Greybeards led by his former teacher at the forefront of the group, waiting for the participants to arrive. He felt a slight pang in his chest as he looked at the man who had been like a father to him for so long. He inclined his head slightly in respect as he greeted the man, “Master Arngeir.”

“Jarl Ulfric,” the older man responded, emphasizing his former student’s title. “The delegation from the Empire has already arrived and are sitting in the main room. If you wish, there is hot stew, breads, cheeses, and dried fruits available in the kitchen.”

Nodding, he asked. “Has the Dragonborn arrived yet?”

Arngeir hesitated a moment then answered, “No, they have not.” He indicated the hall beyond. “Please, help yourself to food, drink. But be aware, we will start once the Dragonborn arrives.”

Feeling a sense of being pushed away, Ulfric nodded. “Thank you, Master Arngeir,” he replied with a slight incline of his head then began to lead the men to the kitchen so they might warm themselves with a bowl of stew, a meal so basic for these men, hearty and suiting for the journey, yet this was the length of their extravagance, as they were a meager group of men living on the generosity of pilgrims, who made the journey to this isolated mountain.

“So,” Galmar started, “is he always that welcoming?”

“It has been a long time and I did not leave on the best of terms.” He picked up a chunk of bread and spread some butter on it, topping it with a jam made of snowberries, what he would eat when he broke his fast in the mornings as a young boy living here. It was a taste he remembered fondly. “Arngeir told me if I left to fight in the Great War, these halls would forever be closed to me. My being here is only salt in a wound that not even time can heal. Apparently.” He ate the bread in silence then looked to Galmar. “We need to take our seats. I do not wish to make the Dragonborn wait.” He addressed Ralof and the other men. “You may remain here or in the library but keep an ear open. I do not want Tullius to think that he has any sort of upper hand.”

He led Galmar to the main room that Arngeir had indicated in silence; he had begun to feel uneasy. As he turned the corner, he caught sight of Elenwen; he glanced at Galmar, eyes narrowed slightly. “What is she doing here?” he hissed.

Before Galmar could respond, Arngeir and his fellow monks entered the room, taking positions along each side, Arngeir taking the seat at the head of the table. His hands folded before him as he stood before him, he addressed the group. “Once the Dragonborn takes their seat, we shall begin.” Unclasping his hands, he motioned toward the table, silently instructing attendees to have a seat.

Ulfric watched as his companions took their seats, but he held back with Galmar. Legate Rikke took her seat and avoided eye contact with the Stormcloak delegation, though he caught he sidelong glance toward his general. He smiled at the pregnant Elisif who reacted mortified and began to rub her hand over her swollen womb, subconsciously protecting her unborn babe. Tullius met his gaze, his face cold, calculating. Ulfric gave a slight nod, still smiling. Balgruuf was watching the entrance, anxiously. And Elenwen smiled sweetly at him.

And then there was the Dragonborn walking determinedly into the room. He fond himself smiling as he saw for himself that the Dragonborn was indeed a female. As he watched her, he began to wonder where her loyalties lie if she called the people on the opposite side of the room her enemies, what were her thoughts on this war, and would he, as he desired, be able to sway her to his side. For a brief moment, he thought he would woo the Dragonborn to gain her alliance, but immediately shoved the thought from his mind, his heart still bitter from the wound Meliandra had created. No, he would not allow himself to be distracted from his goal by the needs of the flesh again.

He continued watching the short warrior as she made her way to her chair at the opposite end of the tale from Arngeir; he felt the movements she made were somehow familiar to him, the grace and fluidity with which she moved, he cold almost imagine her beneath him. He quickly pushed the thought aside from his mind and became aware that Arngeir was speaking.

“…all come here in the spirit of-“

“No,” he interrupted, his finger raised and directed at the Thalmor ambassador. “You insult us by bringing her to this negotiation? Your chief Talos hunter?” He wished that the Dragonborn was not wearing a full helmet; he wanted to gauge the effect his words had on her, he wanted to see the level of her distaste for these people she called her enemies.

At Rikke’s sarcastic “That didn’t take long” he cast a withering look at the woman who once warmed Galmar’s bed.

“Ulfric,” Elenwen said in a sickly-sweet tone, “why so hostile? After all, it’s not the Thalmor that’s burning your farms and killing your sons.”

“You know exactly…” His temper flared. In his mind he was suddenly back in a prison cell held captive by the Thalmor and interrogated by the very woman now patronizing him, all of the mind games she played with him, how she manipulated every piece of information she had gleaned from him or gave to him. He mentally shuddered as he recalled the things she had done to him, the drugs she had plied him with and aided by Elven magic distorting reality to fit their needs. He was all too familiar with Elenwen’s tricks and he would not let her have the upper hand on this situation as she so many times before had. “…no,” he stopped as he composed himself. “Not this time.”

He heard the words spoken by Elenwen and Tullius but paid them no mind. He would abandon the peace treaty negotiations and walk from the table with no qualms if the Thalmor remained. There would never be peace with the Elves. Upon hearing Arngeir deferring to the Dragonborn on the matter, he turned towards the woman, intent on getting a feel for her loyalties.

“By Ysmir’s beard, the nerve of those Imperial bastards, eh?” Leaning over, he said quietly, “to think that we would sit down with that…Thalmor bitch.” He straightened up then saying slightly louder, “I say she walks, or we walk.”

He watched as the helmeted warrior seemed to contemplate in her silence, then, after taking a deep breath, she spoke. At her words dismissing the ambassador he smiled, but his ears picked up a note of familiarity in the sound her voice had made, and he once more found himself curiously intrigued. “I’m glad we agree on this.” He watched as Elenwen haughtily stood up, said some words, and stalked out. A smirk appeared on his face. One victory for the Stormcloaks.

“You’re lucky I respect the Greybeards council, Galmar!” Rikke was snapping as she jumped to her feet.

Ulfric watched in amusement as the tensions of the Imperial delegation frayed showing in the words and actions of the legate and the chastising that Tullius gave her. As Arngeir brought everyone’s attention back around to the task at hand, Ulfric began to speak again, ignoring his former master speaking. “I have something to say first.”

Rikke started to say something but Ulfric’s attention shifted to the Dragonborn who had reached up to remove her helmet. His curiosity had already been piqued by her attendance in full armor, why had she chosen to hide behind ebony when peace was the goal?

Raven locks cascaded upon her shoulders, hair voluminous and lush, the memories of his fingers entwined around those curls as he made love to the woman, skin so soft, his body still could feel it against his, and eyes so strikingly exotic he could lose himself in them. His heart skipped a beat as Galmar sharply drew in his breath, both of them laying eyes on the woman of Ulfric’s scorn.

His rage could not and would not be contained.

He felt Galmar’s hands trying to grab him and hold him back as his feet rushed to the Breton, his large hands, outstretched and reaching for her. His words tore out of his lips before his brain cautioned him on revealing too much to his enemies.

“WHERE IS MY CHILD?”

His words reverberated off the stone walls and all in attendance watched, transfixed by the drama that seemed to be threatening to unfold right there in front of them, but they no longer existed to him.

All there was was him and Meliandra.

Summons

The courier stood before the throne of Windhelm, his weight shifting from one foot to the other nervously. The jarl was obviously not having a good day and this young man feared angering the ill-tempered man any further.  He had already gone to Solitude and secured General Tullius’s attendance at the peace council being called by the Dragonborn. While it had been tensing as the general argued the idea of any sort of truce with the usurper and his legate argued the importance of not snubbing the Greybeards, it was mild in comparison to the tension he was feeling in the Palace of the Kings.

“This is from the Dragonborn themselves?” Ulfric asked, eyeing the young man closely.

“Yes, My Lord; her hand drew up that letter herself.”

Ulfric sighed slightly. “And you say Tullius has agreed?”

“Yes, he has.”

The jarl sat back in his throne; the letter loosely held in his hand resting upon the arm of the regal chair as he tapped the paper against stone.

“How am I to trust that this is not some Imperial trick to lure me into a trap like they did at Darkwater Crossing?”

“My Lord, I have no loyalties to the Empire, that is the reason that the Dragonborn chose me to carry this message to both you and those who she calls her enemy.”

“So, she is a sympathizer for my cause?”

“Sir,” he spoke hesitantly. “I do not know if she supports your cause. She spoke of a larger threat to this world than the civil war.”

This gave Ulfric pause, and he glanced at his general. “A larger threat? What is this great threat?” He opened the letter and began to read. “The World-Eater?” he questioned aloud as he continued to read.

“Ulfric?” Galmar’s tone, previously cynical, became concerned.

The jarl looked up at the courier. “Inform the Dragonborn we will attend this peace council.”

“Ulfric?” Galmar repeated, now alarmed.

“Pack your bags and select a few men to accompany us; we will be leaving for High Hrothgar at weeks end. We must not allow Tullius to take the upper hand.”

#

The courier was hyper aware of his surroundings as he made his way to the location the Dragonborn had told him to return to. The Reach. She had promised him to triple the gold to return to her there. He needed the gold. That’s how he found himself in the Reach, going into an abandoned Forsworn camp, with reports of a dragon nesting close by.

He found the entrance to the ancient temple and climbed the twisting staircase that opened to a large open room, illuminated by opening above them. He found the Dragonborn sitting at the table, a plate of bread and chesses and a goblet of mead by her with a book in front of her. As he approached, he noticed he was being watched by two others; he began to feel more unease than he had been in Windhelm.

The Dragonborn closed her book when he drew near. “What did they say?”

“General Tullius had reservations about any sort of peace with the Stormcloaks but after some heated persuasion from his second in command, he agreed to meet with you and Jarl Ulfric at High Hrothgar.”

“And what was Ulfric’s response?” she asked pointedly.

“Distrust. He questioned whether this was a trick, but he agreed once he read your message.”

She nodded. “Then I need to return to High Hrothgar.” Standing, she continued, “Follow me, I’ll get you your coin.”

She was silent as she led him to a large dorm style room and retrieved a coin purse from one of the chests by what he presumed was her bed. From the corner of his eye, he saw her two companions enter and begin going through their own chests, tossing this or that into a knapsack.

As he left the Temple, he had a dreadful feeling that something ominous was about to happen.

#

The Needs of The Many…

There was no glow from the twin moons this night, and the air was still and quiet save for the distant sounds of the guards on their rounds down below on the palace grounds. Meliandra sat upon the cold bricks that made up the windowsill of the jarl’s chambers, an apple in her hand, a throwing knife in the other slicing the apple she held and taking a bite of the crisp fruit, her thoughts on what lay ahead. Coming here when there was bounty on her head for the assassination of the emperor and when Balgruuf had yet to declare which side he supported was a risk indeed. She had assumed that he would have revealed her to be the Dragonborn when word had spread that it had been her specifically that had slain the emperor or even when it was learned that Ulfric was seeking her and their child out; she had not forgotten the obsession this jarl held for her nor did she forget the lengths his anger could reach. He must have a reason for keeping her secret and she intended to use it, whatever it might be.

The image of her son flashed in her mind, interrupting her thoughts as she saw him as she had the last time she had laid eyes on him, before Brynjolf took him from the orphanage for his protection, before Brynjolf cut her off from the Guild. As angry as she was about it, she knew that it was best for her Vladimir.

A sound outside the chamber doors brought her back to the present. Tossing the apple out the window as she hopped down from the ledge, she quickly cast an invisibility spell and pressed herself against the stone wall into the shadows, her breathing slowing to muffle any sound. She watched as Balgruuf bid his guard goodnight then make his way past her and into his bedchambers, drunkenly dropping his cloak upon the floor as he made his way to his bed where he continued undressing himself, mumbling aloud the vulgarities he desired to perform upon the young maiden Ysolda.

She stood behind him, her spelling nearing its end, no longer able to avoid what must be done. She took a deep breath as the spell wore off and Balgruuf, suddenly aware of another presence, began to turn around in alarm before recognizing the woman he desired to make his own.

“I should call for the guard,” he said with a leer, “but perhaps it would be more prudent for me to hear you out first.” He walked toward her.

She furtively threw a glance towards his door as she took a step back. “Is it safe to talk?” she asked just above a whisper.

“Talk?” he asked, the leer in his eyes apparent in his voice. “I guess we could talk. Afterwards.” He advanced on her.

“Wait,” she said. “Lock the doors. We don’t want to be disturbed, do we?” Again, she looked at the door.

He smiled. “Yes, you have a point.” He went to the door and went to lock it as he watched her. “We’re gonna need a gag for you. They know the sound of me orgasming, they’ll expect that this night, but they will not expect to hear you and will rush in the room.”

Meliandra fought her initial reaction to cringe but instead played along with him. “Balgruuf, what I need to speak with you about is much too important to put off any longer than I already have. Hear me out, then we can…play.”

“What can be more important than me putting my child in you?”

“Excuse me?” she asked, shocked.

“Come now, everyone knows that you gave birth to Ulfric’s bastard and that he wants you head for whatever reason. I will offer you protection from him, all you have to do is sire me a son.”

She shook her head, astonished. “I need your help before I can give you that, Balgruuf.”

“My help comes at a price, assassin.”

“If you help me, you will be remembered for greatness in your own right. You won’t need me for that.”

Smiling again, he said, “But I’ll be remembered for even more when you bear me more children, and a son with the blood of the Dragonborn in his veins.”

“If you give me this help, I will fill this palace with children, My Lord.”

Smiling, he walked to the table and poured himself a goblet of wine. Before taking a drink, he asked, “What is this help you seek?”

“I need to trap a dragon in your palace.”

Balgruuf spit the wine out as he choked in surprise. “I must have misheard you,” he managed to say. “I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace.”

She smiled at him. “You heard right. Honestly, you know I would not ask this of you if it was not important.”

“You’re serious?” He shook his head. “You want me to let a dragon into the heart of my city, with the threat of war on my doorstep?”

“It’s the only way to stop the dragon attacks.”

“No,” he said, “I can’t. I won’t.” He paused then looked at her. “There must be another way. The risk is too great.”

“The risk is too great?” she snapped. “The threat is worse than you know! Alduin has returned!”

He turned on here. “Alduin? The World-Eater himself? But…” he looked deep in thought, “how can we fight him?” He rubbed his forehead. “Doesn’t his return mean it’s the end times?”

“It’s my destiny to stop him as the Dragonborn.”

He sat down, drink in hand. “I don’t know about such things, but I did hear the Greybeards summon you, you survived Helgen and slew the dragon at the tower. I would have to believe that if anyone were here to help us, it would be you.” He took a long drink. “so, what’s this about trapping a dragon in my palace?”

She shrugged. “It’s the only way to find Alduin before it’s too late.”

He sat forward. “Listen, Meliandra. I want to help you , I really do. And I will. But…I need your help first.” He waved away her look of anger. “General Tullius and your former lover-boy Ulfric are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they’ll sit by idly twiddling their thumbs while a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city?” He shook his head. “No. I can’t risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of enemy attack.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry.”

She sat in annoyed silence, digesting this turning of tides. As she thought of a solution, the pit of dread grew heavier in her stomach. If she did what she was thinking of doing, she would be putting her very life at incredible risk, every aspect of this plan a gamble. She swallowed and looked at him.

“What if you didn’t have to worry about an enemy attack?”

He rose his eyebrow. “Then I would be glad to help you with your mad dragon-trapping scheme.” Steepling his fingers before him, he said, “But getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult at this point. The bitterness has gone too deep. Maybe…hmmm…what of the Greybeards? They are respected by all Nords. High Hrothgar is neutral territory. If the Greybeards were willing to host a peace council…then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen.”

She nodded. “Leave that to me. I’ll talk to Arngeir about hosting a peace council.”

“I have no doubt you’ll be able to get the Greybeards to host one, it’s the approaching your hot-tempered ex-lover that’s got me questioning your ability to bring both of the parties involved to the table. That price on your head is large enough that Tullius can retire in luxury.”

Standing up from the table, she walked to the windowsill, and, giving him a last glance, said, “I’m touched by your concern,” then, pulling herself into the large open window, arched her back slightly, and leapt forward, her faith in a safe landing rewarded with a soft thud in a haystack near the palace walls.

#

It was late in the night when Meliandra finally made it to the top of the 7000 Steps. She had no desire to stay at the inn in Ivarstead and had trekked the long distance up the mountain path, and despite the cold of the air high above the town, she felt no discomfort but found solace as her thoughts moved her feet. Balgruuf’s condescending words rattled in her mind and played on her anxiety. Was her fate truly decided long ago? Had every decision she had ever made been preordained by the Gods long before she had been born? Why had she made the decisions she had as of the past year when the outcomes were so clear even then?

She had run from so much in her life, she had run with her mother when they escaped their imprisonment by the Thalmor, she had run from the Imperial army becoming a deserter, she had run from Brynjolf, she had run from the responsibility of the Thieves Guild, she had run from her responsibility for her relationship with Arnbjorn that lead to Astrid’s betrayal of the Dark Brotherhood, she had run from Ulfric when she discovered she had been with child, and some would say she had run from her responsibility of being Vladimir’s mother. Her thoughts were heavy with the weight of her actions. Perhaps defeating Alduin would be her absolution. She hoped it would be.

She sat before the altar and meditated until she heard the stirrings of the Greybeards as they rose with the dawning of the sun. She heard Arngeir’s footsteps behind her, and, rising, turned to look at him.

He was grandfatherly in appearance, his eyes hooded with age, yet his wisdom shone through. His hands were clasped casually before him and he spoke firmly but softly. “Dragonborn.”

“Master Arngeir.”

“We heard the Dragonrend Shout from here…you defeated Alduin?”

She nodded. “But he escaped. I need to find his portal to Sovngarde.”

He shook his head and began to walk toward the center of the Temple. “I feared as much. I thought it was him we saw flying east after your battle.”

“Master Arngeir,” she began hesitantly. “I need your help. I need to catch a dragon.”

He stopped, looked at her and scoffed. “We are not warriors. What is overlooked in the Dragonborn is not permitted to any other followers of the Way of the Voice.”

Shaking her head, she replied, “You misunderstand. I’ll worry about capturing a dragon. I need your help to stop the war.” Her words were matter of fact as she looked at this man she greatly admired.

“You misunderstand our authority. The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs.”

“Jarl Balgruuf won’t help me while the war rages.”

Pausing for a moment, he looked at the Dragonborn. “I see. The dragon will lead you to Alduin, but without the Jarl’s help…”

“Without the Jarl’s help, I cannot capture the dragon.” Sighing she entreated him, “Both sides respect the Greybeards. Both sides will listen.”

He gazed at her for a moment, then slowly began to nod. “Paarthurnax has made the decision to help you. This is the road we have to walk.” Tilting his head momentarily, he spread his hands before him. “Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change, it seems. So be it.” He clasped his hands once more and spoke sternly. “Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak to them. We will see if they still remember us.”

#

She made her way down to Ivarstead her thoughts jumbled as the weight of the current situation grew heavier upon her shoulders. Knowing that both Tullius and Ulfric would put her in chains before she could get them to listen to her without turning violent, she decided she would employ the services of the local courier system and send word that the Dragonborn has requested their assistance in putting a stop to the dragon attacks.