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The ashen air blows dust into my lungs as I step off the ship. Gjalund, the Nord who gave me passage to this island, speaks to me as I start to walk down the dock--something about him hoping I can find out what is going on around here--but I pay him little mind. My foreign surroundings take up far too much of my attention for conversation.It is early morning, and the rising sun paints the sky a yellow that seems almost unnatural. To the right, I can see a large edifice built with the Imperial architecture of Cyrodiil, but in front of me further back is a tiered building constructed of sloping lines that look almost like the shell of an insect. The grounds are coated in a grey ash, with a path forged through it to the town. The few trees that stand are dead and snapped in half, or layered in so much ash that they may as well be. Beyond everything and out into the sea, I can see the Red Mountain spraying its contents into the sky, unending.I continue to walk down the dock, but before I am able to cross the boundary into the town, I am approached by a Dunmer wearing fine clothes. His stature is small, but I can tell by the way that he carries himself that he is high-ranking.“I don't recognize you, so I'll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. State your intentions,” he says, placing himself in from of me to block my path.Stopping to stand in front of him, I respond, “I'm looking for Miraak. Do you know him?”“I . . . I'm unsure. I swear I know the name, but I cannot place it," he says slowly, his eyes nearly glazing over. His reaction is unnerving--trance-like.“Can you tell me anything about him?” I ask."I don't think so. I'm not . . . The name has something to do with the Earth Stone, I think. But I'm not sure what," he says.His facial expression remains far away, so I decide not to press any further on the subject, hoping that someone else in town will know where I can find this Earth Stone. “Why are you so suspicious of visitors?” I ask him."I have to be. As Second Councilor, the security of Raven Rock is my primary concern," the Dunmer says.“I can assure you I am here with only the purest of intentions,” I say. “My name is Fjoara Ebonhand.”“Adril Arano,” he says, and he steps slightly aside to let me pass.“It has been a pleasure to meet you,” I tell him, smiling politely as I walk forward.He only nods. "Just remember, Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here you will be expected to abide by our laws. We’re watching you."Arano’s words are somewhat foreboding, but my sense of purpose remains unwavering. As I continue into the town, I realize how little of it there actually is. Three more of those insect-like structures form a semi-circle around a well in the center, but they are much smaller and look more like homes. A couple of these buildings have small shops set up out front, and there is a smithy in one of the low stone shacks that line the coast. The two Dunmer who tend their shops look presentable enough, but it is quite clear that this settlement lives in relative poverty. The remaining building has a guard standing at the door, and a sign that reads “The Retching Netch”. I haven’t the slightest idea of what a netch is, but I figure the building for a tavern and enter.Once inside, I am met with a small horseshoe-shaped ground floor level with tables and benches lining the walls. Standing in front of the fireplace against the back wall is a Dunmer stirring food in a cooking pot. At my entrance, he turns around and welcomes me to the “cornerclub” before returning to his cooking. Sitting at a table in the corner nearest to him is another Dunmer who, by the looks of his armor, must be a mercenary. I opt not to speak with either of them and make my way down the wide set of stairs in the middle of the room that leads down into the rest of the interior. The room at the bottom is far more immense than what the building appears to be from the outside. The ceilings are vaulted with a network of supporting archways below and the furniture is so sparse that my footsteps echo in this cavern as I approach the bar. The Dunmer tending it looks up at me with surprise as if I am the first person he has seen all day, and it is then that I realize how empty the inn is."Welcome to the Retching Netch Cornerclub, home of the finest sujamma that will ever grace your lips," he says when I am near.“Sujamma?” I ask as I take a seat at the bar.“As if it wasn’t already apparent that you’re not from around here,” he says, producing a tankard from underneath the bar and pouring drink into it from one of the yellow clay jugs that sit on the counter. He slides it over to me. “An authentic Dunmer recipe, but with my own personal twist.”I hold the mug up to my lips for a moment, getting a whiff of how potent the liquor is, but drink anyway. The taste is bitter in an earthy way but pleasantly warm as it slides down my throat. I set the tankard on the bar, pressing the back of my hand to my mouth so as not to shudder from the strength of the drink.“This makes mead seem like cow’s milk,” I say after a moment. He laughs and moves to refill my mug, but I hold a hand out to stop him. “Unfortunately, I find myself on your island for business, not pleasure.”He looks at me curiously. “What business could you possibly have on Solstheim, outlander?”“I’m looking for Miraak,” I answer. “Can you tell me anything about him?”The barkeep’s eyes fog over in the same way Arano’s did, and the similarity in their reactions to the name “Miraak” causes me to grow somewhat concerned. “The name is familiar, but I am not sure where from.”“I had a feeling you would say that,” I respond. “What about the Earth Stone?”Instantly, the life snaps back into his eyes. “Oh! The Earth Stone. It’s directly west of Raven Rock, just outside of town. I’m not sure what interest it would hold to someone who isn’t Skaal, though.”“That’s what I’m trying to determine,” I say as I rise to my feet, setting a few septims on the counter. “Thank you for the drink and the information.”"Safe travels, outlander," he says.“It’s Fjoara,” I call behind me as I start up the stairs.“Geldis,” he calls back.When I reach the top landing, I notice that the Dunmer mercenary has moved to lean against the wall by the exit as if he were waiting for someone. I pay him no mind as his services are not needed. However, when I approach the door, he pushes himself off the wall and saunters over to me. I equip myself mentally to dismiss his pitch.“I couldn’t help but overhear that you’re headed to the Earth Stone,” the mercenary says. “An interesting choice of tourist destination, outlander.”“Well, if you had been listening properly, you would also know that I am here purely for business,” I say, looking him up and down once before lazily glancing away to emphasize my disinterest.“I wouldn’t dare think anything else,” he says with the hint of a smile. "Teldryn Sero: the best swordsman in all Morrowind is at your service . . . for the right price.”I pause for a moment as if in consideration. “And what might that be?”“Five thousand septims,” he answers, the smile spreading to both sides of his mouth.I let out a loud laugh, and I see the Dunmer at the fireplace startle at the sound of it. The grin on the face of this mercenary touches every feature now. He knows the game I’m playing at.“For that price, I think I’ll go it alone,” I say, pointedly resting a hand on the pommel of my sword as if the beams of light radiating from its hilt didn’t already catch one’s eye. “That’s not to say I wasn’t capable of it to begin with.”Teldryn humors me and drops his gaze to where my hand lays. “Is that . . . ?”“Dawnbreaker? Indeed it is,” I respond, cutting him off before he could finish his sentence.He appears to be genuinely taken aback at this and studies my face for a moment, a single eyebrow raised. “Who are you?”“No one you will ever know,” I answer.He shrugs. “My loss, I’m sure.”“I might disagree,” I respond. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”Teldryn opens his mouth as if he were going to speak, so I pause before walking away to let him, but he just closes it and shakes his head before returning to his seat in the back of the room. At that, I finally leave the tavern and make my way to the Earth Stone.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I hear the clang of hammers on stone before I see people. As I draw nearer still, a low, synchronized chanting reaches my ears. "

Here in his shrine, that they have forgotten. Here do we toil, that we might remember. By night we reclaim, what by day was stolen . . .”

When the Earth Stone, a massive shard of rock rising from the ground, comes into view, I discover a group of people building an unusual structure around the stone. It is composed of a series of pointed arches circling the stone, whose appearance is far more precise and harsh than the organic construction of Raven Rock and the stone itself. The sight of this alone would be enough to realize something was amiss had it not also been for the hypnotic state the workers seemed to be in--swinging their hammers and chanting in perfect rhythm.

When I reach the Earth Stone, I notice a Dunmer wizard standing a distance away from it observing the situation. He is evidently not compelled by the force of whatever is driving this construction, so I approach him in hopes of learning more.

"You there . . . You don't seem to be in quite the same state as the others here. Very interesting. May I ask what it is you're doing here?" he says, turning to me when I reach him.

“I'm looking for someone named Miraak,” I respond.

He thinks for a moment, appearing to grow frustrated as he tugs on his goatee. “Miraak . . . Miraak . . . It sounds familiar but I can’t quite place . . . ,” he says. His expression then suddenly lights up. “Oh. Wait. I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years."

“That cannot be. In Skyrim, a group of his cultists attempted to assassinate me, claiming that he is soon returning,” I say. “Then, I when I arrive here, no one can seem to tell me what’s going on, despite the fact those cultists were from Solstheim.”

“Fascinating. I hadn’t considered that Miraak could be the source of this strange behavior,” the wizard says. “I'm afraid I can't give you any answers. But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the center of the island. If I were you, I'd look there.”

I nod. “Thank you for your help,” I say, reaching out to shake his hand. “My name’s Fjoara.”

“I am Master Neloth of House Telvanni,” he responds, reluctantly returning the gesture with an air of slight distaste. The tone in which he announces this suggests importance in the title, but I am ignorant to what it means.

I bid him farewell, and return to Raven Rock. The day has grown old, and I decide I best retire for the evening. It would be unwise to travel across foreign land in the darkness where I could be ambushed by threats. At home in Skyrim, nighttime does not halt my travel, but that is only because I know the roads and regions to their fullest extent. Besides, I am curious to learn more about the history of this island—perhaps I can gain insight into Miraak and his presence here, past or present.

As it is now nearing evening, people have closed up their shops, and the only people left outside are the guards. Although when I enter The Retching Netch, I find it scarcely more populated than it was this afternoon. There are are a few people on the first floor, but they look to only be poor miners, so I cannot imagine they would have much to say. I walk downstairs and am met with an equally vacant room; it is only Geldis, his worker, the mercenary, another collective of miners, and the Breton who was tending the smithy earlier. I decide to approach him, greeting him and asking if I can have a seat in the empty chair at his table. When he grants me permission, I practically fall into the seat with exhaustion. I pull off my gauntlets and set my sword next to me against the wall. My travels have finally managed to catch up to my body, and it is a relief to rest.

“You look just as out of place here as I do,” I say to him. “What brings a Breton to Raven Rock?”
He laughs. "A fine question, and the one that I hear most often from visitors to our town. I wish I had a more romantic tale to tell, but I was simply seeking my fortune and chose Raven Rock to ply my trade. Besides, knowing how to repair bonemold armor wasn't very useful in Riften."
“Who taught you that?” I ask.

"I had a friend over there, a dark elf named Vanryth... a very talented armorsmith. Spent a lot of time with the guy swapping smithing techniques. Learned a heck of a lot, including how to repair bonemold. After he moved on to greener pastures, I decided to pack up, move out here and put those lessons to the test. Been here ever since," he says.

“How long has that been?” I ask.

He thinks for a moment. “Must be about a decade now.”

“Do you know much about this island, then?” I ask.

“A fair amount, sure.”

“What about someone named Miraak?”

His eyes cloud in the same way everyone else’s had, and I sigh with disappointment, telling him to forget that I asked. This will likely be the last time I attempt to ask anyone this question. I am probably better off visiting the temple the Dunmer wizard told me about and uncovering for myself what may lie there.
At that moment, the tavern worker brings a drink over and walks away without saying anything. I look around the room to find out who gave it to me, and am not surprised when my eyes land on Teldryn to see that he is smiling, holding his own drink up in my direction. My present company follows my gaze and chuckles when he discovers who I am looking at.

“Already managed to find yourself an admirer in the short time you’ve been here?” he asks.

“No, he just wants my patronage,” I reply, picking up the mug and taking a swig. I am expecting the harshness of sujamma, but am instead met with the familiar honey taste of mead. I am surprised by his consideration.

“Teldryn is a very capable spellsword. He’d be a strong ally to have watching your back,” he says. “Been a while since he’s had an employer.”

“Likely because his fee is quite high,” I respond, returning my attention back to the table. 
The Breton nods. “But worth every copper from what I’ve heard.”

I still can think of no compelling reason to hire him other than it is better his death than my own, should it come to that. Perhaps that is reason enough. It is also quite apparent that Solstheim is very much different from Skyrim, and it could serve me well to have a guide to cut down on the time I have to spend wandering lost. Still, I cannot justify the price he wants me to pay for his services.

“You’ve piqued my interest,” I tell him. “Besides, I should thank him for the drink.”

“Of course,” he says. “The name’s Glover Mallory, by the way.”

“Any relation to Delvin Mallory?” I ask as I stand up, retrieving my sword and gauntlets.

“Yeah, he’s my brother.”

“Ah. He’s a good friend of mine. We do a lot of business together,” I respond, smiling in a way that should indicate everything else I cannot say. Glover returns that smile, and I know he understands.

“Give him my regards next time you see him,” he says, and I assure him I will. We part ways, and I walk to Teldryn’s table, wordlessly taking a seat next to him.

“So nice of you to join me,” Teldryn says, looking quite pleased.

“Glover told me a bit about you,” I say without acknowledgment.

“All good things, I presume?” he asks.

“I’m willing to make a deal with you,” I say, ignoring him again.

“What do you have in mind?” he asks, suddenly growing serious.

“2,000 septims, and twenty-five percent of anything paid to me while you are in my service,” I respond.

“Less than half my price,” Teldryn says, and I can hear in his voice that he is more entertained than insulted. “A very . . . tempting offer.”

“Tell me about your last patron,” I say while he rather dramatically mulls it over. “How long might it have been since you had one?”

At this, he looks quite perturbed, so it is clear I finally struck a nerve. “I can’t help that Solstheim is not the most prosperous place to work in.”

“Right, and now I am offering you work,” I say as I rise to my feet, gathering my belongings. “If you decide to come with me, we leave first thing in the morning. I hope to see you then.”
He says nothing as I leave the table and find Geldis to purchase lodging for the night. Once I pay him, he leads me to my room and leaves me to my own accord, wishing me a good night. I place my sword in the weapon rack by the door then go about removing my armor, afterward putting on the tunic for sleeping that I carry with me in my backpack. Once I am settled, I sit down in bed and write in my journal, recounting the day. When I am finished, I set it aside and lay down to rest.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I awake in the morning from fitful sleep. There is much that weighs on me because of the path I was given to follow, and at times my mind will not quiet. I came to Solstheim in seek of momentary reprieve of what I must eventually face in Skyrim but the guilt becomes heavier with every second I am away. I know of the danger I am putting so many people’s lives in, but I know there are destructive forces I must also contend with here. I am only one person, and it often seems I am pulled in many directions that I cannot possibly fulfill at one time. The pull of my destiny is always strong enough to overcome the storm in my mind, though this battle is a frequent one. When I see Dawnbreaker beaconing to me from across the room, I am reminded of my strength and everything I have already accomplished. Eventually, I rise out of bed and begin my day.
A short time later I leave my room, armored and ready to face whatever lies ahead today. It is still so early in the morning that when I enter the common area, no one is there. No one, that is, except for Teldryn. He sits at a table pulling apart a hunk of bread, and looks over at me as I approach. When I am at the table, I set the coin purse containing his payment down in front of him.
“Good morning,” he says, taking the coin and tucking it away into the backpack on his chair. “Where are we headed?”
“Miraak’s temple,” I respond, waiting to see if he gives me the same response to the name as the others did, but the sharp features of his face instead show recognition.
“I know where that is,” he says.
“What do you know of Miraak?” I ask, my voice rising with excitement at the fact he’s able to speak to me about this.“The same as you: very little.”
“Then how do you know about the temple?”
“When I arrived here last year, all of this-” he waves his hand in the air “-had long been happening. I had a lot of time on my hands, so I tried to investigate. Nothing came of it.”
“Is your late arrival the reason you have not been affected the same way?”
“Perhaps, but I think it’s much more than that. There are others who aren’t affected, but the numbers are very few.”
“Why did you fail to tell me these things yesterday if you knew this is what I was after?” I ask, crossing my arms.
At this, he smirks in the way I have begun to associate with his inflated sense of self. “I would’ve, had you just asked.”
I huff and walk away from him. “I need to eat, then we leave.”
By this time, Geldis has awoken and taken his place at the bar. I greet him and order a light meal then take a seat on one of the stools to wait as he goes into the kitchen. A moment later, he brings me a plate with a piece of bread and a small jar of honey on the side. My stomach sinks with disappointment at the offerings, but before I can say anything, I see him looking behind me curiously at Teldryn.
“Odd for him to be awake this early in the morning,” Geldis says in a low voice. “It’s rare to see him before midday sometimes.”
“He’s in my service now,” I tell him.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he says, smiling. “Perhaps it’ll raise his spirits some.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. My life path often leads me to dangerous places,” I say, spreading the honey on my bread. “My last two followers could not undertake the challenge.”
“He might surprise you.”
I shrug. “I’m willing to give him the chance.”
After this brief exchange, Geldis leaves to tend to other things in the tavern. I finish my breakfast quickly, but still feel hungry. The food here clearly leaves something to be desired, but I suppose I should have known it would be based on the arid environment that surrounds me. It would be unreasonable to expect the quality of food I am accustomed to in Skyrim, especially having lived wealthily in the city of Solitude most of my life. Still, I find myself craving the more lavish offerings of the Blue Palace.
I neaten my plate for Geldis to collect, then return to Teldryn who still sits where I left him. He looks tired, which worries me, but I hope that once we get moving he will become more alert. He barely acknowledges me when I approach him, only slightly tilts his head in my direction as he continues to stare off into the space in front of him. I take the chair across the table and attempt to catch his gaze, but am unable to.
“Are you absolutely certain you are up for the job?” I ask. “It would be a shame for you to get yourself killed on the first day.”
“What?” he asks, and when he finally meets my eyes, the light floods back into his own.
“I asked if you’re sure you can handle yourself.”
He furrows his brow. “Of course. Are we ready to get going?”
“I am if you are.”
“Then let’s be off,” Teldryn says as he stands up, straps his sword in its scabbard to his waist, pulls his gauntlets on, and picks up the odd-looking goggled helm that sits on the table, tucking it under his arm. Lastly, he grabs his backpack and slings it over his shoulders. I prepare my own weapon and armor, and we finally leave the tavern.
The dawn’s air is surprisingly cold, and I am suddenly regretful I only brought steel plate for this journey. Without saying so, I decide to let Teldryn take the lead as he presumably knows the route we are taking. He takes us out to the edge of town on the side of the Imperial-built stone wall where we pause and he turns to look at me.
“Do you have anything to cover your face?” he asks.
“No, I don’t usually wear a helmet, only a fur hood when it is cold. My circlet is enchanted,” I say, reaching up to touch it briefly. I decide not to clarify that it is actually the Aetherial Crown and that an unfathomable magicka flows through it. Teldryn looks up at it, then me, and shakes his head, muttering something like “you incompetent Nord n’wahs” under his breath, which I pretend not to hear. I don’t know what an “n’wah” is, but it certainly is not a compliment. “Why do you ask?”
“In Skyrim, you have snow storms. In southern Solstheim, we have ash storms. Difference is, snow melts when it gets into your eyes and nose. Ash does not,” he says, dropping his pack to the ground and bending down to root around in it for something. At last, he pulls out what he was looking for: a worn piece of red fabric. Much to my dismay, he hands it to me. He cannot possibly be asking me to put this near my face.
When he senses my distaste, he sighs, reaching for my arm and placing the face-cover in my hand before I can protest. “It’s clean, just old. Put it on underneath your hood.”
Reluctantly, I fasten it around my head just below my eyes. It does indeed smell clean, so my confidence is restored. I then retrieve my hood from my pack and put it on, tidying up my long, dark braid inside of it.
Teldryn looks at the rest of my condition as I do so, then closes up his backpack and puts it back on. He pulls his helmet on over his head, peering at me through its small, circular goggles. It really is quite unusual in appearance, almost like a skull, but one of a very strange and otherworldly creature. “Your armor should be sufficient, but you ought to consider better head-protection. You’re not in Skyrim anymore, outlander.”
I grimace in annoyance. “You’ll call me only by my name while you serve me.”
“Sure thing, friend,” he says with a smile casually thrown back at me as he begins to walk forward, resuming his earlier path.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

We travel without making conversation. Teldryn lingers a few steps behind me, as is his duty as a mercenary, but close enough that I can still sense the direction he’s taking in our route. He walks with a sense of ease, but I keep my left hand on the verge of readying a destruction spell. The landscape I saw yesterday with my arrival is even more alien in its untamed form. The skeletons of dead trees litter the rocky, ash-coated hillside, and there is not even the slightest hint of greenery to be found. The only flora that seems to be alive is the hardy brown grass underfoot at times, and a few variations of wiry, spiny plants. I do not like the looks of this place, and it puts me on edge.

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of massive tentacles dangling from the sky. My breath catches in my throat, and in one fluid motion, I draw my sword and form a fireball in my hand, ready to lunge forward and attack. However, I am yanked backward by my knapsack and nearly fall to the ground from the force of it.

“Fjoara! What in Oblivion are you doing!” Teldryn hisses near my ear as he steadies me on my feet from his sudden pull. “Those are netch--harmless unless provoked!”

It is then that I receive a full look at what frightened me so severely. They have clustered in a group of three--two adults and an offspring. Their shape is a large oval with a thinner tail--or perhaps head, though they have no discernible face--protruding from it on one end. On top is a scaled tan shell, and their fleshy bellies and multiple tentacles are a glowing blue. They hang suspended in the air, bobbing gently and emitting a docile pulsating bellow. Though they are great in size, it is clear that they are no danger, and I am embarrassed by my overreaction. I sheath my sword and diminish my flame, saying nothing as I resume walking.

We continue for a few more hours, still ever silent. Our path takes us on an almost continuous incline and we are weighted with our armor, so it would be a waste of precious energy to speak. Fortunately, there are no threats posed to us, real or imagined, so we do not have to expend ourselves in defense either.

In the late afternoon, the ash wasteland starts to give way to snowy pine forests almost reminiscent of Skyrim. It brings me a feeling of peace, and I am grateful for this scenery in an otherwise arduous journey. However, my serenity is interrupted when we are met with the massive skeleton of a dragon resting half-submerged in the snow. This is a sight I am acquainted with, but when we walk past this skeleton, a few more appear in the distance. Then many more after that. Unease blooms in my stomach, and I stop suddenly to turn and look at Teldryn. I do not know what the expression of my face is, but he chuckles when he sees it.

“Not afraid, are we?” he asks, and though his face is obscured by his helmet, I can still sense the smirk he wears behind it. “The temple’s at the top of this next hill.”

His smugness is maddening. I turn around in a huff and continue walking forward. As we near the base of the hill, a set of wide stairs come into view, a familiar set of arches stretching over them. We make our way up, winding around the slope. I get my first glimpse of the temple itself about halfway. Even when seen from a far distance, the structure towers over the landscape, its own arches like daggers piercing the sky.

We arrive at the top a few minutes later, the temple looming over us. Teldryn pauses, and removes his helm, letting out a low whistle. He takes in his surroundings while I quietly stand behind him fiddling with my gauntlets. I try to ignore the sound of hammers pounding and the drone of chanting emitting from inside the temple walls.

“Astounding,” he says.

“What about it?” I ask.

“The last time I was here this was in ruins,” Teldryn responds.

“When was that?”

“Six months ago.”

I am shocked by the implausibility. A construction of this magnitude should have taken many years to complete, not mere months. The implications of this conjure deeper dread inside me. What otherworldly forces had reached their hand into Nirn?

“And that doesn’t worry you?” I ask, incredulous at his nonchalant attitude.

“No, it’s actually quite fascinating,” he answers, grinning. “Are we ready to go inside?”

“If we must.”

Teldryn grins mischievously. “Lead on, then.”

Without hesitating, I approach the wooden scaffolding on the side of the temple and walk up to the top in a way that I hope comes off as confident. To compensate, I lengthen my strides so that he nearly has to jog to match my pace.

At times, I get the impression that Teldryn believes me to be a meek, foolish woman, and it aggravates me. Never have I been one to seek the approval of others, but there’s something about him that has me aspiring to gain his. Rightfully, he is the one who should be yearning for

my

praise. If Teldryn only knew who I am, he would realize his place as a lowly Dunmer sellsword. Yet, I somehow don’t desire to tell him. It’s almost as if I wish for him to make his own judgment of me without my title framing my choices. What is it about him that forces me to stifle my ego so that he might show his own?

When we reach the top, we watch everything unfolding in front of us. The temple itself is built like an arena with its characteristic arches circling the edges and stairs rolling down beneath them on all sides. In the center is a monolith closely resembling the Earth Stone. It is enclosed by more arches that form a dome inlaid with a ceiling which mimics that of an insect’s wing. Dispersed amongst all of this are dozens of emaciated workers swinging their hammers and chanting with the same inhuman consistency I witnessed yesterday. My instincts scream at me to flee from the danger that surely awaits us, but I quiet them and step to the bottom of the temple. Behind me, Teldryn readies his sword. Despite his earlier confidence, he is just as much on edge as I.

"You must fight against what is controlling you! We must leave this place! Ysra, can you hear me? You must leave this place!"

My ears pick up on this disturbance in the atmosphere and my eyes scan the area for its source. It is a woman’s voice, desperate and impassioned. In the corner of my vision, I catch a glimpse of bright orange hair and quickly look over. She is a Nordic warrior wearing a set of glistening carved armor. Hanging from her waist are two war axes, one similar to the style of her armor, and the other whose blade resembles opaque blue ice. She moves between people, pleading with them to awaken and come with her. Eventually, she notices us watching her and strides over to where we are.

"You there. Who are you? What brings you to this place?" she demands.
“I’m Fjoara,” I say, choosing only to respond to her first question.

“And I’m Teldryn,” my companion adds. “Who are you?”

"I am Frea of the Skaal."

I remember hearing this word--Skaal--mentioned by the tavern worker I spoke to yesterday. Perhaps it refers to a tribe or a settlement of some kind.

“What are you doing here?” I ask her.

“I am here to either free my people or avenge them.”

“What’s happening to them?” Teldryn asks, glancing around the temple. “The same thing is occurring in Raven Rock, as well.”

“I’m unsure. Something has taken control of most of the people of Solstheim. It makes them forget themselves, and work on these horrible creations that corrupt the Stones, the very land itself. My father Storn, the shaman, says Miraak has returned to Solstheim, but that is impossible," she answers.
“It must not be. This Miraak tried to have me killed,” I say. At this, Teldryn looks over to me for a moment in curiosity.

“Well, then you and I both have reason to seek retribution,” Frea says.

“There are many people who have attempted to take my life, but I am not a woman of vengeance,” I respond.

“Hm,” Teldryn mutters to himself. “Many people? Maybe you’re not as incompetent as I thought.”

Neither Frea nor I pay him any mind. “That is admirable of you,” she says.

I shrug. “My life leaves me no time to occupy myself with petty qualms.”

“Then what is it you are here for?” Frea asks.

“It’s not apparent to me yet. The only thing I am sure of is that I need to put a stop to it.”

"Then you and I both have reason to see what lies beneath us. There is nothing more I can do here. The Tree Stone and my friends are beyond my help for now." Frea says and starts to walk in the direction of the stone.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

From the center of the temple suddenly comes shouting and the flash of chain lightning. Obstructed by the Tree Stone and its enclosure, the spell makes contact with one of the workers, but I know that he was not the intended target. We are. In the time it takes for the worker to scream and crumple to the ground, I have unsheathed Dawnbreaker, and flames rage in my free hand. Seconds later, the sources of the attack come rushing out at us, their tentacle-like masks and scaled brown robes an all too recognizable sight for me. There are six of them and only three of us, but I am not afraid.

When they are near, my companions run forward to meet them, Frea with her two axes slicing through the air, and Teldryn encased in swirling flames, gold elven sword in his hand. For a moment, their advance distracts the cultists and leaves me unnoticed in the background. This gives me an opportunity for a ranged attack, but I know I have only one shot before it draws their attention to me. Clenching my hand as I concentrate my mana downward, I stretch my arm out in front of me and release a fireball at the cultist nearest to me. It collides with his head, and he falls.

The three that remain after Frea and Teldryn’s attack begin yelling angrily as they search for the origin of the fire. When their eyes land on me, they zero in on my position and charge towards me. As I watch them grow closer, my mind becomes frenzied with panic. I know that I cannot take on the three of them at once, and my companions are nowhere to be found. My normally comfortable armor suddenly becomes so constricting as shallow breaths wrack through me. They are almost near enough to attack me, but I am frozen where I stand.

My demise is now but fifteen feet away from me, daggers glistening at their sides, gloved hands charged blue with lightning. So close I can hear it crackling. I cannot look at anything else. Cannot hear anything else. The crackle is a horrible insect burrowing into my head.

Then everything is silent, and my body ignites from the inside.

My thu’um thunders through the temple, throwing back anyone who is in the path of it. Their bodies shatter against the walls as men and embrace ground as corpses. I watch this happen, relishing in the sound of bones snapping and flesh tearing. My eyes lap up the blood that spills on the stone. The strength lent to me by my dragonkin consumes the essence of my humanity, leaving me feeling like I might soar the clouds the way they do. When I am not within myself, time is discernible. This state could last seconds, or it could be hours, but it always ends. Too soon.

Echoes of my Voice snake in the air as I come to, and I now register the scene in front of me as devastation. The last fragments of sound finally dissipate to be replaced by the unaffected chanting of the workers I left alive. I sense Frea and Teldryn approaching from behind me, but I am forced to hold my position. The scorch of my dragonblood now antagonizes the inability of my mortal body to accommodate it, and it is all I can do to keep from dropping to my knees in pain. Never soon enough, this state too passes.
“I’m glad I wasn’t in the way of that,” Teldryn says, standing in front of me and removing his helmet. He starts to say something else, but Frea interrupts him as she approaches me as well.

“All-Maker preserve me. You are like him, aren’t you?” she demands, holding the blade of her blue war axe towards me, daring me to step closer.

I understand the question, but say nothing. The hostility in her voice is not unfamiliar. It is this response that often keeps me from what I just did.

“What does she mean?” Teldryn asks, looking back and forth between us.
Frea does not take her eyes off me. “As Dunmer, you are unfamiliar to Nordic legends. Your companion is what they call ‘Dragonborn’. She has the body of a mortal, but the soul and the blood of the dragon.”

Teldryn then looks into my face as well, but his red-hued eyes do not have the same harshness as Frea’s. Instead, they are inquisitive and almost…admiring. I meet his gaze for a moment, but the intensity of his stare makes me break my own. I remain silent.

“That sounds like quite the blessing,” he says after a moment, and my eyes flick back up to him in surprise at this response.

“Blessing?” Frea snaps. “Rather, an easily corruptible power. This Miraak whom we seek was the First Dragonborn. Instead of using his thu’um for good, he chose to serve the Daedric prince Herma-Mora. This choice was what severed Solstheim from the mainland of Tamriel.”

Teldryn laughs. “Nords really do have such absurd tales. That can’t be poss-,” he starts to say, but I interrupt him.

“Frea speaks the truth. I do believe myself to be Dragonborn, though I had not known of the treachery Miraak had committed until now,” I say to him then shift my attention to her. “But I assure you that my power is my own. I serve only myself and the innocent who depend on me. I’m here to put a stop to Miraak, whatever that may entail, not to follow in his footsteps.”

Frea starts to lower her weapon, but her eyes are still narrow slits of suspicion. “Perhaps this is the reason Miraak attempted to kill you.”

“Now knowing what I do, I’m inclined to believe so,” I say, reaching behind me to pull the note from my knapsack and handing it to her. “I retrieved this missive from the body of one of the cultists.”

With rapt attention, I watch her read, trying to avoid Teldryn as he attempts to bring my focus to him. Eventually, he gives up and speaks without having me look at him.

“This is quite the little detail to keep from me before I joined your service,” he says. “I had you pegged for the typical dungeon-diving adventurer, certainly not some sort of Nordic hero.”

At this, I whip around to stare him directly in the eye. “Never call me that. I didn’t ask for this burden.”

“Fair enough,” he says, holding his hands up to placate me. “All I’m saying is that a bit of forewarning would have been welcome. I would’ve adjusted my price.”

“Clearly, this is not something I go around touting,” I say, crossing my arms. “We already agreed on our terms. If you seek a better payment, you can find employment elsewhere.”

“No,” Teldryn says, his face breaking out in a grin. “I wouldn’t have charged you anything at all. This is the adventure of a lifetime.”

I pause for a moment, not having anticipated the enthusiasm he reacted with. Instead, when I look into his face, I can see that his excitement is earnest; in fact, he radiates it. His smile is wide and toothy, and he practically bounces on the balls of his feet—the picture of a child waiting with anticipation to open gifts on Saturalia. It’s almost as if he has suddenly been given renewed purpose in his life.

“Keep the coin,” I say, sighing. “I doubt I’ll keep you around very long anyway.”

Before he has a chance to respond, I turn to Frea who has been waiting for me to finish my conversation with Teldryn. Her weapon has been reholstered and remorse is written on her face as she hands the note back to me. I fold it into a small square and stuff it into an outside pocket of my pack.

“I have misjudged you. Forgive me,” she says, eyes downcast.

“Of course. No harm was done,” I respond.

“If you would permit me, I still wish to accompany you into the temple,” she says, her gaze moving to look for a moment at her incapacitated people.

“Yes. Your help is of value to me,” I tell her.

She gives a small smile of relief. “Thank you. Let us go, then.”

At that, I begin walking to the Tree Stone and into the structure that encloses it. I find that the ground slopes downward, spiraling around the stone to a door that leads inside the temple. Placing my hand on the cold, engraved steel, I glance behind me at my two companions. Teldryn nods and Frea smiles, both in encouragement. I take a deep breath and push the door open. It groans on its ancient hinges and a cloud of dust rushes forth at me, but I step inside.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The door opens into a hallway that slants downward deeper into the temple. The torches dotting the walls wash over everything with a dim orange glow. When Frea closes the door behind her, usable light becomes scarce. I cast a spell of candlelight before proceeding further down the hallway. With the hall now saturated from the ball of light that hovers over my shoulder, two rooms on each side of the corridor come into view. I peer into the first entrance on my left to find a meeting room of some sort: a group of tables and chairs encircling a burning firepit in the center of the space. For a reason unbeknown to me, I decide to enter and take a seat in the largest chair at the head of the room. As I sit, my companions eventually make their way in as well.

“We should search these rooms for things that could be useful to us,” Frea suggests, looking at me curiously. Teldryn, silent at her side, looks at me too, but his expression is one of amusement. It’s then that I realize what it is I’m doing, and I immediately push myself out of the chair.

“Good idea,” I respond, occupying myself by digging through the dust and grime-covered shelves that line the back wall. Satisfied, Frea walks into the room that adjoins the one we’re in. When she is out of earshot, I sense Teldryn approaching me.

“Listen, Fjoara,” he begins, removing his helmet. I stop my search to look at him. “If your plans are different from what you told Frea, I need to know now.”

“What?” I ask, furrowing my brow. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t give a damn what you do, but I’d like to be informed of our next moves before I find myself in an…undesirable situation,” he says.

I scoff, now understanding what he is hinting at. “As I said earlier, I’m here to stop Miraak, not join him.”

I turn back to the shelves, crouching down to reach the bottom ones. There I find a dusty bottle of health potion which I uncork and hold to my nose. I cannot begin to imagine how old this bottle must be, but the syrupy liquid inside still smells sweet, so I put it into my knapsack. Gods only know what we might unearth within this temple.

When I rise back up, I find Teldryn leaning against one of the tables with his arms crossed, watching me. I return his stare, but find it difficult to interpret what he might be thinking. There is no outright hostility, though if I hadn’t known different from him, the steely demeanor he currently wears would certainly be taken as such. After a moment, he finally concedes.

“Just let me know,” he says as he leaves the room.

I make one last sweep, finding nothing, then walk back out into the corridor where Frea and him wait. I am certain that I hear them speaking to each other, but their conversation ends when they notice my presence. Suspicious but not wishing to cause tension within the group, I push the thought aside for now.

“I didn’t find anything,” I tell Frea, my eyes flicking over to Teldryn briefly.

“Ah, that’s a shame,” she responds, producing two small blue bottles from the satchel at her hip. She hands one to each of us. “I found only these, but the two of you should find them useful. I believe they restore magicka.”

I look down at the bottle, watching the faintly glowing blue liquid slosh around as I turn it over in my hand. My stomach tightens with guilt at her selflessness despite the fact I know she has no use for the potions. “Thank you,” I say, forcing myself to meet her eyes. Teldryn thanks her as well, and she smiles as she waves away our gratitude.

“Shall we proceed?” Frea asks.

“Ready when you are,” Teldryn says, his eagerness from earlier now returning.

Their attention falls then to me as if awaiting permission. Hiding my weariness at the thought of having to lead other people, I only nod and begin to follow the hall down to its bottom landing. There I find a door tucked into the weathered stone walls that was not visible from where we stood at the top. I stand in front of it, innately understanding that this door marks the true threshold between safety and the unknown. Having not realized just how long I have been standing here, someone places their hand on my shoulder. I startle from my stupor and whirl around only to be met with Frea’s kind face.

“We’re right behind you, Fjoara,” she says.

I shake the cobwebs out of my head. “Right. I’m sorry. Let’s go.”

Frea gives me a reassuring squeeze. Even through the steel of my armor, I can feel the strength of her grip. I relax slightly, reminding myself that she is a skilled warrior and that Teldryn can indeed handle himself as well. I also remind myself of my own capabilities, something that I seem to be forgetting with an increasing frequency, but I am unsure where the apprehension comes from. My fears sufficiently calmed, I pull the door open.

I step forward and my boot is received with a click as the ground seems to sink down one notch.

A pressure plate.

“Duck!” I shout, fabricating a ward spell in front of us. Barely a moment later, a swarm of darts dripping with poison comes pelting into the ward. My magicka is resilient enough to hold them off, and they rain to the ground after making contact. The assault lasts all of seconds, but adrenaline now rushes through my veins. When I am certain it is over, I release my spell and stand. From behind me, Teldryn begins laughing, though I fail to find anything humorous about the situation. I then hear Frea scold him with motherly disapproval and he immediately ceases.

Delicately stepping off the pressure place, I cast another spell of candlelight so I can better see any others that might be in the vicinity. There are none as far as I can tell, but I was still a fool to have gone forth without adequate lighting in the first place. I continue down the narrow corridor, this time with careful steps. Eventually, we approach a turn and the sound of voices floats our way. I slide into a crouch, holding a hand out behind me so that Frea and Teldryn know to stop walking. I reach up and snuff my light before moving forward to peer around the corner. Ahead is a guards’ room of sorts with a firepit and two cultists sitting down at a table eating. One of them has their back to me and the other faces in my direction, but I’m shrouded by the shadows where I stand. This should be a quick disposal.

I back away from the corner and straighten back up, motioning for my companions to come nearer. “There are two of them. One has their back to us, and the other faces us. I’ll take the one who faces away from back here. Teldryn, you may have to attack from a slightly closer range, but you should be able to get the other one with ease. Frea, follow closely behind in anticipation of any others who might appear. Our aim is stealth,” I whisper, and they nod with understanding.

I turn back to the corner and close my eyes to concentrate on imbuing my mana pool with ice. My fire spells would be far too destructive for this deed, so I must make a return to my Nordic heritage. My hand soon holds a blizzard, the coldness, brisk and invigorating, extending up my arm. I close my hand around it and start to walk into the path that leads to my oblivious target. Teldryn then comes to stand next to me, and Frea in back of us. Teldryn and I lock eyes. He smiles, waving his hand with a flourish as if to say “they’re all yours.”

I look back to the cultists and bring my clenched fist out in front of me, aligning it in the middle of his head. In the seconds it takes for me to release my icy spear and lodge it in the back of his skull, Teldryn steps forward and aims a fireball at our other enemy. His flesh puckers then melts, and he falls forward onto his plate of food. It is over almost as soon as it started, and with barely a sound. Unfortunately, I am not inclined to believe that future encounters will always be as such.

We walk into the room where the cultists now lay dead. Blood pools over the table where their heads fell, but their robes are left clean and their masks sit on the floor at their feet. As I notice this, I am struck suddenly with a new course of action.

I turn to Frea and Teldryn. “How opposed might the two of you be to putting on these robes?”

Frea looks at me with confusion, but Teldryn grins. “Planning a bit of infiltration, eh, outlander?” he asks. “I like where your head's at.”

“Need I remind you what I told you earlier?” I reply coolly. His smile falters for a moment before shifting into one of gleeful defiance.

“I am not quite understanding what you mean, Fjoara,” Frea says. “Please elaborate.”

“These people believe me to be this ‘False Dragonborn’, and they might be seeking my capture. If you and Teldryn were to don their attire and make it seem as if you have done so then I’m certain we could get quite far into the temple. Most importantly, with minimal bloodshed.”

Frea nods. “I like the sound of this plan, but I’m afraid I would not know how to make myself appear as one of them.”

“Leave it to me, Frea,” Teldryn says. “I have quite a bit of…shall we say…experience with maneuvers like this.”

“How so?” I ask.

“That’s for another time,” he answers. “Let’s get on with this.”

At that, we begin the difficult task of disrobing the men and then dragging their bodies into the hallway we entered from. Once we have their clothing, Teldryn leaves to find somewhere nearby to change, while Frea remains behind with me. I stand in front of the fire and look into it to offer her a bit of privacy while she gets ready. The warmth is well-received by my body and I start to feel much looser as some of my tension recedes. I’m surprised by how much of it I seemed to have been carrying with me. It is a small wonder I have even been able to function through this.

“How did you discover you are Dragonborn, Fjoara?” Frea asks after a few minutes of silence broken only by the rustle of her armor as she removes it.

“It’s quite a long story,” I respond.

“I would like to know.”

“I suppose I can tell it,” I say, as I sit down on the bench that overlooks the firepit in anticipation of how much this retelling will take out of me. I take a moment to gather my thoughts, then begin.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“I heard a rumor that a dragon was slain a short ways away from my city. I had always thought dragons to be a myth, so I wanted to see this fabled being for myself. I was able to convince my father’s huntsman to bring me to it. As it became, his guidance was not needed for the closer we rode to the dragon, the stronger I felt this pull drawing me towards it. When we arrived at its corpse, a miraculous thing occurred. I can’t quite commit the experience to words, but it felt as if I had been given this dragon’s entire lifetime. All of his memories, his knowledge, everything. His flesh then burned away and what was once a body only moments before had now become a skeleton.”

“They say that the Dragonborn can absorb the soul of the fallen dragon,” Frea says. “Is that what occurred?”

“Yes, I believe so,” I respond. “When it was finished, the huntsman, a normally staunch and diplomatic man, looked as if he had just seen an incarnation of one of the nine Divines themselves. He rushed me back home and my family began their frantic search to determine what had just happened to me. Despite the fact that I could not yet name myself for what I am, I understood I was destined to become someone who served a purpose that transcends their life and being. I was terrified for my family and for myself, so I ran away from my home shortly after.

“I traveled to The Rift, the farthest possible hold from Haafingar, and fell into work with the Thieves Guild for a number of years. I flourished in my time there, and I never again heard word of any more dragons. One night, however, a dragon came very close to attacking Riften. The guard was able to take it down before damage was done to the city and nearby properties, but not without many casualties. When everything had settled, I stole away in the middle of the night to find the dragon. I felt the same pull guiding me and withstood the same experience of absorbing its soul. It was then that I accepted I could not hide from my fate any longer.”

“But you did not yet know who you were, correct?” Frea asks.

I shake my head. “I was just as lost as I had always been, if not more. The only place I believed might hold answers for me was the College of Winterhold, so I took a sabbatical from the Guild to make my way up there. I did not want them to know of my situation, so I enrolled as a student and studied to be mage while I did the research on my own. Maddeningly, my efforts kept falling short time after time, though it was not especially helpful that I hadn’t the language to describe my experience. Another year went by, and it was one fateful day when a new shipment of books arrived at the college. In it was a text entitled The Book of the Dragonborn. I needed not even read a single word of it to know that I was holding what I had been seeking. Not only did this book give me my name, but it also contained pages written in a language I had never seen before but was somehow able to read and understand.”

“The language of the dragons,” Frea murmurs.

“I knew immediately that these words must be spoken out loud and rushed out of the library during the early hours of the morning to the edge of the Sea of Ghosts. To the water, I spoke the three words of a Shout first in the common tongue, and then when nothing happened, in that strange language. I felt my blood burn as I was overcome with a tremendous sense of power, and for a brief moment, I parted the ocean in front of me.”

“Is that what we saw earlier?” she asks.

“Yes. It’s known as Unrelenting Force,” I respond. I pause in my speaking and close my eyes, a sigh escaping my lips. “There was something so bittersweet about receiving this new knowledge. It’s a relief to at last know who I am, but I’m now burdened to fulfill a prophecy thousands of years old.”

“When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world, when the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped, when the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles, when the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls, when the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding, the World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn,” Frea recites. “Is this correct?”

“Indeed. However, the book failed to provide the meaning behind the prophecy, so I am unsure of what--or who--I am to face,” I say, then turn around to look at her. “But it does say that I’m the Last Dragonborn. It all is meant to end with me, and if I fail…”

“You have assistance, though, do you not?” she asks me, face even and somber.

“I have been alone in my ventures thus far, more by choice than anything else. No one except for you and Teldryn knows who I am, and I don’t wish for them to,” I answer. “I did not ask for this. I do not know why I was chosen. I have never even seen a dragon alive, much less slain one, and yet that appears what my sole purpose is meant to be. This is the worst fear I have ever known.”

I drop my head into my hands, holding it with my elbows on my legs. The fire’s heat can no longer quell the anxiety that rushes through me. The bench shifts as Frea sits down next to me and puts her hand on my back. It is all I can do to keep my tears from falling in her comforting presence.

“I’m here to help you now,” she says. “When we are done here, we can visit my father and seek his wisdom. He will know what to do.”

“Are we ready to…” Teldryn says, voice appearing suddenly, but it trails off when I assume he sees my current state. “What happened here?”

“Where have you been?” Frea snaps.

I lift my head to look at what’s going on. Teldryn stands in the doorway cloaked in the cultist’s robes, tentacled mask held at his side. His eyebrows are furrowed and his mouth slopes downward with concern. “I went to have a look around,” he answers.

Frea stands up, crossing her arms and glaring at him. “Without us? You-”

“No, it’s alright, Frea,” I say, gently interrupting her. I then stand up myself and turn to him. “What did you find?”

“Very few people are present here right now,” he responds. “I don’t forsee us having much trouble at all.”

I nod. “Good. I’m ready, then.”

While I wait as Teldryn takes Frea to show her where she can stash her gear, it occurs to me that if I am to pose as a prisoner, I should not have Dawnbreaker with me. I am confident enough in my skill with magic, so protection is not my concern, it’s that I cannot even fathom the idea of anything happening to her. This sword is the only tangible testament to my accomplishments, and what would be left of me if I were to lose it? When my companions return, I have unstrapped the scabbard containing it from my body and clutch it in my hands. They notice what I’ve done and look at me with confused expressions.

“Are you alright, Fjoara?” Frea asks.

“I don’t think I would have this on me if I were a prisoner,” I respond.

“You’re right,” Teldryn says. “Do you want me to put it with the rest of our things?”

“No,” I say tightly. “I want you to take it.”

“Me?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely not,” I answer. “But Frea has her hands full already, so you’ll just have to do.”

He chuckles. “I so love your confidence in me.”

I hand Dawnbreaker to him and watch with a hawk’s eye as he straps it on the opposite side of his body from his own sword. It looks very out of place on him—the delicate lines and sunlight of its hilt clash against the unsightly brown robes—but it will have to do. If he is truthful in his claims of past experience with similar tasks like the one ahead of us, he should be capable of making the sword go unnoticed despite the attention that it calls.

“If you put so much as a scratch on it, you might find yourself with its blade embedded in your chest,” I tell him. “You are not to use it, only to keep it with you.”

“You don’t need to worry,” he says with the threat of a smile on his lips. “I’ll guard it with my life.”

I glare at him for another moment then look back over to Frea. “Are you ready to go?” I ask her.

“I am,” she says.

“One last thing, Fjoara,” Teldryn says. When I look to him I see that he holds a length of rope in his hands. “If we’re going to keep up the facade, well, then…” he glances down at the rope and back up at me.

A knot of fear twists in my stomach. How am I to defend myself if my hands are tied behind my back?

“Yes, of course,” I reply without hinting at my reservations. He comes over and secures my arms behind me. When he is finished, I can feel a looseness in the tie he did. So loose that it’s as if I could break out of my bindings if I wanted to.

“If you twist your arms in opposite directions from each other, you’ll be able to release yourself,” Teldryn says to me, confirming my suspicions. When I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, he chuckles. “You didn’t actually think I’d leave you defenseless, eh, outlander?”

He looks at me with a childish grin, waiting for my reaction to his deliberate betrayal of my wishes. I consider for a moment correcting him again, but I realize there’s something about the use of this word for me that I like. Perhaps it’s the air of friendly informality, or the way he hasn’t stooped to lick my boots after he found out who I am.

Back home in Solitude, I had become so accustomed to the delicate and inauthentic manner in which I was treated by my father’s court, and even by those whom I considered to be my friends. The luxuries and privileges afforded to me by my father being High King of Skyrim were beyond the common people’s most outrageous fantasies, but there was always a part of me who would have discarded it all for the chance at a real connection with someone. To be loved and respected for who I am, not because of who my father is, and certainly not because I’m now destined to become some sort of hero.

At times, I believe I would be better off as the thief I once was, melting into the shadows, unknown to and unseen by anyone. It is so hard to accept that my fulfillment of these roles is unavoidable. I know I just ought to relinquish myself to them, but there are still times when I feel excruciatingly lonely. I hold out hope that Teldryn or Frea will become more than just someone else who does my bidding, but what strength do my own desires have against this fate which binds me to its predetermined path? If these brief moments of Frea’s grounding compassion and Teldryn’s good-natured taunting are all I’ll be allowed in this lifetime, then I’m grateful to have at least experienced that.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Who do we have here?” the sagely old Dunmer cultist asks.

Teldryn and Frea stand on either side of me gripping my upper arms, which are still bound behind my back. We were led to him by another cultist whom we came across as we made our way into the temple. He sits behind a desk in a large room decorated with what appear to be dragon bones and brimming with all sorts of different books. He also wears a more ornately designed robe than the others and does not have a mask, so it’s clear he holds a position of power. I wonder briefly if this is Miraak, but then remember the wizard from yesterday who seemed certain that he is still dead.

“We’ve captured the False Dragonborn, Fjoara Ebonhand,” Teldryn replies from behind the anonymity of his mask.

The cultist regards me silently, appraisingly. His gaze makes me uncomfortable, but I don’t allow myself to look away from him. I can sense Frea also growing tense by the way her grip on my arm tightens, but Teldryn seems completely unshaken by the presence before us.

“If I’m not mistaken, your orders were to eliminate her, not bring her back alive,” the cultist says in a level voice that hardly obscures the threat behind his words.

“Yes, forgive us, serjo. However, we determined that she would be a greater asset to us alive. She claims to have knowledge on Hermaeus Mora,” Teldryn responds smoothly, betraying no hint of his lie. He gives my arm a quick squeeze, prompting me to speak.

I look frantically around the room for a moment before my eyes snap to a pedestal in the back of the room that holds a decaying book with a grotesque mass of tentacles pictured on its cover. Even from this distance, there is an unsettling energy about it that chokes the air and permeates through me. I realize immediately that this book is what we came into the temple to seek. From my studies at Winterhold, I recall that one of the artifacts associated with Hermaeus Mora is a book of esoteric knowledge called the Oghma Infinium. There is no doubt in my mind that the book here is also of Hermaeus Mora, and I will do anything I need to get ahold of it.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ve read the Oghma Infinium.”

“Impossible,” the cultist says. “The Infinium hasn’t been seen since the Oblivion Crisis. You continue to spread falsities even as you stand before me.”

He’s correct on all accounts, but I must persist. “Only the select few are able to read the works of Hermaeus Mora. If you would allow me to look at the book you have here, then surely I could prove I am one of those few.”

He says nothing as his stare continues to pierce through me. I hold my ground as strongly as I’m able to, but my stomach churns as I remember one unfortunate fact: That attempts at reading the Oghma Infinium have caused insanity in the people who are not deemed worthy of its knowledge. All it takes is a moment’s glance at its pages. This book is likely no exception to that.

“Very well,” the cultist says after another minute of tense silence. “You may release her.”

As he makes his way to the back of the room to approach the book, my companions take their hands off of me. The two of them quietly exchange glances with each other, and I can feel their disapproval even without having to see their faces, but I ignore them. This has to be done.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Teldryn whispers as he steps behind me to untie the rope.

When my arms are free, I stretch them out and roll my shoulders, readying myself for an attack should I need to make one. “If something goes wrong, take Frea and leave without me,” I murmur to him as I walk forward to the book, sensing their shared horror at this new command.

The part of me that has accepted this as the only way move forward in my mission fights against my instinct to attack the cultist while he is turned away from me. As I grow closer to the book, I fight to force the panic out of my mind. I’m quite certain I’ll be able to read it, but I still shudder at the thought of what I might see. I have never desired to meddle with the Daedra, but it seems I was naive to think I’d be able to avoid it. The cultist turns back towards me, his face devoid of any emotion.

The book is much larger and much more putrid than how it appeared from further away, its cover moldy and almost diseased-looking. The energy it gives off is also substantially more potent; the air is so thick here that it seems like I’m swimming through it. I can feel my body recoil as I place my hand on the cover, but I refuse to let myself remove it. The cultist is an ever-silent presence as he stands watching me. I pull the book open, and for a moment I can see a mirage of swirling patterns on its pages before a black mass of something swallows me and my vision grows dark.

Before I know it, my eyes fly open and I’m met with a sight unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. The sky rages green with electricity and piles of rotting books form towers that stretch so high that they disappear into the storm above. Beyond the platform on which I find myself stretches an endless black sea, tentacles reaching out of it. Apocrypha.

I try to rise to my feet, try to speak, but my body won’t respond to the commands. It’s as if I’m a shell of myself, paralyzed, comatose, but still aware. From the sky, I hear a beastly roar, and a dragon dips down to land on the ground in front of me. Before I am able to react to my first sight of a live dragon, I notice a figure step down from its back and approach me curiously as if my arrival was unexpected. As they draw closer to me, I see that they wear a set of armored robes and a mask contorted into the image of a monster out of a feverish nightmare. There is no one else this could be besides Miraak.

"Who are you to dare set foot here?” Miraak questions, sizing me up as I remain on my knees at his feet. “Ahh... You are Dovahkiin. I can feel it. And yet, you have never slain a dragon.” He laughs with cruel humor. “You have no idea of the true power a Dragonborn can wield! Mul...Qah Div!” He Shouts, and from his body materializes the form of a dragon’s natural armor, but translucent and glowing orange like embers.

“This realm is beyond you. You have no power here, and it is only a matter of time before Solstheim is also mine. I already control the minds of its people. Soon, they will finish building my temple, and I can return home.” At this, he turns on his heel and starts to return to his dragon. At the snap of his fingers, two massive creatures draped in tentacles appear and loom closer and closer. Defenseless and immobile, I can only watch as they cast some kind of magic over me.

“Send her back where she came from. She can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel.” is the last thing I hear before darkness washes over me and I slip out of my body once again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Why isn’t she isn’t waking up?” Teldryn’s garbled voice says from somewhere above me and I feel a comforting summer sun-like warmth spreading over me.

“Give her time,” Frea’s distant voice responds. “She’s recovering.”

The warmth caresses me again. I sigh at its touch and my eyes flutter open to see myself awash with golden light as Teldryn’s healing spell envelops me. It’s a welcome sight, but the safety of my present situation soon reminds me of the contrasting danger of where I was only moments ago. At the reemergence of this memory, my mind tries to reject it as reality, but it’s unsuccessful. Panic rises in my throat as I bolt upright from my supine position. At this movement, Teldryn and Frea rush to my side.

“Where am I...where am I...is it over?” I ask, my voice shaking between frantic breaths.

“Shh...you’re safe, Fjoara,” Frea murmurs, reaching out to take my hand. “You’re in my village now. We have been by your side the whole time.”

“Gods,” I sob. “I was in Apocrypha...I met Miraak.”

Frea kneels down beside me, and I let my head fall into her shoulder as I choke back my tears. She wraps her arm around me and we gently sway back and forth. If it weren’t for the overwhelming panic consuming my mind, I know I would be mortified at this outright display of vulnerability.

“Here, Frea, let me…” Teldryn says in a low voice as I hear him cast a spell. A blanket of tranquility falls over me, and I let out a deep sigh as my panic loosens its stronghold on me. I allow Frea to hold me for a moment longer before I pull away and straighten myself up, wiping my wet eyes.

I look around and take in my surroundings for the first time: we are in a small, modest home quite similar to ones in back in Skyrim--nothing like the strange insect shell homes of Raven Rock. My armor has been removed, leaving me in my underclothes, and I’m atop a bed that is covered in furs. Teldryn sits in a chair at the end of the bed while Frea sits in one at my side. The concern is etched into both of their faces, but Teldryn’s is layered with a kind of eagerness as he leans forward in his chair towards me.

“So, what happened to you in there?” he asks.

“Teldryn!” Frea snaps, turning to him. “Have some compassion.”

I cannot help but to laugh at the way their dynamic has taken shape; Teldryn, the tactless, excitable child, and Frea, the weary mother who constantly has to correct his poor social graces.

“See?” Teldryn says, motioning to my laughter. “I’m a halfway decent mage--she’s fine.”

I nod. “Teldryn’s right. I’m feeling much better now,” I say to Frea before answering him. “I was in Apocrypha. I met Miraak and saw a dragon.”

His eyes widen with genuine disbelief at my words. “You were really in Oblivion? What’s it li-,” he starts, but is interrupted by Frea.

“What did Miraak say to you?” she questions.

“He told me that he plans to make a return to Solstheim.”

“What could he possibly want from us?” Frea asks.

Teldryn shrugs. “Power, glory, revenge. To name a few.”

“I’m inclined to think power,” I respond. “After all, he’s enslaved most of the island already.”

“Did he mention when he might attempt to make this return?” Frea asks.

“Once the construction of his temple has been completed.”

“All-Maker preserve us,” she breathes. “So soon.”

“What’s our next move, then?” Teldryn asks us both.

“We will speak to my father in the morning. There is nothing more we can do tonight,” Frea responds. “For now, we should rest. Can I get you something to eat or drink, Fjoara?”

“Both, please,” I tell her. “Thank you.”

She nods and leaves for the main hall of her home. When she’s gone, Teldryn walks over to the fireplace in the corner of the room and tosses another log into it. Almost as if the fire reminds me of the surely frigid temperature outside, I pick up a fur from the bed and wrap it around my shoulders. My eyes drift to watch him as he prods the fire. The spell of Calm he used on me was incredibly effective--I cannot recall a time when I was as at ease as I am now. Eventually, he notices my gaze, and that smirk of his appears.

“Like what you see, outlander?” Teldryn asks. Indeed, he too has removed his armor, and I’m now able to catch a glimpse of his muscles stretching under the thin fabric of his clothing. For an elf, he really is quite easy on the eyes, and I soon find myself wondering what it might be like to bed him.

“You’re welcome to find out,” I hear him say somewhere in the midst of my reverie. “For a human, you really are quite . . .”

“What?!”

I exclaim, the daydream evaporating from my mind before he’s able to finish his sentence.

His smirk takes on a devious edge. “That was a very strong spell I used on you. It often has the unfortunate--or fortunate--side effect of behaving like a truth serum.”

“Did I . . . say that out loud?” I gasp as I feel my face heat up.

“For what it’s worth, the feeling is mutual,” he responds.

I sit dumbfounded as I struggle to find the appropriate words to reply with, but blessedly Frea comes through the door before I have to. Teldryn meets my eye with subtle seductiveness coloring his expression before he looks away and returns to his chair. Frea sits back down on her own chair and passes me the tray of food she brought in: an appetizingly fragrant, hearty stew and a steaming mug of tea. I set the tray down on the bed in front of me and waste no time digging into the meal with nary a thanks to her as my famine overtakes me. She and Teldryn exchange light conversation as I eat, but I’m far too engrossed by my plight to wolf down the food to participate.

“Thank you, Frea. That was delicious,” I say when I finish eating, feeling full and content.

“Of course,” she replies, smiling as she stands up and takes the tray out of the room.

Ordinarily, I would have been mortified to be alone with Teldryn after what just occurred, but I still feel the effects of the spell, and it takes away any trace of anxiety I might have. Still, I know better than to broach the topic again, especially after his confirmed interest. Yet, when I look over to him, I see that his eyes are closed with his head tipped back and arms crossed over his chest. Something seems to stir inside me, and I find myself unabashedly gazing upon him.

“I’m going to be at my father’s home for the night,” I hear Frea whisper from the doorway.

I force my eyes away from Teldryn long enough to wish her a good night before they return to him. When the front door creaks as she leaves, he groans at the intrusive noise and opens his eyes as he sits up in the chair.

“What hap--” Teldryn starts, cutting off when he sees me and the way I must be looking at him. Surprise flashes across his face, but is soon replaced with something I can only describe as lust.

The fire is so warm at my back, and it fills the room with a soft light that casts alluring shadows over his body. I hadn’t previously thought much of the tattoos that trace around his cheekbones and run down the center of his bottom lip, but I now see them as a wildness that makes me want him even more. As I look into his eyes which mirror what I’m feeling inside me, I realize there is nothing I need more in this moment than to feel his hands on me.

“Come here,” I murmur, voice silky and eyes heavy-lidded.

I can see the desire deepen in his face at my words, but he still takes his time coming over to the side of the bed where I am. He rests one knee on the edge of the mattress and waits to see what I plan to do. I pull myself up slowly to kneel in front of him. The fur falls from my shoulders, and his breath hitches sharply as he watches me slip my tunic off. Completely exposed before him, his eyes rake hungrily over my body, but he makes no attempt to close the space between us. Nor do I.

“Do you know what I want to do to you right now?” he says in a strained voice, and I can tell how difficult it is for him not to just take me right at this moment.

“Show me,” I whisper.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Teldryn’s fingers thread roughly through my hair as he bends down to press his lips to mine. My arms find their way around his neck to pull him against my body, and he groans at the contact. He kisses me, mouth closed and desire restrained, until I take a hand and palm him through the outside of his pants, my touch drawing a moan out of him as his hands tighten in my hair.

Teldryn then pulls back to begin kissing up my neck and jaw as he simultaneously climbs the rest of the way onto the bed. “Lay down,” he murmurs when his mouth is at my ear

I waste no time in obeying his command, looking up at him from on my back as he moves to be on top of me. He meets my eyes for a moment, long enough for me to see the fire raging behind them, before he leans back down and his lips finds my breasts. My eyes fall closed and my breathing grows ragged as he sucks on one of my nipples, rolling it between his teeth. The intensity of the pain mixed with the pleasure he’s also giving me empties my mind until this feeling is all I can think of.

He releases my breast so he can trail his tongue down the center of my chest and stomach, stopping when he reaches my mound. For a moment, he does nothing, but I keep my eyes closed, and suddenly I feel him running his fingers between the folds of my sex. When he takes his hand away, my eyes blink open and I see him sucking on his fingers to taste me. It feels like my whole body is flushing with self-consciousness, but I’m unable to tear my eyes away from him.

“Already so wet for me, and I’ve barely done a thing,” Teldryn coos, running the same fingers, slick with his saliva, over my cheekbone.

His hand reaches back down and he slips his fingers into me, holding my gaze as my back arches and I cry out from the intensity of how it feels. His hand moves slowly at first, and he pulls his fingers out a couple of times to watch my body come undone with pleasure when he slides them back in. I no longer have the ability to feel insecure--I can only lose myself in his feverish red eyes and clutch at the bed to keep myself from screaming at every wave of ecstasy that seizes me.

Teldryn’s movements become quicker and his thumb begins to rub the area of my sex that he had been purposely neglecting until this moment. I now cannot help but to let myself get louder and louder, my hands clawing at his back. Teldryn allows me this indulgence briefly before he presses his free hand over my mouth and bends down so his lips are next to my ear.

“If you make another sound, I won’t let you finish,” he whispers sweetly.

I immediately quiet and nod submissively, but he doesn’t take his hand away. I’m glad for this. My hunger for his touch is insatiable. I close my eyes to concentrate on silencing myself, and suddenly his fingers curl against my walls. My eyes snap open at the climax I now feel building deep inside me, but it doesn’t take long and I whimper against his hand as my body burns with orgasm. When I’ve finished, he exchanges his hand for his lips and kisses me as he takes his fingers out, cupping my sex with his hand for a moment before pulling away from me and moving to the other side of the bed.

I lay there with my head swimming as I stare up into the rafters above me. By now, most of the spell has worn off, so my thoughts are reeling with the implications of what just happened. I had met Teldryn only two days ago, exchanged barely a meaningful word with him, and yet I find myself naked in bed with him. Never mind the fact that he is under my employ. I've had my share of sexual encounters in the past, but never so quickly with someone I barely know, and none that had ever left me feeling like...this.

“That was…,” I begin, and Teldryn looks over at me from where he sits with his back against the headboard. “...not what I was expecting.”

“And what might that have been?” he asks.

I’m unable to make myself say the words I’m thinking, that I was anticipating sex with him. “You didn’t even take your clothes off,” I blurt out.

Teldryn’s brow furrows in confusion until the realization dawns across his face. He grins at me. “You think I’m that easy, outlander?”

“Well, I…”

He reaches over and brushes his fingertips between my legs to silence me. When I startle at his touch, the humor in his smile morphs into something more wicked. “You’ll just have to wait,” he purrs.

With that, he takes his hand back and gets out of bed, walking to the door. “Goodnight, Dragonborn,” he says to me from at the door, then steps out, closing it behind him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

When I wake up the next morning, I am alone in the room, but I hear the snapping of a fire roaring in the fireplace, so I must not have been for very long. I sit up in bed, rubbing my eyes, and notice a bedroll laid out in front of the fire. It must be Teldryn’s. After he left last night, I almost immediately fell asleep, so I did not notice his return. I ponder for a moment on where he could have possibly gone, but come up short on an answer. The entirety of yesterday was overwhelming. I would probably be better off moving on from it.

I push aside the furs covering my body and swing my legs over the side of the bed, but do not get up. As I sit there, my eyes are led to the window where I can see that it is snowing softly outside. It makes my heart ache for home. I know I have not been on Solstheim for very long at all, but it was never my desire to come here in the first place. I had done so out of obligation, knowing that this journey is part of my fate.

The day’s fresh wave of anxiety washes over me as I reminisce about the days when I did not know of who I am. Eventually, the feeling becomes so debilitating that I find myself laying back down in bed. I do not try to sleep again, only stare blankly at the fire as its flames lick the stone of the fireplace. I don’t know how long I had been there before I hear the door opening, but I make no move to acknowledge whoever has entered the room. They walk quietly, likely still believing I am asleep, and I soon see a pair of legs approach me on the side that I face.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Teldryn says, and I don’t reply. He stands there watching me for a moment, perhaps waiting for a reaction, but when I give him nothing, he sits down next to me on the bed.

“Fjoara?” he asks, and I know he must be worried because he used my real name, but I remain silent. Even if I wanted to speak, I couldn’t.

Teldryn takes my shoulder and gives me a small shake. I find myself letting out a quiet groan, but I’m still paralyzed. He stands there with his hand still on my shoulder, eventually removing it to reach for one of the furs discarded by my side and drape it over me. After, he gets into bed with me, but leaves room between us as he lays on his back, hands folded over his stomach.

“We’ll wait for Frea to come get us,” Teldryn says, a kind of mischief in his voice. “Azura knows I don’t want to be outside in the damned snow, anyway.”

Then, very much unlike him, he says not a single word more. We simply lay there side by side for what feels like an eternity, his steady presence drawing me out of my dark thoughts and back into this moment. I can almost feel my body thawing out the fear that keeps me in its icy grip. I do not know if this release is because of Teldryn specifically, or if it is merely the result of my being in the company of someone when I have so often been alone. Eventually, the tightness in my chest subsides, and it no longer feels like a struggle to take in breath.

A few minutes later, there is a light knock on the door to the bedroom. “Come in,” Teldryn calls to whomever it is, likely Frea, and they enter the room at his permission. He gets out of bed and walks out of my line of sight. I hear the door shut again. When no one approaches me after a moment, I assume that he left the room with Frea. I sit up and, indeed, I am alone once again. Yet, I manage to push the fur aside and leave the bed. I would not say that I feel completely well again, but I will be able to work through whatever stress remains.

As I begin to make my way out of the room, I pause in front of the window. The snow has picked up considerably since I last looked, and I think wearily to my armor. I was told that Solstheim’s climate was temperate, so I failed to bring anything that could keep me protected against the cold. Before I am able to reach the door, however, Frea opens it and walks in carrying a large bundle of fur and hide. When she sees me, surprise crosses her face.

“Oh! You’re out of bed already. Teldryn told me you-” she starts but cuts off when she seems to rethink her words. “I have brought you something warm to wear. A storm blew in last night.”

She walks over to the bed and lays out the contents of what she was holding: a thick, hooded coat and a pair of complementary pants. The workmanship on them is almost primitive and not very pleasing to look at, but they look to be more than suitable for the weather outside.

“Thank you,” I tell her. “I was beginning to regret my poor choice of apparel.”

“They’re not nearly as lovely as your armor, but I’m certain you’ll find them more comfortable for today,” Frea says then returns to the door. “I’ll be back in a moment with the rest of your things.”

As I wait for her, I sit on the edge of the bed, running my hand absently over the soft brown fur that lines the inside of the coat. It must be wolf pelt, so quite warm indeed. Frea reappears a minute later with my backpack, Dawnbreaker, and the Aetherial Crown. In the chaos of last night, I had forgotten all about my sword, so when Frea gives my things to me, I immediately unsheathe it to check that it is indeed still intact.

She smiles at my protectiveness. “He took very good care of it, but he did almost have to use it.”

“For what reason?” I ask, my eyes narrowing.

“When you read the book...what we saw was alarming,” Frea responds, but seems hesitant to say more.

I stand up suddenly at this. “What happened to me?”

“As soon as you opened it, tentacles appeared to reach out from the pages and wrap around you...,” she starts, gauging my reaction to my words. I nod my head for her to continue. “Teldryn and I were quite ready to attack--” her face twists “--the book, but only seconds later, the tentacles released you and were sucked back in.”

“I was in Apocrypha for much longer than a few seconds, though,” I say, disoriented by this new information.

“You collapsed and fell unconscious immediately after,” Frea says. “It took you almost an hour to wake up again. Perhaps this is why it seemed longer to you.”

I begin to feel lightheaded as I take this information in, but I force myself to continue the conversation. “What happened after that? How did we get here?”

“The cultist ordered us to take you to the chambers in the temple where they planned to hold you, but it was very easy to leave with you. My village is only a thirty minute walk from the temple.”

“Thank the gods it’s over now.”

She smiles at me and briefly touches my hand in reassurance. “My father is waiting to speak with you. I have told him as much as I could, but he still has need to understand what you saw.”

“Of course,” I say. “Allow me a moment to get dressed, and then we can go.”

After Frea leaves, I am left alone only briefly before someone enters the room without even so much as a knock. Luckily, I have yet to undress, and instead, am sitting down at the table under the window to transpose what Frea told me into my journal. I look up from my writing at the interruption to find Teldryn standing there wearing a similar coat and pants to the set that Frea gave me.

“I look just like a Nord now,” Teldryn proclaims, his smile wide.
“I beg to differ,” I say, putting aside my notebook. “Though if you covered your face...”
“Always so serious you are,” he says, smile turning coy. “Besides, wouldn’t that be doing you a disservice?”

I raise an eyebrow. “How so?”

“If I recall,” he starts, pantomiming himself thinking. “You couldn’t seem to look away from me last night.”

“Well, upon seeing you now in the daylight, I’m not entirely sure what I was thinking,” I retort with a dismissive glance in his direction.

Teldryn’s smile returns to mirth. “We both know you don’t mean that.”

Quite unfortunately, he’s right. Seeing him again today really only affirms my attraction to him, especially when that attraction is still present while I am no longer under the effects of the spell. Even so, I cannot permit this kind of distraction to undermine my true reason for being on this island. It was not, and still isn’t, my intention to let someone occupy any part of my mind for fear that it might hold me back from completing my mission. I must remind myself that I only chose to hire him so that my life is at less of a risk. If he were to ever become the risk itself, then I won’t hesitate to part ways with him.

So, why then is there still a whisper in the back of my mind telling me that he’s here to stay?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I step outside of Frea’s cabin into her village and am thrust suddenly back into the image of Skyrim in times of old.  The homes here are nothing like the regal, stately manors of Solitude, but instead practical and built to withstand harsh weather. Indeed, powdery snow from last night’s storm blankets the rooftops and the surrounding pines that sit beneath the mountainside this settlement was carved into, but nothing looks any worse for the wear.

Frea leads me through the village, and everyone we pass makes a point to greet us even though they are all busy with their own tasks. I am unfamiliar with this type of treatment--Riften’s people were too paranoid of the Thieves Guild to be friendly, Winterhold’s too distrustful of the mages at the college, and at home, servitude masqueraded as warmth. I wonder how different a person I might have become if I had lived such a close-knit community.

As we begin to grow closer to the center of the village, I start to catch glimpses of a swirling white serpentine of magicka that flows upwards into the sky. Curious, I ask Frea what it’s for.

“It is a barrier against the corruption of Herma-Mora. Some of my people have succumbed to it as you saw at the temple, and others to the Wind Stone just outside of our village, but my father has been able to protect everyone else,” she tells me.

When we do reach the center, there is a small group of people kneeling on the ground with their palms upwards and eyes closed, each contributing to the magicka that’s formed in the middle of their semi-circle. Frea approaches an older man at the head of the circle and kneels down next to him. I stand next to her, unsure of what movement to make, but eventually decide to mirror her position.

“Father, Fjoara is here with me,” Frea says to him.

He does not open his eyes, but I can still feel his acknowledgment of my presence. “So you have seen things, yes? My magic grows weak, and so does the barrier around our village. Time is short. Tell me what you know."

“I read a book in the temple that transported me to what I believe was Apocrypha. Miraak was there, and I learned that he is orchestrating his return to Solstheim. He is compelling them to reconstruct his temple. This is what’s behind the strange behavior of your people and the rest of the island.”

“The legends speak of that place. Terrible battles fought at the temple, the dragons burning it to the ground in rage. What I feared has come to pass, then. Miraak was never truly gone," Storn says, then quiets for a moment in thought before speaking again. “Frea has told me that you are Dragonborn. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is. Miraak seemed to be Dragonborn as well. I saw him use his thu’um while I was there.”

“That is what the stories say. Perhaps you are connected to him, then.”

“What does it mean if we are both Dragonborn?”

“I am unsure. It may mean that you could save us, or it may mean that you could bring about our destruction,” Storn says, but his voice remains steady and even. “I have heard your story of lostness and wandering. I can sense that you are fearful of the abilities you hold as Dragonborn.”

He exposes something that I had been trying to obscure, and a coldness prickles across my chest like icy, razor-edged spears. I struggle against the truth being brought to my lips, but it tumbles out despite my efforts. “I have never wished to harm others, but the gods have given me a weapon that can speak an end to life with more ease than the sharpest sword, and with more devastation than the most powerful army. Yet, if I were to cast this weapon aside in favor of peace, I would bring upon an even greater destruction to all of Tamriel. Both my calling and the fear within me are inescapable. How am I to cope with being torn between these two parts of myself?”

“To make peace with fear is to strengthen one’s connection to the catalyst of it,” Storn says. “Your gods chose you to be the bearer of this burden because you possess the fortitude to endure it. In time, you will learn how your human self and your dragon self can cohabitate in the same body, but this will mean continuing along the path set forth for you. Your experiences will grant you bravery, and repose will find you in this lifetime.”

If there were ever a word that could calm the frantic spinning of my mind, then Storn had just spoken them all. My shoulders relax and my head bows as I close my eyes and let five years worth of unrest depart from my soul. Frea rests her hand on top of my own as she and her father allow me this moment of silence.

“Thank you, Storn,” I say finally. “Please tell me how I can help your people. I will do everything I’m able to.”

“You must go to Saering's Watch,” he answers. “Learn there the word that Miraak did long ago, and use that knowledge on the Wind Stone. You may be able to break the hold on our people there, and free them from control.”

“A Word of Power, father?” Frea interjects. “Is that what this has really come to?”

“I am afraid so, Frea. Miraak is behind what is happening to our village, and so the knowledge he gained as Dragonborn is at the heart of it,” Storn says to her, then addresses me. “Since you are Dragonborn as well, you too can wield this power, perhaps to a better end.”

This magnitude of responsibility formerly would have rendered me paralyzed, but I’m still awash in the inspiration Storn has given me, so I answer with confidence. “I won’t let this hardship go on any longer. You can have faith that I will use the power I gain to end it.”

“The All-Maker has blessed us with your arrival, Fjoara. May he shelter you in your journey.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I asked Teldryn to stay back at Frea’s house while she and I went to speak to her father because I feared his rowdiness might be disruptive, but he is not there when we return. This is now the second time that he has made an unexpected disappearance. It’s true that I did effectively dismiss him for the afternoon, but I assumed that he would have stayed here. He doesn’t know anyone in this village--where could he possibly be going?
As I consider the possibilities, each grimmer than the next, my mind clouds with worry. However, when I see his knapsack sitting atop a chest and his chitin armor hanging on a rack in the back of the main hall, I feel it dissipate. He would, of course, take his belongings with him if he were to leave my service. I confuse myself with the attention I now pay to his presence. Surely it would not be a loss if I were to no longer have it, especially when I have such a valuable companion in Frea.

As if guided by divine timing, she calls over to me from by the fire asking what I’d like for dinner. I tell her to give me a moment then go about removing the bulky outer layers of my clothes at the door. When I finish, I join her, sinking into a chair draped in thick blankets at the fire’s edge. I start to pull one over my lap to settle in for a while but am stopped by my guilt over her unwavering hospitality. Being waited on has never caused this feeling in the past, but those who served me had also never done so out of the goodness of their heart as Frea does.

“I can make something for us,” I say. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

I begin to stand back up, but she reaches over and kindly, but firmly pushes me back down by my shoulders. “No, you must conserve your energy, Fjoara. There is a long road ahead of you. Let me take care of all else.”

I want to finally speak my gratitude to her, but the front door opens and Teldryn comes bursting through with an exasperated groan as chunks of snow come tumbling off his coat and boots. I glare mercilessly at him as he pushes back his hood and runs his hands through the mohawk that has gone flat on his head. He catches my eye through my stare and smiles at me as if he were oblivious to the venom in my expression. When he shakes his head wearing the same bemused look that he’s given me so many times before, however, I know that he’s just choosing to ignore it. After he too has removed his coat, he comes over to the fire, taking the seat directly next to mine. I lean away from his closeness, but he doesn’t seem to notice, and even if he does, he’s unbothered by it.

“What’s cookin’, Frea?” Teldryn calls over to her where she prepares our meal. “Smells great.”

“Where did you go?” I ask him impassively, quiet enough so that Frea cannot hear. She has no need to be troubled by any tension between him and I. “For that matter, where did you go last night?”

He takes a moment to respond to Frea’s answer to his own question before he answers mine. “Worried about me, outlander?”

“No,” I say with a continuation of my previous tone. “I would just like to know where my coin is going if not to fund you protecting me.”

“I see,” Teldryn says, the humor draining from his voice. “Well, in regards to last night, after I finished with you, I went outside for a smoke but ended up having to take care of a few bandits who had made their way into the village. Before you woke this morning, I went with a few other men to wipe out the rest of the bandit camp, and after you dismissed me for the afternoon, I joined them for a meal. Does this sufficiently answer your question?”

I am angered by his disrespect, but I must hold my tongue. I cannot fault him for helping to protect Frea’s village, but my indignation still simmers right below my skin, especially at his so carelessly worded description of what happened between us last night. If Frea were not present, I would have no qualm with speaking my mind to him, but for her sake alone, I remain diplomatic.

“Yes, it does,” I reply. “Thank you.”

Teldryn rises from his seat, his movement smooth and calculated so as not to expose his aggravation, but I can plainly see it. He stands in front of me expectantly, arms crossed tightly like binding rope, as if in wait of my apology. When he realizes there will be none, he scoffs and walks away. I force my eyes to wait for a beat before I turn around to look at him. He approaches Frea and asks if there’s anything he can help with. This action surprises me, and I become even more surprised when she slides him a fresh salmon that he skillfully begins cleaning. I move my eyes away from him and bring them to look into the fire, beginning to feel even more foolish for my idleness now. I assign myself the task of tending to the fire, though it still blazes fiercely in the pit. As I lean forward in my chair to prod the logs, I let my mind drift away from here. Anxiety does not find its way to me, so time slips ceaselessly on by.

My thoughts go to the Thieves Guild and the people there whom I left behind to go to Winterhold. It has been almost two years now, so I wonder if they have managed to find their way out of the slump yet. Around the time of my departure, business had started grinding to a halt. The coin had never flowed easily to begin with, but it had become absolute destitution. Mercer Frey, the Guildmaster, was quick to lay blame on the other members for not doing their jobs properly, but Delvin once confided in me that he thought the Guild had been cursed. My own pockets were always flush with coin from the valuables I had stolen from the Blue Palace to fund my independence, so I hadn’t the need to be concerned with the situation one way or another.

Unlike most of the other members who were there out of necessity, my inclusion in the Guild was one of happenstance brought upon by a drunken night at the Bee and Barb. After I had spent the better part of that night really laying it on thick to a charming red-haired Nord named Brynjolf, he made a bet with me: steal a ring out of a strongbox in the marketplace, plant it on this poor old Dunmer with a target on his back, and he would give me five hundred septims for my success.

A childhood filled with sneaking around the castle to eavesdrop on important conversations and picking locks to get to forbidden places allowed me to put the ring in my pocket with ease. Yet, instead of victimizing the Dunmer, I returned to the inn and planted it on Brynjolf himself while he sat schmoozing with a member of the influential Black-Briar family. Later that night, he found me and asked me how it went, so I encouraged him to check his pockets. When he pulled out the ring...gods, the look on his face was priceless. I told him that I would not needlessly frame someone if I did not have a worthy enough reason to. Then I left, leaving him standing there astounded by my gall and the way I had managed to play him at his own game.

Brynjolf sought me out two days later and formally extended me an invitation to join the Thieves Guild. I accepted because, well, what better way to hide from my fate than to become a dirty criminal? Yet, I never would have expected it to become my home for the next three years--the first place I ever felt like I truly belonged. I know I will always think back fondly to this time in my life where I was not adrift in the dark ocean of the unknown. All I can hope for is that someday I will get back to that feeling once again.

“Dinner is served, your highness,” a voice says from on the outside of my thoughts, and a plate of food comes into my field of view.

“Excuse me?” I snap, the warmth of my nostalgia instantly vanishing. “What did you just call me?”

“You’ve just been sitting here while Frea and I slave away for you,” Teldryn fumes, shoving the plate into my hands. “It’s like you think you’re some kind of royalty.”

Panic seizes my chest, causing me to jump to my feet. Surely he does not know about my family. “I am nothing of the sort. I offered to help, but Frea insisted that she could manage without me.”

The faintest lick of flame begins to burn in Teldryn’s clenched hand, and though I am slightly taller than him, his anger makes it feel as if he looms over me. “You act as if you’re entitled to special treatment just because you’re this Dragonborn, or whatever the fuck everyone thinks you are.”

“How dare you say that to me!” I snarl, feeling the threat of my thu’um rising in the back of my throat. “I did not ask to be this way. You will never understand the adversity I’ve had to overcome.”

“Right, because it’s so awful to be a hero who’ll be lauded for the next millennia. Gods have pi--”

“Enough!”
Frea’s voice booms over the fray. She inserts herself between us, grabbing my arm and pulling me behind her while she pushes Teldryn back with her hand against his chest. “You will not speak to each other like this!”

Her ferocity outshines both of ours combined, and we immediately sober. Frea’s hand softens on my arm, and she takes her other off Teldryn. I don’t look at him, don’t speak to him, and he doesn’t me, but our shared embarrassment hangs heavy in the air. I notice suddenly that my hands are now empty, and I find that my plate had fallen to the floor sometime in the midst of my rage. Most of the food still remains on it, but the sight is still salt in my wounds. I hear Teldryn quietly backing away from us and I look up to see his downcast eyes and the way he cradles the hand against his chest that only seconds ago held an intent to harm.

“I should go,” he mutters.

“There’s no need for that,” Frea protests. I was not still so stifled by my shame, I would too.

Teldryn says nothing as he walks to the back of the room and picks up his bag from on top on the chest. As he slings it over his shoulders, I can feel the breath being snatched from my lungs, yet I still cannot speak any words that might stop him. Any contempt I have for him immediately sheds as I realize the possibility that he might actually be gone this time. Frea steps forward to intercept him as he continues on to the front door. I silently sing my praises to her.

“Teldryn, this can be resolved. It is only a minor altercation,” she persists.

He stops to look at her, but his eyes are without emotion. “I don’t think I’m the right person for this job. You can protect her just as well—better—than I can. She likes you more than me, anyway. I hope all the best for you and your village, Frea.”

She accepts the finality in his words and moves aside to let him pass. My breath stills again as I watch him. He reaches the door, picks up his coat and sword from the hook on the wall next to it, and leaves without so much as a glance in my direction.

Frea and I are frozen silent by our shock, but she is fast to recover, returning to me and bending down to retrieve my plate of food from the floor. A shell of myself, she guides me back to my seat and places the plate in my lap. She then takes the place next to me that Teldryn once occupied seemingly only moments ago. I cannot eat in fear of being unable to swallow, nor can I bear to process what just happened, so my eyes wander to seek a distraction. They dart from the fire to the ceiling, then glimpse the bed where… Finally, they are drawn to the back of the room, and I realize that his armor is still hanging from the rack. He’d left it behind. Could that mean…? No, surely not. It was nothing more than a consolation prize, a reparation, to make up for what I had just lost.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

So, I’d done it again.

Seems like every time I have something good going, my recklessness gets the best of me and obliterates any possible chance of improving my life. In all my many years, I’d never had as worthwhile an opportunity as the one Fjoara afforded me. From the moment I saw her the first time she walked into the Retching Netch, I knew that she had quite the story to tell. With her absurdly fancy armor and a godsdamn legendary Daedric artifact strapped to her side like it was nothing more than a toy sword, Fjoara was cloaked in arrogance, but there was still a sense of naivety to it. Like she had no idea what she had gotten herself into. We were perfect for each other: she needed someone older and wiser to save her from inexperienced blunders and I needed someone who would bring me to the places where riches were found.

Everything changed when I learned that she’s actually this Nordic hero bestowed with an ancient blessing. I’ve never cared much at all for humans, and certainly not for their purported legends, but after seeing her shred dozens of men to pieces with nothing more than her voice? I was certainly convinced. Coin be damned--there was no way I wasn’t sticking around for the ride. Who else would ever be able to say they worked for the Dragonborn? She would be unlike anyone else I’ve ever accompanied.

Needless to say, I had countless many patrons in the past, so many that I’d forgotten the names of more than half of them. At best, they were unremarkable, at worst, they were downright deplorable. Before I left for Skyrim, traveling Morrowind with other Dunmer wasn’t so bad, but it often felt like we were two people on our own individual journeys even when we were fighting side-by-side. There was never a sense of camaraderie, only detached professionalism. I suppose it was for the better, though. Most of them ended up dying on me, so I was wise to not get attached.

When I first came to Skyrim, I only had enough gold to go as far in as the city of Windhelm, a wretched place where Dunmer were sequestered into little more than a slum. The name they gave it was truly a stroke of creative genius: the Gray Quarter. We were despised by the Nords of Windhelm and I couldn’t make a damned bit of coin because of it. In Morrowind, I was one of the best at what I did--sought after by many, superseded by none. Unfortunately, the matter of expertise held no strength in the fight against what they saw us as: foreign invaders in their perfect, pure city.

I was eventually forced to take jobs working for the very people who wanted nothing more than to see my suffering. I endured unspeakable cruelty at the hands of my employers: beaten within an inch of my life then left for dead in the darkest of crypts, made to commit heinous crimes even worse than the acts I’d already committed in my past, and a handful of other things that remain unmentionable. All for a pocket of chump change to keep me off the streets during the deathly cold northern nights. I was no longer a mercenary, only an expendable, worthless life with a boot on my neck. This hatred soon morphed into self-hatred, and I found myself staring down the bottom of an empty bottle more times than I care to admit. My only blessing was that it never became skooma. I dreamed every waking moment of leaving, but I was at the mercy of poverty and rendered useless by depression. So, in Windhelm I remained.

I see my decision to come to Skyrim as the second worst I’ve ever made in my life. The first? I won’t speak on that right now. Yes, indeed it had been my choice to leave Morrowind. Azura only knows what I thought I thought I would find in Skyrim that my homeland couldn’t give me. I suppose it had been my thirst for adventure that pushed me out once I was free from what kept me trapped there for decades. If I would have saved up more money instead of rushing to leave, perhaps I could’ve traveled to Cyrodiil. At the very least, a city other than Windhelm. I’d heard Riften was a better place for elves. Quite nice in the autumn, too.

After a long while of this futile suffering, I was finally given the means to escape. Gjalund, the only Nord with even a shred of compassion, owned a ship that made frequent passages to the island of Solstheim. One day, he offered to take me there free of charge if I would help him man his ship as he was down a member in his crew. He told me that there was Dunmer settlement on the island called Raven Rock, and although generally impoverished, would certainly be more hospitable to me. I took him up on his offer without even a second’s hesitation.

That was a year ago, now. I didn’t find work as a mercenary, but I did jobs for the guard from time to time clearing out bandit camps, fending off ash spawn, and the like. It was clean, easy work. What’s more, it gave me enough to rent out a decent room at the inn, repair my armor, and replace my sword, but I still fell short on the funds to relocate anywhere else. My life in Raven Rock was exceedingly better than the one I had in Windhelm, no doubt. I did honest work, made a few friends, and even managed to get sober. Yet, it was quite far from the trajectory I imagined the rest of my life would take. I wanted more than what Raven Rock could offer me.

So yes, when I saw Fjoara for the first time, I couldn’t think of anything else but the money. I didn’t care that she was a Nord, didn’t care what she planned to do on Solstheim. Hell, I didn’t even care if I’d eventually have to go back to Skyrim with her. All I knew was that if I ratcheted up my price tenfold, she would pay it. And she did. She paid me two thousand septims when I only valued my services at two hundred, and then as if I couldn’t get any luckier, she added in the twenty-five percent of her earnings part. Despite Fjoara’s innocent exterior, I could tell that negotiation was something she’d come in contact with enough times to understand the process--no one gets or stays wealthy by being foolish with their money. Therefore, I believe that she upped her offer because she genuinely wanted me to benefit from it. Whether or not she realized she was doing this, what I understood from it is that underneath it all, her heart is good.

Sure, her distaste for me was potent at the beginning, still is if I’m honest, but it was never dehumanizing in the same way I had been treated in the past. It was almost like she was trying to grapple with the tenderness that had at some point been weaponized against her, veiling it with brittle, half-baked contempt. It wasn’t her. This was apparent to me despite her best efforts to conceal it, and I wanted to discover who she really is. It started out as entertainment. I loved the way I could say some ridiculous thing and it would get a rise out of her without fail. Over time, I learned the precise ways I could do this, but the more I learned about her, the more my intentions became earnest. I had started to like her, and I wanted to help her shed away these layers of disguise. To show her that there is no shame in authenticity.

Of course, I’m not without my own baggage to carry. Decades of mistreatment had sowed seeds of anger within me and their thorns clawed at my insides whenever I was reminded of my trauma. I’m very, very familiar with this horrifying version of myself, but it’s always so hard to see through the blinding red of rage. She didn’t do anything wrong. It was me. It’s all me. Which is why I now find myself here, in the blistering cold of an unfamiliar place with nowhere to go, having just stupidly tossed away any hope of a better future with someone who quite possibly could have meant something more to me.

I’m not sure what I actually thought I would do once I’d stepped out the door of Frea’s home. Raven Rock is more than a day’s walk from here, and at night in the cold, this trip would prove fatal. This moment is the very epitome of my rashness. Everyone had gone home for the evening, so the village’s center now lays barren. The only sign of any previous activity are the lit braziers dotting the edges of the walkways. I shiver as I pull my hood tighter around my face and cast a spell of Foxskin over myself. I can keep warm by use of this spell for the time being, but my mana pool will definitely not sustain me for the entire night with continuous use. Gods, what had I gotten myself into? I couldn’t just swallow my pride and go back, could I? But that would mean taking the risk of seeing Fjoara again, so no. She wanted me to leave. She would have tried to stop me if she didn’t.

Now resolute in my situation, I set off further into the village. It’s a lot bigger than what meets the eye, so I’m quick to lose sight of Frea’s cabin. I walk for five minutes before I’m faced with a large, two-story building at the northern end of the village. It must be--what do the Nords call it--the greathall? I’d seen its grandiose presence multiple times today, but no one going in or out of it. It must be reserved for feasts or other special occasions. I can just ride out the night in there then leave for Raven Rock in the morning. When I approach the door, I find it unlocked and sigh with relief. I’m not sure what else I would have done if I couldn’t get in. I’d never been much good at picking locks.

I enter the greathall, pushing my hood off with the rush of warmth that greets me from the firepit in the center of the large room. First I’m grateful for the relief from the cold, but in the next second, it occurs to me that the fire would not be lit if the building were vacant. Before I even have a chance to make a defensive move, I feel a movement behind me and someone reaches around to press their blade to my throat. Gods, I’m fucked.

“You wear our clothes, but you are not one of my people,” the female voice of my assailant says. “Who are you? Speak, outsider, before I cut you down right here.”

I slowly raise my hands up where she can see them. “I’m with the Dra--” I stop myself in that thought “--I’m a friend of Frea’s. Teldryn Sero.”

The strength of her hold on me cautiously lessens. “Teldryn Sero? You’re the one who single-handedly defended our village last night.”

I risk a light laugh as the dagger leaves my neck. “Here in the flesh.”

“Well, then I owe you my greatest thanks.”

I turn around to meet my assailant and find a Nord woman, small in height, but very strong in stature. Her face is weathered and tough, conflicting with the delicate white nightgown she wears. She must have been preparing to sleep.

“It was no trouble at all. I love a good fight,” I say. She smiles in agreement--a woman after my own heart. Fjoara never seemed to want to crack a few skulls if she could avoid it. “I apologize for disturbing you. I didn’t think anyone would be here.”

“This is my home, actually. I’m Fanari Strong-Voice, the leader of the Skaal,” she says.

I make a sound of curiosity in the back of my throat, looking around at the interior of this building with its high ceilings, ornately carved wood, and the massive chandelier hanging in the middle of it all. “Nice place you have here.”

Fanari chuckles. “Well, it’s been the honor of my life to lead the Skaal,” she answers. “What brings you to my home, then? I thought you were the companion of the Dragonborn.”

“We just separated due to a...conflict of interest.” Ha. If that’s what you want to call it.

“I’m sorry to hear that. She seems like a wonderful person. Her arrival has brought a lot of hope to my people.”

“Yeah, Fjoara’s…” I can feel my voice soften when I say her name, so I immediately break off the sentence. “I hope she’s able to help you, but I won’t be around to see it. I’m headed back to Raven Rock in the morning.”

“Ah, so you were here looking for a place to sleep, then?”

“Yes. I failed to think that part through when I left,” I admit and Fanari raises an eyebrow at this crack in my previously composed veneer.

“You’re welcome to bunk here for the night,” she says, extending her hand towards the fire. “Though my men will be sad to see you go. They enjoyed fighting alongside you this morning. Your magicka is fascinating to them--something about a flaming woman creature?”

“A flame atronach,” I clarify then pause for a moment to process my surprise. Sure, they’d shared a meal with me, but I had just accepted it as payment for the job. “I hadn’t realized that. Nords don’t usually take kindly to us Dunmer.”

“The Skaal don’t subscribe to the same attitudes as the Nords on the mainland. What matters is that you, an outsider, risked your own life twice to protect our village. You are Skaal-friend to us now.”

“Huh. Well, thank you for that,” I say.

“Of course. You’re always welcome here, Skaal-friend,” Fanari says as she starts to head towards the stairway that leads up to the loft. She pauses before she goes up. “In case you are gone before I rise, I bid you safe travels on your journey home. All-Maker guide you.”

After Fanari leaves, I walk over to the firepit and unfurl my bedroll next to it. I don’t take off my coat or boots yet, only sit down on top of the fur not inches away from the flames. I imagine for a moment that I’m being engulfed by them. I’ll admit, at times things like this do seem preferable to going on any longer, but I know that my stubborn pride would never actually let me succumb to defeat and end my life. It’s the same stubborn pride that also won’t let me go back to Fjoara and beg for her forgiveness. I realize now that I want to.

It can be tiresome to always be the sidekick, the silent sword who blindly follows behind. To be a mercenary is to endure the loss of a large part of my identity as so much of it hinges on someone else. I accepted this when I had chosen this line of work for myself, but it weighs on me often. My conversation with Fanari has given me a different outlook. It’s never really occurred to me before that I could make an impression on anyone outside the confines of my work, that I could have an impact. I’ll never be as important to the world as Fjoara is, but I realize now that can still leave a mark on it in my own way, even if most of that is afforded to me by my supporting role.

Besides, if it weren’t already enough that I had started to like her, I had also found myself starting to care for her. It happened faster than I’d ever thought possible, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. It dawned on me when I saw her collapse after reading that book and it cemented itself when it took her so long to wake up afterward
. For the first time in my life, I realized I would actually experience some kind of a loss if my patron were to die.
Then, after what happened last night, things took a turn for the worse when my care for her became muddled with attraction. I never could have dreamed I’d feel desire for a Nord. She is beautiful in a way that a Dunmer woman couldn’t compare to with her bright winter-blue eyes and the litheness of her body in all its soft curves almost too delicate for the power she has within her. There is a growing need within me to provide for her and ensure her safety, though I know she is capable of doing these things for herself. I truly have nothing to offer that she doesn’t already possess. Her wealth appears limitless, guidance and accommodation are given readily just because of who she is, and her abilities in combat dwarf my own—a spellsword, like me, but in combination with that fucking voice of hers, she’s a lethal weapon. What does that leave me with, then? Sex? No. I’m a sword for hire, not a, well…
Fjoara is superior to me in every possible way, but there is still a witlessly hopeful part of me that wonders if I’d be enough for her in spite of this. Is it too late to find out? I glance over to the front door of the greathall, seeing if I can picture myself reopening the one I had just walked out of. And...I can. Hurrying to my feet before the inspiration leaves me, I rush to the door, leaving all my things behind. I can return for them later. I’m outside in moments, striding back to the cabin with no concern for my impulsion, no time to wonder if I’m making the right decision. Within minutes, I’m outside of the closed door to the room where Fjoara is likely asleep. I don’t allow myself to hesitate as I quietly enter the room. I find her laying there in bed, but she sits up immediately upon my entrance.

“Teldryn?” Fjoara questions, her voice thick and dark. “What are you doing here?”

“I…” Gods, I really hadn’t thought this through, had I? She looks at me, but her eyes become more distant with each second that passes. “I...forgot something here.”

“What? Your armor?”

I hadn’t even realized that I did. “Yeah, it was—“ I start, but she cuts me off.

“If that were truly the case then you would have just gotten it and left, not be in here bothering me. Now, tell me what it is you’re really here for.”

“I...just wanted to apologize, Fjoara. For the awful things I said to you earlier.” She says nothing in response, so I continue. “My temper got the best of me.”

“That’s no excuse.”

I sigh wearily, my shoulders slumping. This is going horrifically. “I know. I just don’t know how to act around you when I--”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“My patrons never usually mean much to me, but I’ve started to...care about you. But you’re, well, you, and I’m just some hapless mercenary you hired to follow you around this disastrous island.”

“Teldryn...I don’t understand. Care about me? But you said--”

“Never mind what I said,” I interrupt her, stepping forward to sit on the edge of the bed. She looks at me warily as she moves to sit cross-legged, but the darkness has edged out of her eyes. “I want to rejoin you, but not to work for you again. I just want to be at your side through all of this.”

“I never wanted you to leave.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Fjoara replies. “I’ve realized that you’re important to me too, Teldryn.”

I can’t help but smile. “So what do you say, then?”

“Yes, I’ll have you by my side again.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

We had been traveling for what I believe to be two days, but time had started to meld together so that it became almost indiscernible. All I know is that darkness had fallen twice, but I had closed my eyes at it only once. Saering’s Watch holds an unknowable fate for me. Frea says it’s an ancient dragon’s lair, but she could not tell me what it might hold. There is, of course, the obvious answer, but surely dragons being brought back from the dead is an anomaly found only in Skyrim. Yet, I know I cannot claim coincidence that I would come to my power at the same time dragons started to rise again. Where ever I am to go, the dragons are sure to follow. After all, is that not what my purpose is?
For a Nord, there is no greater shame than that which is found in cowardice, but it would be impossible for me to ease my mind of all fear. I will never understand why I was chosen for this duty when there are thousands of other more capable warriors than I. If I had been allowed to retain my normal life so that I would have someday utilized my skills to be High Queen of Skyrim, then I would have still held on to my honor. But now I am unsure what of it remains, if any at all, or if I will ever join my ancestors in Sovengarde. My only solace is that I am no longer alone in my journey, that I have found someone who has chosen to stay with me.

I look over at Teldryn now. He sits atop his borrowed horse clutching the reins in his hands, his legs a vice around the saddle. When Frea informed us that the distance to Saering’s Watch is too far to walk, we learned he has never ridden before. Never even gone near a horse. We had to teach him how to sit in the saddle--shoulders in line with elbows in line with hips--and how to keep from falling out of it, but I don’t believe that he has felt comfortable riding for even a moment during our trip. While Teldryn is on horseback, he speaks nary a word, much less make one of his usual irreverent remarks. Though I would never admit it, I find sick satisfaction in finally being better than him at something.

As a child, it seemed like I learned to ride even before I learned to walk. My father’s stables were always stocked with the most well-bred of horses and the most experienced of trainers, so I was quick to grow into mastery. In fact, I was such a capable rider that I was introduced to some skills of mounted combat. The joke was often made that I am a better warrior on horseback than I am on my own two feet, and there was truth in this. There is something to be said about the power in having a horse beneath you, in the sharp, quick agility, in the deadly force of charging at your enemy. I was not and never will be inclined towards violence, but when I rode, I felt safe from the harm of it.

The times I was away from the Blue Palace in my younger years, I always had my horse along with me and a shortsword at my side. I was never allowed to go far, but I could ride the endless streets of Solitude on my own, or make the rare trip to the nearby town of Dragon Bridge with my brother, sister, and some of my father’s guard. My siblings and I were not to view the horses as pets, but I couldn’t keep myself from loving them. They were my protectors, not the guard. At times, they were also my closest companions in many a lonely hour. I had many of my own over the years, my last being a beautiful black mare named Kalina. She traveled with me from Solitude to Riften where she remains entrusted to Brynjolf while I made my journey to Winterhold and now beyond. I think of her now, the white mane and neck of the horse I’m riding so unfamiliar.

Teldryn, Frea, and I travel until the sun blooms orange and pink as it sinks below the horizon. We make camp in a secluded alcove of forest, and settle in for one final night before we reach our destination in the morning. The three of us sit on our bedrolls pulled up to the fire, the smoked smell of our cooking dinner draped in the air. I hear Frea compliment Teldryn on his riding and he quips back something about how he’d rather have a silt strider, whatever that is. I’m too far gone in my mind to inquire. My companions seem calm, but the opposite is true for me. I find myself rising to my feet wordlessly and walking to our horses tied at the edge of our camp. I lean against the trunk of a tree, and the horse I had been riding reaches his muzzle over to me and noses my hand for food. When he finds I am without any, he returns to grazing from the pile of hay below him.

“You seem really fond of these things,” I hear Teldryn say as he approaches.

My eyes flick up to him and my thoughts evaporate around me. “I love horses.”

He cautiously pats the neck of his own horse, afraid as if it might bite him. “They’re nice, I suppose. Nothing like a silt strider, though.”

“I heard you mention that to Frea. I don’t know what those are.”

“We use them in Morrowind for transport. They’re much faster than horses,” he answers. “There’s one here on Solstheim. Maybe I’ll show you one day.”

I nod but I have already begun retreating back into my head. I can feel Teldryn’s concerned eyes on me as I drift away from this present moment back to what I saw in Apocrypha. The dragon. The first one I had ever seen alive. I did not have to slay that one, but I will surely have to if there is one tomorrow. In Dovahzul, the word Dovahkiin translates to “Born Hunter of Dragonkind,” but I cannot fathom how I could possibly be born to defeat an enemy whose might so far exceeds my own. I am but one woman standing up against a legend as old as time itself. I can speak their tongue, yes, but I am only an infant garbling half-formed words.

“What’s on your mind, Fjoara?” Teldryn’s words break once again through my manifold thoughts.

“How can I begin to answer…” I murmur, but I am not wholly speaking to him as my body shrinks under the weight of what I imply.

“Huh, I don’t know,” he says, glancing in the direction of our camp. “Maybe Frea would…”

“I’m scared, Teldryn,” I say, my eyes falling shut to protect against the repercussions this admission will bring.

“Scared?” Teldryn responds. “What could you possibly be scared of?”

“What we might face tomorrow.”

“...you mean a dragon? Are you serious?” he pauses to let out a laugh, and my eyes snap open in anger, bracing for another fight with him. “Do you not even realize the power you have within you?”

“My thu’um? But that’s only…”

“Only what?” he questions, his insistence growing now more passionate. He moves back a distance and opens his arms out wide. “Use it, then! Use it on me right now.”

My eyes widen. “But that would kill you!”

“Yes!” he throws his hands up, returning to where I stand. “It would! Fjoara, you can kill a man just by using your voice. I dare you to say that you’re not powerful.”

“I’m not--” I start, but Teldryn holds a finger to my lips to silence me. His tactic was likely not to do so by way of making me melt under his touch, but it succeeds nonetheless. I look at him docilely, waiting to hear what he would say.

“I have lived many, many years. Longer than you could even comprehend as a human. And I have witnessed just as many inexplicable miracles. But I have never, ever seen anything like what you can do, Fjoara. And yet, you stand here believing that you are nothing.” He shakes his head, sighing.

“But that’s just it, Teldryn. I am something that I did not ask to be, that I do not want to be.”

He looks at me with a single raised eyebrow. “How does this narrative serve you? This is who you are. You’re Fjoara Ebonhand, Dragonborn, savior of all Tamriel, whatever it is. What use is it to continue to reject this when there is no escaping it?”

“I...I don’t know. There is none.”

“Exactly. You have been chosen for something that no one on Nirn can ever lay claim to. You ought to see the glory in that, to see the freedom you have to define what that means to you.”

“I…” I try to speak, but there are no words to convey what I feel, so instead, I step forward and wrap my arms around him. He doesn’t hesitate to return the gesture. I bury my face in Teldryn’s chest, breathing in the scent of sweat and smoke on his clothes. He holds me for a minute, and it’s comfortable, secure, nothing like the way he touched me that other night. Rather, his hand strokes my hair so gently. I think briefly of kissing him, but that would be to ruin this peaceful moment where nothing more is expected of me. We remain like this for a short while longer, then we separate and Teldryn leads me back to the campfire.

When we arrive, Frea looks up at the sound of our approach from where she stands tending to the fire. Her eyes flash with surprise at us and I then realize that I had been holding onto Teldryn’s arm as we walked back and still am. Embarrassed, I drop my hand, masking this movement by sinking down to the ground on top of my bedroll. Perhaps I succeeded in my subtlety because Teldryn seems indifferent as he returns to his own bedroll. Throughout this entire performance, Frea had been watching with increasing curiosity, but she sheds her interest for neutrality when I attempt to meet her stare.

There should be no cause for my embarrassment, but there is vulnerability in a display of affection. A revealing of intentionally obscured emotions. But then there is also the cultural shame in my choice to have these feelings for someone like Teldryn. An elf. And having Frea, another Nord, bear witness to this is a source of wary anxiety. What would she think of me?

I reach for my discarded fur cloak on the ground next to me, pulling it over my shoulders, hunched over, yearning for the warmth of the fire in front of me, or the warmth of who is beside me. Teldryn’s presence is both apparent and overwhelming, and I’m unable to decide. On one hand, I wish I were even closer to him, his arms around me, but on the other, I want to put an ocean of space between us.

For now, I am in an impasse.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

“Do you see those ruins up ahead? That is Saering’s Watch.”They are there carved into the side of a mountain, the stone of their structure crumbled and softened by the passing of millennia. There is no dragon, at least none that I can see from our far distance, and only the wind stirring the tops of the trees, not the roar of certain death. I try to stave off these grim thoughts for now, but the heaviness of my breath is still seen in the white plumes of steam that unfurl from my lips. It is panic that holds my lungs captive, holds me captive. Teldryn’s words from last night echo in my chaotic mind, but they do little to quell the emotions this time. My companions and I ride steadily towards our fate, but the tension of nervousness blankets only me--the air around them is free and clear. They are ready for this. I should be as well.
“Let’s leave our horses and walk the rest of the way,” Frea says, bringing her mount to a halt and sliding out of the saddle. “It will not take us long to arrive from here.”

Teldryn’s approval of her suggestion is seen in the immediacy of his dismount. His riding had improved vastly in the three days of our trip--such length only due to the slower pace we had to take to accommodate his inexperience--but he still never seemed to grow secure in it. His horse is old and gentle, and its slow gait would have lulled me to sleep as we rode, but Teldryn seems to relax only when his feet make contact with the ground.

“Thank the gods,” I hear him mutter and my amusement at his expense makes me smile.

“I was so sure you would have become an expert rider by now,” I joke, dismounting.

“He

has

done very well for a beginner,” Frea says.

“For a beginner,” Teldryn scoffs. “Just wait--I’ll be riding stood up on the saddle in no time.”

I snort with laughter. “Now that’s something I’d pay a few septims to see.”

“Nonsense,” he says with exaggerated charm. “For you, my love, it’s all free.”

There is nothing more than playfulness in his words—I would be naive to believe otherwise—but I still feel a flutter in my stomach when he says this. It is difficult for me to rationalize the way he makes me feel because this is the first time I have felt anything like it. I am excited by the prospect, and I cannot temper down the joy in spending every moment of my days with him. Yet, as I stand here exchanging flirtations right before I am to carry out my noble deed, there is guilt. How can I so easily surrender myself to this feeling when I cannot even surrender to what my life asks of me? My own fulfillment should not come before the fulfillment of my destiny. How selfish of me.

“The two of you will be each other’s undoing,” Frea says with good-natured exasperation. “All-Maker preserve you both.”

Teldryn grins. “You give me no credit, Frea. I am nothing but positivity in Fjoara’s life.”

“Aye. I’ll remember that for the morrow’s next argument, then,” she says.

“Argument?” he asks, waving his hand dismissively in the air. “We’re merely two people with strong opinions.”

I’m on the cusp of interjecting when a ferocious roar at Saering’s Watch fills the frozen air with its sound. My stomach nearly leaps out of my mouth, and I whip around to face Teldryn and Frea, wanting to stall what I know is to come. Somehow, the prospect of them seeing my fear is more preferable to me than seeing the cause of it. Instead of focusing on me, however, they watch transfixed in the distance over my shoulder. My innate curiosity almost tempts me to look as well, but the breathlessness in my lungs holds me where I am, heaving and clutching at my chest. The roar shatters the air once again, and it is Teldryn who is the first to recover.

He whistles once, long and low. “I can hardly wait to sink my sword into

that

,” he says. “Are we ready to get going?”

“Yes, let us go. The sooner we get the Word of Power, the sooner we can free my people,” Frea answers, then begins walking forward in the direction of the ruins.

I am rendered immobile where I stand, my hands now dropped to my knees as I gasp to catch a single, sufficient breath. The force of my efforts rushes through my ears, deafening me to anything else. All I know is that Teldryn still stands here with me; I can see the blurry brown shape of his boots in front of me. After an age, they step forward and I feel an arm around my shoulders as he pulls me upright. My teeth chatter against each other and I shiver, but it is not from the cold. Teldryn holds me steady to his chest while my legs threaten to turn to ash underneath me. Yet, the strength of his hold begins to free me from my panic in the same way his presence did the first time he bore witness to one of these attacks. It was not mere coincidence, then. There is something to be said of him.

“Do you remember what we spoke about last night?” Teldryn murmurs when my shaking lessens from gale-force to a barely perceptible tremor, and I nod. He holds me more softly now, lifting his free hand to brush the hair away from my neck with the very tips of his fingers. I shiver again, but for a different reason. I wonder once more if I should kiss him, if this may be my last chance to, but he speaks again before I’m able to. “Frea and I will be right there with you, but you won’t need us. You’re more powerful than either of us could ever conceive of being.”

I nod again, my voice useless for now. Teldryn’s arms fall away from me, and for a brief moment, panic threatens me again, but then he reaches out to take my hand. Even through the thick leather of our gauntlets, the fire of his touch burns bright. Suddenly, I can think not of Dragons, but only of the feeling of my hand in his. Much to my disappointment, Teldryn holds it only long enough to get me walking in the other direction before his hand slips away. It’s for the better, though. Now is not the moment for such distractions.

In this time, Frea had noticed we were not with her, and we rejoin her as she approaches us. “Is everything alright?” she asks, the familiar sight of earnest concern gracing her face.

“I’ll be fine. I just sometimes need to be...reminded of who I am,” I respond, glancing briefly at Teldryn who nods once solemnly. “I’m ready to face this Dragon now.”

Her expression becomes the same curiosity I saw last night as she looks between Teldryn and me. Had she seen the way he held me only moments ago? It seems like she desires to say something more, but all she does say is: “Wonderful. I am certain everything will go according to plan.” then starts again to walk towards Saering’s Watch. For a few steps, I am comfortable with letting her lead, but I must shake my complacency. It should be I who walks first into the fray. As Teldryn said, I am strong enough to.

“Frea, might I take the lead?” I ask, catching up with her and gently placing my hand on her shoulder to stop her.

She turns around with a surprised, but pleased smile. “Of course, Fjoara,” she says, then moves behind me to stand by Teldryn.

I inhale once deeply, letting my eyes fall shut, then continue the path forward. I can hear the crunch of my companion’s footsteps in the snow behind me, but I let the sound fade away. My mind must be emptied of anything that does not pertain to the task at hand. When my thoughts have, at last, calmed, I open my eyes.

The mountain slopes downwards underneath the arch that marks the entrance of Saering’s Watch. When we pass through, the land opens up in front of us. The edge of the deep, black ocean below the cliffs at one side and the ruins themselves staggered up the mountain on the other. It is on this side that I can hear the deep rumble of the Dragon’s breath from where it is perched somewhere in the ruins.

“I have been anticipating your arrival, Dragonborn,” comes a voice that sounds like it was conjured from the depths of the earth below us. “When I heard your Voice in the distance, I knew the time had finally come for me to meet my first worthy opponent in a thousand years.”

I turn to face the Dragon, my first worthy opponent in the twenty-four years of my life.

And my last.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

At the sound of its voice, I turn to face the dragon, breath catching in my throat at first sight.The massive form of this beast is scaled in white with glacial blue wings spread to monopolize the stone wall where it’s poised for attack. The two horns atop its head, though surely thousands of years old, still seem to retain a sharpness that could slice through diamond. Indeed, this creature wears the dignity of old wisdom in the way its yellow eyes regard my small human form with the temperance of a monk. If I had once thought that the mere corpse of a dragon was grand and terrifying, then to see one before me fully alive is truly an image to behold.“I’m not the opponent you seek,” I answer, my words wavering like thin grass in the wind. “I come in peace.”It’s true that the taste for battle has always run faint in my blood. From the beginning, I sought out diplomacy, learning how to wield words long before I knew my Voice was a weapon. I wanted to be a different kind of Queen, one of mercy and justice. I used to believe that my someday reign would end wars without any soldier having to raise a blade or bow. Yet, as I grew into adulthood, I came to understand that these dreams are fanciful. The Nords speak not with our words but through the clash of swords, through destruction and brutality. A soft heart cannot endure a winter as harsh as the Nord way.“The Dragonborn knows not of peace,” the dragon says. “A mortal does not turn to peace when given the power of the Dov.”Something wells up within me, thrashing against my ribs as fiercely as the ocean’s waves on the cliffside at my back. How good it would it feel to shatter this icy being with the Thu’um that could roll off my tongue so freely. How simple it would be to Shout my strikes, to tear my adversary down from...“No,” I answer, forcing the assertion through gritted teeth. “I’m not subservient to my nature the way others might have been. For me, there’s no pleasure in violence.”The dragon rumbles something that tries at laughter, the sound deeper than the core of Mundus. “You are nascent in this form, Dovahkiin,” he says. “You must not know of your true abilities if you can reduce it down to mere violence.”“I am Dragonborn, but it’s not something I desire to be,” I insist, even though I can feel the conviction of my denial fading fast.“Indeed,” he confirms, his gaze now one of assessment. “There is much you do not know. Therefore, I will grant you one privilege before we must attend to the matter at hand: the privilege of my audience.”I try not to focus on the threat in his words as I stand before this dragon unspeaking but unwavering. It’s then that I’m reminded by the strength of my companions’ presence behind me. As silent as the floor of the sea, their solid unity is my greatest comfort. I know that whatever happens next is something we will all meet together.“I am Kaalkriluth,” the dragon begins and the air stills around us as if the name had called upon Akatosh himself. “I have been relegated here to guard a most blasphemous wisdom. Your kind calls them Rotmulaag, Words of Power, but power is too little a word to describe what I keep. Uth Laas, Bend Will, the ability to compel all living creatures to do your bidding. This is what you are here to seek.”My eyes widen in untempered disbelief. “Bend Will…? I would never want such a thing.”“Your humility is forged in your ignorance, Dovahkiin,” he chides. “No man or mer would ever refuse the potential of such great power.”“My intentions are not of personal gain,” I answer as forcefully as I can under the burden of my apprehension. “I’m here only to learn the magic Miraak has used to make the people of Solstheim into his slaves. He’s planning his return from Apocrypha, and I am to put a stop to it.”The dragon twists his voice once again into a mimicry of laughter. “And what magic do you think Miraak used to further that agenda, Dovahkiin? Was the simple might of his authority strong enough that his subjects would clamor over themselves to carry out his wishes?” He laughs once more. “Nid, no. It was not. Without Uth Laas, Miraak would have been nothing.”I’m drawn to mull upon this insight for a moment. “So, this Shout is how he is able to extend control outside of Apocrypha, then,” I conclude breathlessly, my eyes drifting to the sky as if I could see the black tendrils of his command reaching down from it.“Geh, yes, Dovahkiin,” Kaalkriluth responds, sounding almost pleased with my answer. “And there is something unique about these Words of Power. Unlike other Rothmulaag, they were not created by the Dov. Nid. Miraak forged these in rebellion.”“What was he rebelling against?”“Such shameful little you know of our histories, histories you share a kinship with,” he tells me, contempt having now made way for chagrin. “In the times when the Dov triumphed over mortalkind, Miraak was a priest who served beneath our rule. He was arrogant and lusted after power. Miraak sought to rise above his masters, but to do so, he needed extraordinary means.”The dragon continues. “Fahluaan do Jul, known to you as Hermaeus Mora, saw an opportunity in this. Until then, the secrets of the Dov had been kept from him, but Miraak, with no remaining allegiance, was willing to bargain with them. Fahluaan do Jul then used our ways to create a power that could be weaponized against us. For not only can this Thu’um bend the minds of all mortals, it can also bow the heads of even the mightiest of Dov.”I’m made speechless by the weight of these implications. This is not what I meant when I wished to never wield a sword again, but yet, it’s all I would need to carry my duties out to their highest good. Including the dreams I had once abandoned. The temptation is great; what a life I could live knowing I’m capable of bringing about any outcome I desired. But I fear that this Shout could wear at even my most long-held virtues. Tyranny seems an almost inevitable progression.“Why must it be me?” I ask, my voice small. “The nature of this ability is not something that should fall into the hands of just anybody.”“Geh, and you are not ‘just anybody’, Dovahkiin,” Kaalriluuth answers. “Time does not travel in a straight path forward, unending. Time meets itself at both ends. Miraak was Faal Kiin, The Beginning, you are Faal Laat, The End. His power nears its culmination now, and I have been awaiting your arrival, Fjoara Ebonhand. You, this destiny, were foretold to me.”With the utterance of my name, I freeze, heart thrumming cold veins of ice through my body. However, I compose myself quickly. To wonder how he recognizes me is a frivolous use of thought. I should not be surprised by the reveal of another string in my fate.Instead, I take in the dragon that sits before me. Since the start of our conversation, his head had lowered so that his eyes, now pacific and sagely, are in line with my own. His wings, no longer positioned to take flight, are folded around himself as if they were a cloak.There has become something so disarming about this ancient being, and I’m no longer afraid. I cannot discern why this is so, especially when I know full well the inevitable outcome of this interaction. Perhaps it’s because of the kinship we supposedly share, that the dragon part of my soul has reached out and found similarity in his.“What of you, then? You must not want Miraak to return either. Could we work together to keep him in Apocrypha?” I’m hopeful in this query. With a dragon at my side, halting Miraak should be no trouble.“Aaz hah so, I am sorry. Apocrypha is somewhere I am unable to go. If I had been able, I would have ended Miraak myself many eras ago. You alone are the only being capable of this feat. Nii fen kos dreh, it must be done.” There is an air of sympathy, remorse, in the sound of his voice as our conversation draws towards its close.“I understand,” is all I can say.“Now that I have told you what I know, we must return back to the present matter,” Kaalkriluth states, his head held aloft once more. “In order to learn Uth Laas, you must face me, and you must defeat me.” he pauses, and when he speaks again his regret is clearer still. “If you fail, you will die, and your feeble realm along with it. Let not your worthiness go to waste, Dovahkiin.”With no further fanfare, Kaalkriluth rises swiftly into the air and circles far in the sky above. Unreachable.In awe, I stand watching the sheer monument of his strength until I hear him Shout something of a summons towards the ruins of Saering’s Watch. In perfect unison, the sound of what seems like dozens of metal doors falling open pours out from inside the stone monolith.“What the…?” I hear Teldryn exclaim from behind me, joined by Frea’s steadfast prayer of “All-Maker fortify me.”Soon, I can no longer hear my own thoughts, much less the voices of my companions, as a league of reawakened dead come shambling towards us from the ruins. Draugr, the remains of the ancient Nords.“Ha! Too easy,” Teldryn declares. With the shriek of his sword being pulled from its scabbard and the conjuration of his flame atronach from Oblivion, Teldyrn rushes forward into the thick of the draugr. Frea joins him soon after, war axes glistening with bloodthirst in both of her hands.I hesitate for a moment, noticing that Kaalkriluth has settled once again on top of the ruins as if observing the action unfolding below him. However, my pause is soon interrupted by the creaking, groaning movements of a stray draugr that has discovered me. Acting immediately upon a frightened instinct, I Shout the beginning of Unrelenting Force at it, causing the abomination to lurch backward and fall into the snow at my feet. Before it can rise again, I draw my sword and slash it across its exposed chest that is taut with gnarled grey skin. Nothing but dust exits the wound I have created as the blue light extinguishes from its eyes.I, too, step forward into the fray now, strong and resolute.My companions have made quick work of the undead, and the ones that remain are weak enough that I help to finish them off with little effort. When we have finished, we stand as three pillars amidst a sea of ancient dust that swirls and brushes away on the snow. My chest rises and falls with the gusts of wind that bend over my armor, and for just a moment, we can all allow ourselves this quiet victory. However, Kaalkriluth does not soon let us forget his presence. His Voice rips through the air and beats against us, jarring enough to regain our attention, but not enough to do harm.“Well done,” he congratulates, but gives me hardly a moment to relish in this hard-won praise before I am knocked back down to my place. “Though I would expect more from even a fledgling Dovah. Show me now your true power.”The dragon takes to the sky once again and within moments, deadly shards of ice are raining down upon us. Taken by the emotion of my concern for Teldryn and Frea’s safety, a cascade of incomprehensible words roll out of my mouth in a scream of something horrible. I brace myself for the impact of the ice piercing my skin, but instead, I hear it clatter against what sounds like a pane of glass. Surprised, I look up and catch a glimpse of a sheet of solid ice before it evaporates back into the air, leaving Kaalkriluth’s attack as powdery snow that falls around us. There is nary a moment to think about what I just did, however, as the vulnerability of my companions and I becomes terrifyingly apparent. More namely Frea who’s without any sort of ranged weapon.I turn to her, shouting urgently, “Take cover, Frea! Keep yourself safe—help only when we can get him to the ground.”She nods and sprints away to hide, leaving Teldryn and me to face the dragon alone. At his side, he conjures another flame atronach and cloaks his body in swirling fire magicka. Golden sword drawn and glinting in the firelight, he looks over at me with a wild grin on his face. In this way, Teldryn is a nightmarish figure of danger. If he were not my ally, I know that I would be turned to ash in moments. But because he is, I am overwhelmed with reassurance instead, feeling so safe by his side.“Are you ready, outlander?” Teldryn yells, voice rising clear above the chaos. “Let’s show this dragon just how worthy we really are.”At that, he rushes foolishly into the dragon’s line of attack. Yet, as I brace myself for the worst, I see that he has fabricated a ward around himself as he and his atronach cast fireballs at our enemy. Over and over, for so long that I’m shocked his mana pool hasn’t been depleted, Teldryn pelts the dragon with fire. I’m entranced by his show, still having not moved from my original position. Teldryn’s magicka weakens the dragon and pulls him down from the sky. Only when he is flying mere yards above our heads do I finally reclaim my mind from its stupor. The dragon’s flight is weak, dipping and flailing through the air. The end of this battle approaches.I position myself beneath the dragon and lift my head to the sky, shouting Unrelenting Force with a might like I never thought myself capable of having. My Thu’um pummels against his dying body, knocking him against the harsh, unforgiving stone of Saering’s Watch. As Kaalkriluth crumples to the ground with a groan of agony and a spray of gravel, I sprint towards him and vault up onto the back of his neck. In one smooth motion, I pull Dawnbreaker from its scabbard and plunge the blade into the top of his head, dragging it back to create a deep, mortal wound. In a plume of enchanted fire, the Daedric weapon slides through the skull with little more resistance than a boat’s oar through water.With my final blow, I can feel the dragon’s life force slacken. While the last bit of his breath shudders out from him, I lean forward onto the pommel of my sword still embedded into his head, closing my eyes in wait of what I know happens next.I don’t have to see it, I only need to hear the crackle of Kaalkriluth’s body incinerating below me to know that I have managed this feat. As I feel the storm of his soul rushing into me, the thousands of years of his life unravel in my mind until it nestles amongst my own memories, my own stories, my own thousands of nights of dreams. I am scorched painfully raw with the new power I can scarcely handle, but for a moment I can almost feel my Dovah’s wings unfurling at my sides. Only once everything has quieted, do I open my eyes, the wetness of the tears that rim them stinging in the cold air. Below me, Kaalkriluth is nothing but bones.I slide Dawnbreaker out of his skull and climb down from his skeleton. While I wish nothing more than for this ordeal to be over with, an internal force draws my focus upwards to the peak of the ruins. There is something up there that summons me, something that I must get to. Ignoring the calls of my friends, I begin my ascent up the crumbling stairs. The closer I get to the top, the louder a strange chanting in my head grows. Though I’m sure I’ve never heard it before, there is a feeling of home in its sound. Perhaps it is a long-forgotten song of the old Nords.When I reach the peak of the mountain and see a large curved wall carved with runes, I know I have found what I was seeking. By now, the chanting in my mind has grown so loud that it’s as if it’s being sung by a chorus of a hundred men right beside me, but I am not distressed by it. The Word Wall beckons to me.I continue forwards and by the time I’m standing right before it, the chanting has reached its crescendo. As the song lifts my spirit into euphoria, a stream of light comes rushing out from the stone, encircling me until the only thing left in sight is a singular, glowing word.Earth.Once I have comprehended its meaning, the light and sound fade away, leaving behind only the silence of the mountains. I fall to my knees, overtaken at last by the white-hot pain that comes after using my Thu’um as my adrenaline finally runs dry. When it finally subsides, I’m left without a single whisper of fight left in me. After what seems like the passing of an Era, Teldryn and Frea’s footsteps whisper up the stairs and arrive on either side of me.“Fjoara,” Frea’s voice says from somewhere up above. “Are you alright?”An image of the dragon flashes suddenly through my mind, grabbing my throat with its unbearable sorrow.“I killed him,” I whisper, squeezing my eyes shut. “My kin. I drove my blade through his skull.”“Nii drey kos dreh, Dovahkiin,” a low voice rumbles from somewhere deep in my body.My eyes snap open and I clamor to my feet. “Did you hear that?” I ask frantically. My friends shake their heads, looking at me with concerned curiosity as I stand there in a motionless panic.It was quite extraordinary what you did with that dragon,” Teldryn says to finally cut through the discomfort of this moment. “Almost didn’t think you had it in you, outlander.” He pauses in consideration. “Then again, I did do a great deal of the groundwork.”I look at him with horror at his compliment. “I killed him. I absorbed his soul. He will never rise again.”Teldryn meets my eyes with a quizzical look of his own. “Is that not what’s supposed to happen?”“He spoke to me as if we were the same, as if we were equals,” I mumble.Teldryn and I stare at each other in silence for a moment until Frea breaks it. “We should leave to make camp. Nightfall will arrive in a few hours,” she says, stepping forward to place a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “The two of you can wait here and I will bring our horses. Rest now, Fjoara. It is over.”I give her a grateful nod, permissing her to begin the trek back down the mountainside. When we are alone, Teldryn lets out a long, slow sigh, tilting his head as he looks at me with an intensity that seems to try at deciphering my thoughts.“Are you injured?” he asks when his attempt appears fruitless.I hadn’t felt anything through the endorphins that dragged me to where I stand nor through the far worse pain of my Thu’um. However, I realize at his words that a dull ache throbs in the leg I used to hoist myself up onto the dragon. I say nothing in response. For some reason I’m unaware of, I decide that he need not know that. Yet, as I try to subtly shift the weight off my injured leg, a sharp hiss slips out from behind my teeth.He raises an eyebrow and the lift of his smirk mirrors it. “So, yes, then.”Teldryn holds out a nonchalant hand. Sheepishly, I take it and use my other hand to brace myself on his opposite shoulder. Now entirely supported by him, he places a hand charged with Healing against my hip and holds it there. The relief is instant, warm and soothing. I sigh with pleasure at the feeling.“There’s no shame in a battle wound, you know. You fought well, outlander. That’s what matters,” Teldryn says while he heals me. “You should be proud.”I shake my head. “I only did what had to be done. I will not celebrate this as a victory.”“If you won’t, I will,” he insists. “What you did was exceptional. People ought to hear of it.”“I do not want to star in your tales of grandeur, Teldryn,” I snap. “I will not be shone in a light of glory. Not for the things that I had no choice over.” I pull myself abruptly away from him and make for the stairs, feeling restored enough to rejoin Frea instead of waiting for her. Anything to be free of this conversation.“Many warriors could have slain a dragon, Fjoara,” Teldryn calls after me. I give pause, but don’t turn around. “But how many others would have allowed that dragon dignity in its death?”At this, I do turn to face him. Teldryn is grinning in the way I have come to know so well, come to find so endearing. He comes to me, stepping down to where I stopped on the stairs. I watch as he reaches out and takes my gloved hand, bringing it to his lips. Teldryn’s kiss is one of reverence, gentle and sweet. Though it is only brief and obstructed by the leather of my gauntlet, I still feel the slow flood of my affections for him grow.He takes my hand away from his mouth to speak but leaves it held in his own. “This is not a tale of violence and bloodshed, Fjoara. It is a tale of mercy,” Teldryn says to me. “There is all the glory in that.”I cannot protest, not while he has my adoration wrapped so tightly around his fingers. My silence seems to satisfy him, and Teldryn smiles with assuredness before leading me, hand-in-hand, the rest of the way down the stairs. Frea is already waiting for us at the bottom, our horses standing beside her. Her eyes fall immediately to our intertwined hands, but the look upon her face is of delight, not the judgment I anticipated.“I have found a place we can camp not five minutes from the ruins,” Frea says as the three of us mount our horses and begin riding onwards.“Good,” Teldryn responds. “I could use a warm fire after all this.”As we arrive upon Kaalkriluth’s final resting place, I slide off my horse and approach his already snow-dusted skull. The smallest one of the dragon’s teeth catches my eye, a barely perceptible glisten in the day’s dying light. Without thought, I break it from his jaw in a flash of strength. After pocketing the tooth in the pouch on my belt, I hold my hand out and rest it on the bridge of his nose. My eyes close and I give silent thanks for his sacrifice.Kaalkriluth’s bones will remain behind as a testament of power’s ability to corrupt, a life ended by the consequences of such evil. As I carry within me the ability to make the same mistakes, I, too, carry a piece of him as an anchor to my integrity. If I must take a life again, it will be Miraak’s. He will know of his wrongdoings. I will make it so.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I carry the fire of Kaalkriluth’s defeat within me, though I have yet to speak the word that I learned. I don’t dare to, not while I don’t have to. Anything to stave off my fears of tyranny. But the time will come, and soon. The Wind Stone waits for me to free its prisoners, and that is precisely where we’re headed.

“If we leave early tomorrow morning, we will be able to arrive by mid-afternoon,” Frea says, settling down next to us at this journey’s final campfire.

“Sounds good to me,” Teldryn answers, nodding to himself, eyes cast to the middle of the flames. “I could use a moment out of this godsdamn snow.”
“And only a moment it’ll be,” I tell him. “We’ll stay a night, but then I need to cleanse the rest of the island’s stones. Miraak’s power needs to be wea--”

Teldryn slings a soothing arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. I’m instantly hushed by the shock of his touch. “Fear not, Fjoara. One night and not a second longer.”
“One night,” I repeat, swallowing the lump of nerves that threatens to rise in my throat.

With a lingering gaze in my direction, a gaze I can’t find the courage to meet, Teldryn releases me. It’s not as simple as that, though. It never is with him. Instead of merely taking his arm away, he lets his hand trail down my back, resting for a moment in the small of it before replacing his hand in his lap. It’s enough. Enough to make me shiver through the thick layers of fur I wear. Enough to make the heat in my belly swell hotter than the fire before me.

If Miraak doesn’t end me first, if some errant bandit doesn’t catch me off guard in the dead of night, it’ll be Teldryn who will. I swear on the blood of my ancestors, he will.

“I’m off to bed now, friends,” Teldryn announces, standing up suddenly. The movement, finally, draws my eyes towards him. I watch as he hesitates and looks towards our group’s shared tent. “Well, rather, bed

roll

.”

Teldryn grins to himself for a moment, clearly chuffed with his humor. Then, he nods at Frea, smiles at me, and ambles off towards the tent.

At last.

I’m not sure how much longer I could have lasted with him so close to me, not while my want threatens to spill out, raw and naked, onto the snow.

With him gone, I can finally allow the breath to flood back into my body, slow and unlabored. The quiet of sitting next to Frea is comfortable and easy. At last, I can rest.

“I am happy for you, Fjoara,” Frea says, turning to me after a few minutes of our silence. “Teldryn is a good man. I know you will take care of each other.”

“What do you mean?” I ask, eyebrows wrinkling innocently, but my blood is still and cold inside me. “Teldryn and I? We’re not... ”

“Hmm, maybe not yet, but someday in the future,” she responds, nodding once. “I have little doubt.”

“You’re mistaken, Frea,” I insist. “Teldryn is no more than the blade I hired him for.”

She smiles at me, the hidden softness in her face appearing at the corners of her eyes. “One need not a shaman’s wisdom to see the depth beyond the surface.”

I pause, realizing that there is nothing more to her words than what she speaks. “You accept us?”

“Why would I not? Your intent to one another is true.”

“Men and mer are not meant to be together,” I answer, surprised that she does not seem to understand this.

“What makes that so?”

I shrug, not knowing how to respond when the answer is something I had never questioned. “In Skyrim, humans keep to themselves and the elves do the same. I believe it’s supposed to be better that way,” I tell Frea. “Your people and the settlers of Raven Rock seem to keep separate as well, though. Is it not the same here?”

“Geographically we are distant, yes. And it is true that our interests lie within ourselves, but we do not shun outsiders as long as they are honorable and pure of heart,” she answers. “Your Teldryn risked his life for the good of our village, and as such he is Skaal-friend to us now. When you free my people from Miraak, you will become the same.”

“That all sounds very...simple,” I say.

“What is wrong with simple?” she asks, but continues without expecting a response. “Complication does not always serve the highest good.”

My mind drifts back home, thinking of the politics and intrigue that line the stone walls of the Blue Palace. I understand the nature of the game, know how to play my pieces effectively and with calculated intention. Yet, my heart was never in the motions; I did not revel in it as my parents did. Instead, I was struck constantly with the wish that we could abandon the constant dealings and appeasements with other nobles to simply do what is right for the people.

“Perhaps it would do us good to adopt your view,” I conclude, the weight of my thoughts pulling my shoulders down.

She smiles again. “For now, it is neither here, nor there.”

I give a small, grateful smile of my own.

“The road leaves me weary,” Frea says, rising to her feet. “It will be good to be home. If only for a short while.”

She bids me a good night, then turns to make her way to the tent. I watch her leave for a brief moment until an impulse bubbles up to my awareness.

“Wait. Frea?” I call to her.

She stops and looks back towards me.

I sigh and my eyes fall to the spot on the log where our other companion sat a short while before. “I do like him. Teldryn, I mean. Very much so.”

Frea’s laugh sparkles like the stars above. “This,” she says. “I know.”
~~~
The sun lays halfway above the horizon when the Skaal’s village comes into sight. My relief at this surprises me--I had not previously considered the exhaustion of this past week, blinding myself from anything that might have hindered my purpose. Yet, it’s as if the promise of a brief respite gives my disciplined body the permission to relax. It is not my permission, though, and I force myself to remain vigilant. The time for rest will only come after I have dealt with the Wind Stone.

A collective of the village’s people stands waiting to greet us at the entrance. As we draw closer to them, I can feel their eyes upon me, searching for any sign of good news, any indication that their nightmare will end. At this, I realize with a start that I have no idea of what to expect after I clear the Wind Stone, if the

Thu’um

will even

work

.

I shake the thought from my mind. I will not know until I try.

Teldryn, Frea, and I slide off our horses, leaving them in the hands of the villagers they belong to. A woman then walks forward from the crowd. Though her coat is no different from anyone else’s here, the air about her is one of authority and she stands tall and proud.

“Welcome back,” the woman says, stopping when she reaches me. “I trust that the All-Maker granted you success in your journey?”

“Yes,” I answer. “I have the knowledge needed to free your people.”

“I am glad to hear,” she says. “You are the Dragonborn, then?”

I nod.

“It is an honor to meet you. I am Fanari Strong-Voice, leader of the Skaal.”

“The honor is mine,” I say to her. “My name is Fjoara.”

“Fjoara,” she repeats, smiling graciously, but the ease soon leaves her expression. “I regret that we will be unable to assist you in your deed. Our shaman has warned us that if we leave the protection of our village, we may fall victim to Miraak’s influence.”

“It’s of no matter,” I reassure Fanari. “I would not ask you to risk yourselves.”

“I thank you, Dragonborn,” she says, bowing her head briefly before moving aside to let us pass. “All-Maker protect you.”

Without tarrying, my companions and I continue to the outskirts of the village where the Wind Stone waits. The scene that greets us is a mirror image of what I saw back in Raven Rock. Enthralled people working with hypnotic efficiency to build the shrine to Miraak around the Stone, their ceaseless chanting a warning of the threat that lies within. I approach the Stone, finding a place to stand on the ledge of the pool of water that surrounds it. Closer to the Stone, its entrapment fades in comparison to the gentle beauty of the carved patterns that remain in its surface. It brings me a sense of calm. All might not be lost.

I turn to Teldryn and Frea. “I have no sense of what to expect after I use my

Thu’um

. Ready yourselves for danger, but hope that it does not come.”

I bring my attention back to the Stone. Unsheathing my sword, I take a long, slow breath in. “

Gol

,” I Shout with my exhale.

Silence.

Slowly the villagers come back to life one-by-one, eyes blinking rapidly as if seeing the sun for the first time. I begin walking towards them, but stumble when the ground starts shuddering beneath me, Miraak’s shrine bursting apart like dropped glass. Before I have a chance to retreat, a creature rises from the water with an unearthly shriek.

Looming at nearly twice my height, the being is an abomination. It is bipedal, almost humanoid, but with a fish-like head that has long, sharp teeth protruding from the mouth. There is also a natural armor that encases its chest, arms, and legs, pointed fins at the back of each part. I stand, paralyzed with shock, while the monster stares as if to size me up.

It shrieks again.

From its mouth come gnarled tentacles that wrap around and fling me against the mountain face at my back. Sharp pain cracks through my body at the impact and my vision darkens momentarily when my head connects with the stone. Crumpled on the ground, I struggle to my feet as the creature approaches, one hand now morphed into another set of writhing tentacles.

My instincts scream with fear, but my head sears with pain that clouds any strategic thought. Except, as it moves closer, I feel raw, hot power rising up within me. At the backward swipe of its arm, my

Thu’um

rips forth from my throat and knocks the creature to the snow. Then, I’m up and on top of its body, my sword swinging to sever its arm before the blade plunges into its skull. A savage scream hangs in the air.

The monster struggles, screeching to signal its final moments, then stills and slumps to the ground.

“Fjoara!”

Behind me, I hear approaching footfalls in the snow. Close, but not fast enough.

In the time it takes for them to reach me, my injury and exhaustion overtake me. I fight against it to remain standing, but my legs do not hold. Before I can make it to the ground, however, strong arms reach out to catch me.

“Easy there, outlander,” Teldryn soothes in a low voice. “No need for a second spill today.”

I groan, finding small relief in his support, but I’m still swimming against waves of burning pain. Whether it’s from my

Thu’um

or my collision against the stone is indistinguishable. Likely both. My eyes eventually fall closed and I drift precariously close to unconsciousness. Soon, I feel a warm pressure on the back of my head that eases the worst of my suffering and brings it to a dull, but still very present, ache.

“Frea, if you can get her sword, I’ll carry her back.” Teldryn’s voice is a whisper of smoke in the darkness.

I can sense myself being lifted and settled in his arms.

Safe

.

Cared for

. My affection for him swells in this moment. But when he begins walking, the movement jostles me painfully. A whimper escapes my lips.

“Apologies, Fjoara,” I hear him murmur, then feel once again the warmth of his spell where his hands hold me.

The journey seems short, but time eludes me with the state I’m in. By some miracle, I keep hold on my consciousness, even though I can’t find the strength to open my eyes. Eventually, I begin to hear the worried whispers of what must be the Skaal, then after, feel enveloping warmth as I’m brought indoors. Finally, I’m laid on top of softness, a bed.

“Send for a healer,” Teldryn instructs from somewhere beside me. “Her injuries are beyond my ability.”

There are footsteps and a door closing, a hand against my head, then, sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

My entire being aches with the ferocity of a thousand deaths occurring at the same time--an aching shoulder and the sharp, sharp pain of something broken in my side overwhelm my senses until it’s all I can feel in this moment.Unwillingly, wanting nothing more than to force away my consciousness, my eyes blink open. I can see nothing but the ceiling above me, but the light that fills it is dim and flickering. I groan, remembering all at once how I got here. Miraak’s monster, my collision against a mountain, black blood oozing out of a severed arm, suffocated by myriad tentacles, the feel of…“Good morning, outlander,” Teldryn’s voice says from next to me. The sound is pure solace; I could wrap its warmth around my body and live within it.I try to sit up, but pain blooms over my back so that I’m held down. I groan again, this time with a jagged edge of frustration.“Are you in pain?” he asks softly.Tears well up in my eyes and I try to take a deep breath in, but my ribs scream a protest at the movement. “My…”--shallow breath out--“everything is…”“Yes, then,” Teldryn murmurs, but it’s more to himself than me.I hear him move away, then there are sounds of him shuffling around in search of something. Finally, I feel him return to my side. He reaches over and presses the rim of a bottle to my lips. The liquid that pours gently into my mouth is cold but also herbal and sweet.“That will help,” he says after I’ve finished drinking.He’s right. Instantly, the medicine begins to chase away the sharper edges of my pain. Soon, I’m floating on the softest, most lovely cloud where my troubles can’t seem to reach me. The world around me trembles and moves slow like raindrops sliding down a windowpane. I sigh, feeling a sloppy grin settle on my face.“Hey, Teldryn,” I call to him, extending a detached hand out, searching until it lands on the top of his knee. My smile spreads even wider at the contact. “What did you give me? It’s...wow…”He laughs, but it’s tight and distant. Not humor, but worry. “Feeling good, are we?”I giggle as I feel his hand slip into mine. “So good, Teldryn.” He laughs again, then I feel him reach over with his other hand and brush my cheek with his knuckles. “I hope so.”All at once, I can no longer find the strength within me to respond. I close my eyes again, feeling my body grow even more sluggish. The air around me is like tendrils dragging me down into the abyssal darkness, but the warmth of Teldryn’s hand over mine anchors me to peace.~~~When I wake up again, I don’t know how much time has passed. Now, though, the light on the ceiling is from the sun that streams in through the window. I hope that it’s been no longer than a day. The luxury of healing is one I can hardly afford, not while Miraak still remains a threat on the horizon.The urgency of this imbues me with a burst of strength that allows me to push myself up into a sitting position. The pain is still there, but it’s more of a soreness than a recent trauma. Much to my dismay, however, I realize that my right arm, my sword arm, is bound in a sling. This, I absolutely cannot afford.In front of me, the door to the bedroom is pushed open as Frea enters.“Oh! Fjoara!” she exclaims, nearly dropping the bowl that she holds. “I did not expect that you would be awake so soon…and sitting up, no less.”I give her a weary smile. It’s not that I’m unhappy to see her, but the pressure of my duties weighs on me and, by the Eight, does my head hurt. “How long have I been like this?” I ask, almost fearful of the answer.“This is the start of the second day,” she responds.That is somewhat of a relief. Surely, it would take longer than two days for evil to unfold. Reassured, I slump back down into the pillows and my eyes return to their well-known spot on the ceiling. Beside me, Frea takes a seat in Teldryn’s chair, the bowl resting on her lap as she eats from it.“How are your people?” I ask. “The ones from the Wind Stone?”

“They have returned safely,” Frea tells me, the smile in her voice evident. “All thanks to you.”My mind drifts once again to the events of the Wind Stone: black blood, an inhuman shriek, the sound of sliced skin and bone, the tremor of the ground at my feet. I shudder. Two days is not enough for my horror to have dissipated. All of this knowing that I will have to do this same feat four more times. Cold panic rips through my chest at the mere thought.“Where is Teldryn?” I ask, quickly redirecting my mind before the fear takes a strong enough hold on me.“He is in the other room resting. While you recovered, he was awake nearly the entire time by your side.”“Why would he do that?” I ask, instantly guilty at his sacrifice.She laughs her bright laugh. “Why do you think, Fjoara?”“Oh” is all I say.“One could not have asked for a more vigilant nurse,” she says, the laughter still in her voice. “He could hardly bear to leave your side.”“Surely my condition is not that bad,” I hedge, hoping that she confirms it.“While your injuries are not deadly, they are still severe,” Frea answers. “You shattered three ribs and dislocated your shoulder. That also does not include the trauma to your head.”I press the hand of my uninjured arm to my forehead, her words a reminder of the dull throbbing in my skull. “I can hardly believe I walked away with just that.”“Nor can I,” a voice approaching the door says. Teldryn strolls over to the edge of the bed where he plops down heavily. “It’s quite fortunate...how do I put this kindly?...that you don’t have to rely solely on your blade. Else, I fear…” He barks out a laugh.I bristle at his words, though there is truth in them. Swordsmanship has never been my strongest suit. Though I had formal training in Solitude, the technique I was taught was intended to be showy rather than functional. Truth be told, I’m a far more adequate mage than I am a warrior. That, coupled with the divine luck of possessing a Daedric weapon and an enchanted circlet, leaves me less than defenseless but far from any true feats of dazzling skill. As for my Thu’um, it is a weapon, yes, but not a reliable one, not while every use of it leaves me cripplingly weak afterward.“Blessed be Meridia,” I grumble, avoiding Teldryn’s gaze.“Ah, so it is what I thought it was,” he replies as he leans forward. “Tell me, then, how does one come into possession of such a legendary sword? A Daedric one, no less.”“Daedric?” Frea asks, looking at me warily. “That is what Herma-Mora is.”I shake my head urgently but moan at the fresh pain that erupts at the movement. “It’s not,” I begin, but pause when Teldryn raises an eyebrow at me. “Well, yes, it is. It’s Dawnbreaker. It was a gift to me, though. I don’t serve her in any way.”Much to my surprise, Teldryn looks almost...disappointed at my admission. As if he had wanted me to say something else. I’m confused by this. “Surely, you couldn’t have believed I’m her champion?” I question. “The stories of mortals being chosen by the Princes are, just that, stories .” Teldryn’s oft-used smirk creeps back up onto his face. This time, though, there is a hint of something beyond his usual amusement, something that looks very much like sadness, even resignation. In fact, his wound looks so old and so deep that my heart aches at whatever is causing him this pain. “I’m sorry if I’m not who you thought me to be,” I whisper, letting my eyes fall to the furs draped over my legs.“Nonsense,” I hear him say, then he gently, so gently, lifts my chin so that I look at him. “You’re far, far more than I’d ever hoped for.”~~~I reluctantly spent the rest of that day in recovery. The time was mostly idle, my only form of entertainment a book on alchemy that Frea had loaned me. It had always been my weakest subject in college.Teldryn, however, made good use of the night off.Just before sunset, a group of men had come by Frea’s cabin to offer him a place in the hunt that would occur the following morning. Teldryn had declined, saying that he was useless with a bow, but invited them to stay for the dinner that he had been preparing. However, judging by their drunken, raucous laughter from beyond the bedroom door, their humble meal had since morphed into something more hedonistic. I’m hardly surprised that Teldryn has made friends, even in the short amount of time that we’ve been in the village. While it's his handsome charm that first draws them in, his good humor and sincere intent leaves them completely enthralled.Admittedly, I’m sometimes jealous of those who get his attention. Yet, I also feel pride, pride that someone as remarkable as him has chosen to spend the foreseeable future at my side, that I’m worthy enough for such dedication. It’s true that I had originally paid him to do such a job, and it’s also true that he declared himself in it for the adventure rather than for my company. However, I can’t help but consider the ways our relationship has progressed since that declaration. I think back to that heated night spent with him in this very room, his hands on my body, his lips pressed to mine... gods if I could just get another taste. I think back to every moment where he breathed courage into me when I had none, every moment where he made me feel like I am the most extraordinary woman to step foot on Nirn. I also think back to that time when our heat was not lust but seething anger, how I had dismissed him from me in that moment of pure rage. Our relationship spans two opposing sides, but there is always passion in each. I cannot think of anything else that makes me feel as much and as strongly as he does. The leaps my heart must make to catch up with each change of tide leaves me breathless.Teldryn is the only…The sound of the bedroom door scraping open drags me abruptly out of my reverie. Though I know it could only be either him or Frea, I’m still stunned by the sight of him at the door.“Hey, outlander,” Teldryn slurs, a loose grin on his lips. I should be annoyed that he dares approach me while intoxicated, but I can’t be. In this state, Teldryn exudes even more raw sex-appeal. Where ordinarily a man in his condition would be an irritation, a nuisance, Teldryn is nothing short of alluring. He is just as desirable in this way as he is sober, maybe even more. “Enjoying your night?” I ask him, at a loss for any other, more eloquent words. “Even more now that I’m lookin’ at you,” he replies, leaning heavily against the door, head cocked as he unabashedly stares at me. I laugh nervously, immediately self-conscious as his gaze turns smouldering, very aware of my arm in its sling and the bed-head I must have. I struggle to see what about me he could possibly find enticing right now. “I’m…” I begin. My free hand flutters over the pages of my book as my mind races with the uncertainty of what will happen next. What do I want to happen next?Teldryn grins. “Absolutely ravishing,” he finishes.I can feel my face flush at his words. Surely, he can’t really mean what he says. “Even like this?” I ask, motioning to the broken state of my body.Teldryn straightens himself up, closing the door behind him. I watch as he slowly slinks to the opposite side of the bed from where I am. He then sits down, facing me. I can see him swaying with his drunkenness as he uses one arm to lean on, but the look in his face is surprisingly sober. “Yes, Fjoara, even like this,” he finally says. “Is that so hard to believe?”I think back to the time I was with Brynjolf. He had thought me beautiful, too, but the compliment always felt layered with an ulterior motive, like getting into bed with me was just another one of his carefully crafted heists. He would sooner tell me the location of his stash than let me see him with any honest emotion.But Teldryn, even with all his charm and flattery, has no fear of laying himself out bare. As I look into his brilliant red eyes, I know that every word is as he says it is. “I believe you,” I answer simply. He nods contentedly, but the motion is slowed and his eyes are falling closed. “Could I sleep with you?” Teldryn mumbles, but his eyes snap back open when he realizes what he said. “Just sleep. Clearly, you’re too injured and I’m too drunk. Not that I--”

“Yes,” I interrupt. “You can.”He sighs with relief, his shoulders visibly relaxing. Then, he lowers himself clumsily down onto the pillow next to mine, laying on his side facing me. He is so still that I’m convinced he must have fallen asleep, but when I lay down beside him, I see that he’s looking at me.Teldryn’s answering smile is as tender as a caress when my eyes meet his.“Merdekhes,” he murmurs before he drifts into sleep.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I’m not alone when I awake the next morning. Teldryn sleeps beside me, one arm draped loosely over my waist, resting with all the ease of a man who knows nothing but comfort. His face is smooshed into the pillows, which twists his features into a caricature of themselves, but he’s still so gorgeous like this. It’s a sight that I know I would be very happy to see every morning. But I laugh quietly to myself, pulling my eyes away from him.As if I could ever be fortunate enough to experience that. My stores of luck get siphoned from every time I manage to escape a battle alive. There is surely not much left now.“What’s so funny, outlander?” Teldryn’s sleep-coated voice drawls from beside me.I glance over to him. Head propped up on his hand, he meets my gaze, contentment written into every sharp line of his face. Almost as if he’s thinking those very same thoughts about me.My body acts without me telling it to, turning over on my side to face him. Teldryn shifts with me, sliding his arm underneath my injured one for support. It’s all so natural. We move with a grace that out to have been oiled into place over many years, not just one, single night.Maybe, just maybe, I could be so fortunate. Would I be so undeserving of it?“This is funny,” I answer, barely above a whisper.His mouth draws up into a lazy smile. “Better that than to be horrified by waking up next to me.”“It was I who allowed you here,” I say, giving a small smile of my own.“How very kind of you.”I snicker. “Well, I had little other choice. It was either this or the floor, and something tells me the latter wouldn’t have been very comfortable.”“I thank you for your consideration,” he hums, voice husky and deep like he’d been in a slumber for hundreds of years. “I seem to also remember something else about last night. Something that I said to you.”There is not a single trace of shame or apprehension on his face. Such emotions wouldn’t dare find a place in Teldryn. Instead, the fervor in his fathomless red eyes is enough to bring a fluster to me, my cheeks likely matching the color of them. How he looks at me now is with as much brazen desire as he had standing at the door last night.“You had too much to drink. You didn’t know what you were saying,” I stammer.“I hold my liquor well, outlander,” Teldryn says. “I knew exactly what I was saying.”“Surely not,” I insist.“Every word.”I gulp, my heart thrumming with an intoxicating blend of nerves and longing, enough that I feel I could collapse from the potency of it. His eyes do not leave mine, but they grow half-lidded as his want seems to deepen. I tip my head forward so that my forehead rests against his. Teldryn’s arm drifts further down my back, gently pulling me even closer to him. The warmth that fills the space between us is like summer sunshine on my skin. He is the summer to my winter, thawing the ice of my bones, the coldness that I’ve used to shield myself. How have I not seen this before now?“Merdekhes,” Teldryn murmurs.And then, slowly, like we are drifting through water, my eyes fall closed and my lips move to meet his and then…There is a knock on the bedroom door.“N’chow,” he curses and pulls back.A deep sigh tumbles from my lips. “Give--give me a moment, please!”We remain as we are for a brief, brief moment before Teldryn sits up and climbs out of the bed. He then comes around to my side. I take the hand he offers me and begin to sit up while he reaches an arm around to support me by my shoulders. I know I could manage without his help—one arm remains uninjured, after all—but I’m charmed by the unprompted gesture. So, I let him.When I’m settled fully upright, Teldryn looks at me as if to ask whether I’m comfortable. I nod. As comfortable as I can be considering the soreness that remains in my body and the humiliation that awaits me beyond the door.“Enter, please!” I call again.I expect to see the embarrassed face of Frea, but it’s only one of Teldryn’s friends from last night. An alternative I certainly won’t complain about.“Nikulas,” Teldryn greets, mouth cracked into a wide smile. “Glad to see you’ve made a full recovery this morning.”The man groans, rubbing a hand over his eyes. “All-Maker…not so loud, Teldryn.”He laughs, though indeed lower than his usual volume of thunderously. “What can I do you for, sera?”“A message for the Dragonborn,” Nikulas answers, addressing me. “Frea asks that you meet her in the Greathall at your earliest convenience.”“I will. Thank you.”He bows his head, then turns to leave the room, but not before he looks back to catch Teldryn’s eye with a boyish grin. I feign as if I don’t see it; embarrassment did indeed arrive, even if not by Frea.When I bring my attention back to the present situation, I find Teldryn standing stiffly by the window, gazing out of it with such intensity it’s as if he’s trying to shatter the glass with his mind. Evidently, the embarrassment is mutual. I should not be disappointed by this, but I feel it all the same.“So, uh,” Teldryn begins. He still does not look away from the window. “Can I, uh, assist you in any way?”The relief that floods through me is instant and joyful. That’s what has got him like this? I can only just barely stop myself from laughing. It’s certainly not as if we were only just moments away from kissing. Certainly not as if he’s never seen me in a less-than-clothed state before. Never did I think that Teldryn would come into shyness over something so mundane.“Yes,” I answer, still biting back my amusement. “I suppose that you can, indeed.”Teldryn nods once, business-like, the restraint pulled taut over his face, then comes to stand before me. He’s wringing his hands, eyes cast to somewhere behind me. It’s so odd to see him this way, like an imposter inhabiting his skin.He clears his throat. “What would you like to wear today?”A giggle slips out before I can contain it. This finally gets his attention and he looks at me, eyebrows furrowed. The downward slope of them betrays his uncertainty; I almost feel ashamed for laughing at him.“I can show you the clothes if you bring me my bag,” I tell him.He nods again, then sets off to fulfill his objective. When he returns a moment later from the main hall, my bag is dangling by its straps in his hand, as if he’s afraid the thing will try to eat him alive if he gets too close. He sets it on the bed next to me, though I make no move to reach it. Instead, I look at him pointedly through my batting lashes. I’ll admit that this game has grown a bit fun for me, now.“Might you help me open it?” I ask in a sweet voice. “The buckles are quite tricky to get undone.” Teldryn grunts his affirmation. He unfastens the buckles, leaving the flap closed, then pushes the bag towards me. I smile to myself as I open it and pull out the small stack of my clothes. I place them on the other side of me, then look back up at him to proceed. He crouches down at my feet and reaches to untie my sling. Though he does so with the gentleness of a mother holding her newborn, when he frees my arm from the fabric, sharp pain shoots through it. I hiss through my teeth, all facade of any game I was playing falling immediately away.Teldryn grimaces, holding my eyes with an apology written in his own. “Forgive me,” he whispers.I nod and squeeze my eyes shut. He waits for me to open them again, then pulls the sling entirely off. It’s a cruel joke that I must be the one to hold so many unwitting lives in the palms of my hands. What would those people think if they knew that their one and only savior cannot even dress herself, or that she chokes down the metallic taste of fear every time she steps out into the world? They’d beg the gods to send them someone else, is what I think. And why had I been chosen for this? A question I will ask myself time innumerable. I am weak. I am not enough. My burden weighs as much as the whole of Mundus and my shoulders are trembling under the pressure.Yet, as I sit here with Teldryn, letting him be the one to dress me, I can feel myself healing. Every layer of clothing is a suture that holds my crumbling skin together. Every innocuous brush of his hands on my body is a salve that soothes the pain. It’s an intimacy, a vulnerability, greater than anything fueled by lust.It’s a sanctuary built of trust.~~~My reemergence into the village is met with a flurry of excitement.
The Dragonborn! She’s alive!

All-Maker bless her, she’ll deliver us from evil!

She will save us all!
Their praises are sung higher than the peak of the White-Gold Tower, their devotion even greater than a temple of one-thousand priests. As Teldryn and I walk to the Greathall, his arm wrapped around my waist, I can do no more than nod hollowly at them, my shame a worse ache than the one in my side. To me, this adoration is ill-gotten, undeserved. I had freed their people, yes, but I had also fallen in the process. My feat feels woven with threads of deceit; I know that I’m not the almighty hero they hold me up to be. I don’t believe that I’ll ever become her.Teldryn, however, seems more than happy to lavish in the attention. He smiles graciously for the both of us, thanking them for their well-wishes. There is nothing but ease and finesse in his posture, almost as if he’d performed this gesture many times before, or is, at the very least, quite good at faking it. Maybe he ought to be the one heralded as a hero. He had been there for the dragon, after all. Had done more than I did towards its defeat. Maybe I’m only an imposter bearing the wounds of a battle I was only just lucky enough to walk away from.“Thank you,” I whisper to Teldryn when we have reached the entrance of the Greathall.“Always,” he says simply.I push the door open, all the tension in my body releasing when the warmth of the space washes over me. And the sound of the door shutting behind us, sealing me away from the rest of the village, is pure solace. Maybe I could just stay in here forever.It’s a thought I’ll allow myself the momentary pleasure of entertaining, but it’s a wish with no hope of being fulfilled. A wish that should not be fulfilled. I know this.Teldryn leaves my side briefly to put away my cloak. When he returns, I lace an arm through his elbow and we approach the firepit where Frea, Storn, and Fanari await us.Fanari is the first to speak. “Greetings, Fjoara.”I bow my head. “Fanari.”“I would like to thank you for the deeds you have done for my people,” she says. “Though I deeply regret the sacrifice that resulted, it is all the more reason that we dedicate ourselves to you.”I stare at her, unblinking. The sacrifice? The Skaal had seen nobility in my actions? I had not failed them, sure, but I--Teldryn nudges me gently.“I’m…I’m humbled by this honor,” I stammer.Storn steps forward. “I, too, thank you, Dragonborn.”I bow my head again, the emotion in me swelling so high I feel it might drag me under. Now is not the proper moment for tears, but I feel them welling up anyway. Frea catches my misty eyes from across the fire and smiles her agreement with these sentiments. Teldryn, likewise, tilts his head towards me. If we didn’t have an audience, I swear he would continue where we left off earlier. But all I can do now is wipe my eyes and be appreciative.“It’s not only me you should thank,” I say. “None of this would have been possible were it not for Frea and Teldryn’s help.”Fanari nods and looks to my companions. “I thank the both of you, as well,” she agrees. “Frea has always been devoted to the good of our village. But for you Teldryn, an outsider, to carry out an equal deed is something we would neither ask for nor expect. For this, you have our utmost gratitude and admiration.”Teldryn freezes up next to me—a deer at the end of a hunter’s arrow. He does not breathe, only tightens his grip around my arm as if I’m the last remaining defense between him and some threat I cannot see. I look over to him, my eyebrows knitted together. His eyes are squeezed closed, head lowered as if to conceal his reaction. If I did not know him better, I might say that he’s on the verge of tears, as well.He lets out a long, slow exhale and looks back up at the group surrounding him. “I thought nothing of it. I would never sit idly by when I’m in a position to help.”Fanari seems pleased by this answer, wrinkles appearing in the corners of her eyes where they were not before. I, too, am warmed by his response. Teldryn is a man usually far from modest, but the conviction rings clear in his words. I pull him ever so slightly closer to me, daring to press my cheek to his shoulder for the briefest, most self-indulgent moment.“I have told my father what we learned from the dragon at Saering’s Watch, Fjoara,” Frea tells me.“Indeed,” Storn answers, “and if what the dragon says is true about the Shout, then Miraak is more of a threat than we could have realized—he will enslave this entire island, possibly all of Tamriel, in his pursuit for a greater power.”“Kaalkriluth said that Miraak must be met on equal footing, so now I know the first word of Bend Will. However, he didn’t tell me where the other words could be found.”Storn is quiet in thought, the passage of time interrupted only by the crackling of the fire. The rest of us dare not speak, knowing that anything we say would be of far less value than Storn’s wisdom. I stare into the flames before me, letting my mind wander to the events of earlier: Teldryn’s breath fanning over my face, the gentle pull of fabric as he helped me dress, the way—Storn finally breaks the silence. “You mentioned a book you found in the temple that transported you to Apocrypha. I would be inclined to believe it was one of Herma-Mora’s artifacts: a Black Book. There are others like it on Solstheim, though I know little beyond that.”A memory from my first day on the island suddenly flits across my mind: the first of the corrupted stones, the Earth Stone, and someone there who seemed very fascinated by its unfolding. “Do you know of a dark elf wizard on the island? Neloth?”Teldryn bristles at my side like a wolf with his hackles raised. For what reason, though, I’m unsure.I continue. “We met on my first day here. He knew of Miraak and was very interested in what was happening at the Earth Stone.”“Neloth came to us some time ago asking after the Black Books, Storn. Do you remember?” Fanari asked.Storn nods, recognition alighting in his eyes. “Indeed. I believe that he knows a great deal about them.” He pauses, looks out over us with a darkened expression. “Perhaps too much. Still, I would advise that you seek him out. He lives to the south of our village, near the coast.”Frea speaks up for the first time. “I know where he is. I would be glad to accompany you again, Fjoara, if you would have me.”“Of course, Frea,” I answer with a true smile. “That was never in question so long as you wanted to.”She returns the smile, her very being seeming to grow brighter at my words, dazzling like fresh snow in the sun.But Storn’s expression is still cloudy. “You must remain cautious, Dragonborn, Frea,” he warns. “The forces at play here are dangerous, evil.”Whatever had bothered Teldryn earlier no longer seemed to be of issue. Next to me, he reigns with all the confidence he usually carries. Slipping his arm out of mine, he straightens his posture to soldier-like stiffness. I almost wonder if he might salute Storn. “Never fear, serjo. I have their backs, always.”Storn turns to Teldryn, regarding him with all the patronizing air of an elder to an overconfident youth. “Your vigilance does not go unnoticed, but this reaches far beyond dispatching mere bandits.”If a lifetime’s worth of aging were a process that could have been condensed into a few moments, then Teldryn would have done so right before our very eyes. Though his appearance is unchanged, the energy about him seems weighed down by many, many years of life.“Oh, I know very well what we’re dealing with.” His voice has lost its charming, placating edge. Its timbre is the same, but hearing it now is like walking through a catacomb of inconceivable wisdom. “I’ve seen many things in my three centuries of life.”Three centuries? Surely, he exaggerates. I know that mer live to be much older than humans, but not as old as that. It can’t be. No, he’s just compensating for a bruised ego.“What are we dealing with, then, Teldryn?” Fanari asks from across the fire. Her mouth has been pressed into a hard line throughout this entire conversation. She looks eager for information of any kind.“Daedra,” he responds simply. “This entire situation reeks of their machinations. Miraak is likely only a drop in the ocean of the actual threat.”Storn’s face has turned impassive. “What would you know of the Daedra?”“A great deal. More than I care to know, in fact.”“Why did you not speak up sooner?” Frea demands.“Because our course of action would not differ in any way,” Teldryn replies in a voice as cool as water. “The best way to deal with the Daedra is to play their game until you come across either an exploit or an exit. As we aren’t currently looking to let Solstheim dissolve into the sea, we’ll concern ourselves with the former.”“What does that mean?” I ask, turning to him. I try to hide the tremor of panic in my words. “What do I have to do?”Teldryn faces me, takes my hands in his. If it were not for the seriousness of the situation, I would be fawning over the contact. Instead, his gentleness only serves to strengthen my fear.“Hermaeus Mora wants you to seek him out in Apocrypha.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen, something not even my wildest dreams could have conjured up. Grand and stately, towering high into the sky, is a cluster of mushrooms that had been cultivated from Solstheim’s ash-laden soil. As it turned out, these very mushrooms are where Neloth has built his home. There are walkways and doors scattered throughout the compound, brightly lit lanterns hanging overhead.At one point during our journey over here, Teldryn had explained that these mushroom towers were constructed with a magic that only Telvanni wizards knew how to harness, a secret that they took to their graves. Though, as Teldryn had also informed me, Telvanni wizards can live to be hundreds upon thousands of years old with the use of life-extending magic—another closely-guarded secret. Neloth himself was evidently nearing a millennium in age. To have been alive that long seems unfathomable to me, a woman of only twenty-four years.It had been fascinating to learn about this sliver of Dunmeri culture, a culture that’s so foreign to my Nordic perspective, but my questions about Teldryn’s familiarity with Neloth still remain. When I had asked, he brushed it off, diverting my attention to yet another interesting tidbit of Dunmer lore. I surrendered to the fact that the answers would just have to come in their own time. After all, the two mer would soon be face-to-face.We approach the tower, Tel Mithryn , as it’s known in Dunmeris, when the sun has just begun to slip beneath the horizon. Bathed in orange, ash-choked light, our surroundings are like something from an alien planet. But there’s something peaceful about it, something that indeed reeks of old secrets and even older magic. While I revel in my wonder, eyes darting from place to place, trying to take in everything that I can, Teldryn seems utterly indifferent. He even raises a hand to his masked face as if to stifle a yawn. “If it’s all the same to you, Fjoara,” Teldryn says as we are about to make our ascent to the main tower. “I’d prefer to wait for you out here.”“Why?” I ask. “Is there something wrong?” He shakes his head, but his posture is so stiff, hunched even. “Nothing’s wrong. I’d just like some fresh air.”Ash swirls around us, blown wild by the wind. Even from behind the protection of my face cover and hood, stray bits of it still make their way into my nose and throat. It’s almost painful to breathe. Teldryn has his helmet on, but I can’t imagine he’d be entirely exempt from the problem himself. I make a pointed display of shaking the ashes off my cloak. “If you say so. You’ll know where to find me, should you need.”I continue forward, leaving Teldryn to hide from whatever it is he seems to be running from. But by the time I’ve reached the entrance to the main tower, my concern has turned its sights elsewhere. How I wish Frea had been able to join us; her solid presence would have done well to soothe the nerves I have in the face of this meeting. Unfortunately, she had been called away at the last minute to attend to some shamanic duty.The large wooden door is heavy and nearly unyielding as I struggle to pull it open as if its presence is meant to dissuade visitors. Eventually, I make it inside, into a chamber with a large blue rune covering the floor, glowing with tendrils of magicka that float skyward. I look above me, seeing a platform that juts out into the chamber. The rune can only be for one thing, though I had learned at Winterhold that levitation magic had been banned outside of Morrowind. So, Neloth sees himself above Imperial Law, then. Still, the student in me is excited about this opportunity. Never did I think I’d be able to experience such an elusive form of magic. Tolfdir would be so very disappointed in me. Eagerness must be tempered with caution , he’d always said.I step onto the rune.Weightless, suspended in the air like being pulled up by a string: I can’t decide if it’s a pleasant sensation or an unnerving one. The feeling of nothing below my feet is disorienting, but the motion of it is smooth as if I were drifting through water. I can only imagine the look of disapproval Tolfdir would be wearing if he saw me right now. Ever the advocate for pragmatism above all else, if he wasn’t pleased with your actions, then you were likely taking part in something fun.When I reach the top of the tower, I’m met with a sight that appears very fungal indeed. If I’m inside a hollowed-out mushroom right now, as I am, then the space looks every bit like what one would expect. Veiny, cellulose walls, with a “floor” that’s almost springy underfoot. Stranger still is the arcane equipment and alchemical ingredients scattered around on tables and shelves. Very much the workspace of a master wizard, a master wizard that is not currently present.Not wanting to disturb anything here, I find a place to stand very still at the railing that overlooks the levitation chamber. My nerves are exacerbated by the lull in action, but all I can do now is wait for Neloth to show his illustrious face.“Whose brilliant idea was it to enter my laboratory during an ashstorm?” comes a resonant voice from somewhere behind me. “The mess you’ve made…” I turn around to face him.“Oh. It’s you,” he deadpans, crossing his arms tightly over his chest. “Fjoara Ebonhand, was it? Dragonborn. I knew it would be only a matter of time before you made an appearance here.”I remember the etiquette I insisted that Teldryn coach me on in between his history lessons. “Master Neloth,” I say in a voice that admonishes me, bowing deeply.He seems almost pleased by this gesture, like it had been unexpected, but the expression is fleeting. “Enough of that now,” he says. “You’re here alone, then? I was under the impression you were traveling with someone else.”“I am, but he’s a bit indisposed at the moment,” I answer.“A pity,” Neloth drawls. “I would have so enjoyed catching up with him. He and I go quite far back, you know.”I can’t help but ask. I have to. I have to know. “How so?”Neloth raises an eyebrow. “Oh? He never told you?”“Told me what, exactly?”He smiles. “Your friend the humble mercenary is actually a hero in his own right.”“What do you mean?”“Why, he’s the Nerevarine.”The name brings back hazy memories of studying history by candlelight when I was a young girl. I know what the Nerevarine had done, what the prophecy had been, but I wasn’t told who exactly they were. Could he really be?My heart thuds in my ribcage. “But how could that be?” I ask.Neloth waves a dismissive hand. “I have neither the time nor the care to explain it to you. Ask him for yourself. Now, what is it exactly you’re here to bother me for?”Of course. My duty. My reason for being here. A reason that is not to pry into Teldryn’s past.I try to calm myself—deep breath in, exhale--but my body still trembles like a leaf in the wind. If he really were the Nerevarine, what would that mean? Why is he here? With me, out of anyone? Why isn’t he in Akavir like the texts said he was?“I’m looking for Black Books,” I force myself to choke out. “I found one, but I need others.”I feel Neloth’s eyes on me, his assessing gaze searing into my skin like a red-hot iron. “Found one? And you read it, didn’t you? You have that look in your eyes.”“I have no such look,” I snap. “But yes, I did read it. I’ve seen Apocrypha and I’ve met Miraak.”I don’t like the way he stares at me. Like I’m some specimen under his magnifying glass.He lifts a hand to his goatee and pulls it through his fingers.“Very interesting,” he says. “And you haven’t encountered Hermaeus Mora yet?”“No,” I answer, placing my hands on my hips. “But that’s my intention now. It’s why I need more Black Books.”“Hermaeus Mora is not one to be trifled with, you do know this, yes?”“I have little other choice. Teldryn said—” I cut myself off abruptly. I don’t want to bring him into this conversation.Neloth raises his eyebrow again. “I can see you’ve been quite thoroughly convinced,” he remarks. “In any case, yes, I do know where others are. I have one here that I’ve been using to find them.”So, this is the moment, then? Where I swallow my fear and step back into the place that has so relentlessly haunted my dreams ever since?“Where is it? I need to read it.”He holds up a hand. “The one I have won’t help you. I’m certain it has no association with Miraak.”“That doesn’t matter. All I need is to reach Hermaeus Mora.” “And also, to gain the knowledge that Miraak himself once did. One Word of Power will do nothing against his three,” Neloth says almost scathingly.“How do you know about the Words of Power?”“Do you think I’ve just been idle while this fascinating madness has engulfed Solstheim? Quite the opposite.”“What more do you know that you’re keeping from me?” I demand. There is a thorny branch of anger scraping against my ribs, threatening to rise into my throat like bile.“Nothing that you won’t uncover for yourself in due time,” he answers. There is a maddening smile on his face, and it takes every bit of strength I have to keep myself from clawing it off him.“If you don’t tell me everything you know, I swear I will…”“Ah, Neloth, I see you haven’t changed one bit since the last Era,” says a familiar voice as he rises and lands gracefully on the platform. “Once an insufferable bastard, always an insufferable bastard.”Teldryn makes his way over to us so awash in his usual confidence he may as well be glowing with it. He pulls his helmet off and ruffles his mohawk back into place, bits of ash falling to the floor. Neloth’s smile has morphed into something of a snarl, looking as if Teldryn had walked in and spat on the ground at his feet.“I could say the same thing about you, it seems,” Neloth retorts. “Still carrying on like you’re the gods’ gift to Nirn.”Teldryn’s answering grin is drenched in so much cynicism one could practically drown in it. “But you know that I am. In fact, much in the same way that Fjoara is.” He arrives at my side, threading an arm around my waist. Neloth’s eyes flick down to it; the look in them is burning with something malevolent. Just what had been the nature of their relationship? I could swear that Neloth wears the expression of a lover scorned.“So, I ask that you treat her with the respect she’s owed, serjo ,” Teldryn finishes.“I’m quite capable of demanding respect myself,” I say.“I know very well, outlander,” he answers. “I’m only just appealing to Neloth—one old friend to another.”He says that word with a sharpness to it like it had cut his tongue on the way out.Neloth waves another dismissive hand, but it’s accompanied by an eyeroll this time. “Well, before you so conveniently interrupted, I had just been about to inform your partner ”—he says this word with venom laced in it—“that I would be able to lead her to the Black Book she seeks.”I’m beginning to feel like I’ve walked into the gales of a storm I ought to have been weathering out somewhere else. Teldryn’s arm is all too present around my waist, Neloth’s hard stare like brazen flames licking my skin. I can bear no more of it. I want to leave. Quickly.“Out with it, then,” I say. “Where is it?”“In a Dwemer ruin called Nchardak,” he answers. “I’ve seen the book with my own eyes, but the dwarves have sealed it away. I was unable to access it.”“Must be quite some security measures if you couldn’t breach them,” Teldryn remarks.The words seem like they should be a compliment, but the way he says them is so nonchalant, like they were nothing more than a comment about the weather.“Yes, very much so,” Neloth says. He seems to have been disarmed by this. His gaze softens to a simmer. “But perhaps all of us together would be able to get to it. I remember you always had quite the knack for weaseling your way into places you don’t belong, Sero.”Teldryn places a hand against his heart in feigned shock. “I was only just doing my job. The Hortator appointment wasn’t just going to fall into my lap, now was it?” Hortator . Another title that has only foggy meaning to me. But I do know it to be a position of great significance and honor. Something not easily received, and not just by anyone.My demand for answers nearly springs forth, but I catch myself. Now is not the moment. Not in front of Neloth where I cannot speak with any candor.“When can we leave for Nchardak, then?” I ask.“Oh, any time that suits you,” Neloth answers. “Right now, even.”“We should wait until the morning,” Teldryn hurries to say. “Fjoara and I could use a rest from our travels.”“Very well, then,” Neloth says with a light air of annoyance. “In that case, you’re welcome to make use of my steward’s quarters. She’s not in need of them at the moment.”I force myself to recall the etiquette taught to me not by Teldryn, but by my parents: the very basics of politeness. It would do us no good to lose Neloth as an ally, so I have to cast away my pride, now. “Thank you for your hospitality,” I say. “We’ll be back here first thing in the morning.”“Fine, fine,” Neloth answers, already beginning to walk away. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”I’m struck with a nagging sense of familiarity, his words rattling around like a pebble in my shoe. But I fail to make the connection to any memories. Neloth’s apprentice Talvas, as he introduces himself, leads us outside and to one of the smaller mushrooms that offshoots the main tower. He makes the room suitable for us, then leaves. Teldryn and I hang suspended in a crushing silence, and for the first time since we’d met, I wish very much that we were not alone together. I fear what he may say, what I may say.He can’t possibly be oblivious to the smothering tension, but he still takes the time to settle into an armchair by the burning fireplace, shucking off his gauntlets and tossing them to the floor. They clatter with a force that seems to make Nirn tremble. At least to me.“This was not…” Teldryn begins, seeming to struggle with the words he wants to say, “…something that I ever intended to hide. I had planned on telling you, Fjoara, as soon as I possibly could. It just never seemed to be the right moment.”“I don’t understand,” I answer. “You were the Nerevarine? But you’re supposed to be in Akavir right now!”Teldryn laughs with a kind of joy that cuts through the suffocation like a cool breeze on a hot summer day. “I’m ever so glad that rumor took off. I never would have gotten any peace and quiet, otherwise.”“Rumor?” I ask, beginning to grow lightheaded. “How much of what I know is a rumor?”“Well, what is it that you know?”I recite that history that I had been taught all those many years ago. It’s still a hazy memory, the exact details muddled by the passage of time and the mind of the little girl that first learned them. There was a prophecy, a god’s blessing, a battle underneath Red Mountain. But I did know it had been a tale I enjoyed, even more so than the Champion of Cyrodiil’s. I remember, very clearly, in fact, thinking that the Nerevarine had been a true hero.“Color me impressed, outlander,” Teldryn says when I’ve finished. “A Nord who knows a little Morrowind history? Never thought I’d see the day.”For what is somehow the first time, I’m reminded of who I am. It had been something so convenient, so easy to gloss over when my far greater role of Dragonborn had eclipsed everything that did not concern my present life. But now we edge towards dangerous territory: the fact that this knowledge had come from my highborn education. Yet, my past life’s nobility—and that is how I had begun to think of it—seems paler than the snow against everything I am meant for now. What does it matter if Teldryn knew the truth?No. One confession at a time.“I had a very good Imperial education,” I say simply.“Ah,” Teldryn replies. “Imperial. That would explain the gaps in your knowledge. The Empire so loves molding the truth for their own gain.”“What is it that I don’t know?”He sighs, rakes a hand through his hair. “This is something you might want to sit down for.”I obey without question, perching on the edge of the bed across from him. His face is contorted with worry—almost a grimace. What could he possibly have to say that could trouble him so greatly? I know the story of his prophecy, his path to becoming the true Incarnate, of his victorious battle against Dagoth Ur. What more could there be?“The Seven Visions,” Teldryn says. “Do you know what this refers to?”“No. It doesn’t sound familiar.”“Of course not,” Teldryn mutters. “Damned Empire. Writing the Velothi out of history like their contribution meant nothing.”“The Velothi?”“Nevermind that right now,” he says, but his gaze is still stormy. “One day I’ll tell you all about them.”“Alright. What is this about Seven Visions, then?”“There were multiple sets of conditions, multiple prophecies I had to fulfill to be accepted as the Nerevarine. You know of only one. To be sure, these prophecies mostly overlapped with each other—there wasn’t an endless number of conditions. But the one that seems to have been so nicely forgotten is from The Seven Visions: ‘neither blight nor age can harm him. The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.”“The curse…of flesh?”“Charming, isn’t it?” Teldryn chuckles. “Corprus, as it’s more colloquially known. A disease that degrades the mind and ravages the body. Its victims are turned into vile mockeries of their former selves. I am infected with this.”I take in the mer sitting before me: strong, intelligent, and so good-looking it’s as if Dibella herself had laid her hands on him. How could he , this mer who sets rooms alight with his charisma, possibly be infected with the atrocity he describes?“But you seem…are you alright?” I ask, heart frozen in mute horror.He smiles and it’s so bitter that his lips would burn me if I touched them. “I underwent a treatment that removed the negative symptoms, leaving me with only the positive ones.” He spits out the word “positive” like it was a piece of rotting flesh.“So, what does that mean for you?”“'Neither blight nor age can harm him,’” he repeats slowly.Three hundred years old.He told Storn that he had lived for three hundred years. I had dismissed it as a mere exaggeration, a retaliation for hurt pride. Three hundred years old, but as spirited, as…unaged…as a man who’d barely crested thirty. Younger, even.It hadn’t been an exaggeration.“You’re immortal.”He visibly blanches. “'Immortal’ is a very strong word. I can still die…just not by disease or old age. But since I know my way around a sword…yes, I’ll probably be alive for quite a while.”“You said you’ve lived three centuries.”Finally, his smile softens, the sparkle edging back into his eyes. I could nearly cry at the sight; he’s the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.“That might have been a slight overstatement,” he admits. “I’m 296 years old.”My mind whirls with the possibilities of what eternity might feel like. “That’s still a very long time to have been alive.”He shrugs. “Mortal mer have lived longer. But I imagine I still have many years to go.”We sit in a much easier silence than at the beginning of our conversation. I’m surprised by his admission, of course. Shocked, even. But nothing about it sings of betrayal. He hadn’t been under any obligation to share this with me. And my ignorance of it had made no difference in our friendship or in our burgeoning romance. I, of course, understand every bit why he might have been reticent to share this truth with me. After all, I, like him, hold the status of “chosen one”. If his journey had affected him in even an ounce of the same way mine has, it wouldn’t be something I’d like to dredge up, either.He had closed his eyes in the time of our silence, face slack with sleep. But he breathes too lightly to be anything more than dozing.“Can I ask you something, Teldryn?” I whisper, low enough that he might not even be able to hear me.His eyes open the barest inch. “Of course.”“Does it get any easier?”He sits up in the chair, looks at me with a gaze so soft it’s like silk against my skin. He pulls his lip between his teeth, hand worrying at his chin. I realize how I must look to him: so small and so afraid. Though I reach nearly six feet tall, though my voice is its own weapon. It’s how I have felt for as long as I’ve been on this island.“It does,” Teldryn answers. “It absolutely does.”I knew I’d been struggling, but I hadn’t known that I’d been drowning; the weight that lifts from me is like breaking the surface of the ocean after being trapped underwater. Gasping, sputtering for breath, thanking the gods for another chance at life.“C’mere,” I say to him.Teldryn gets up from his seat hesitantly, some restrained emotion pulled over his face. He comes to stand before me, and I rise to him. My arms are around him before I can even realize what I’m doing, my face buried in the crook of his neck. He relaxes into me, holds me to him, his hand running gently through my hair. I surprise myself; I don’t cry. It’s like he has fortified me, passed his strength on to me.“You are so much stronger than you know, Fjoara,” he murmurs. “Everything you need you already have.”I pull back to meet his eyes. “I have you.”Teldryn exhales, leans forward, his forehead against mine. “You do, indeed.”His warm breath fanning over my face, his hands steady on my back, his lips, full and soft, a whisper away from my own. The world grows silent as I close my eyes and press my lips against his. When he kisses me back, it’s as if time has returned to when dragons are still nothing but myth and Miraak is only a name eroded by lost memories.What shape does fear take? I’ve forgotten. All I know now is the vastness of eternity, the moons, and all the stars in the sky. I hold them here in my arms.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I hadn’t exactly told Fjoara the truth.It’d been a small lie, an inconvenient one, maybe. But it was a way of molding the truth into something easier to hear. Because how could I have stood there, looked into her wide blue eyes, and said, ‘ It does get easier, but it won’t for a while ’? I couldn’t. I couldn’t watch her be overtaken by her fear, couldn’t watch her steel herself against fate, against the world, against…me.I knew it was selfish. I also knew that it would be better if she were aware of what lies ahead so that she could prepare for it. The life of a hero might sometimes be a glorious one, but it’s not something that comes effortlessly. We have to contend with the burden of expectation, the terror of failure, the exhaustion of the duty we perform. She should know this. I expect that she already has an idea of it; it’s why she falls prey to her anxieties.The fierce guilt came when she had taken me for my word. So, I tried to tell myself that it didn’t matter if I had lied or told the truth. For as long as I stayed by her side, I would protect her. I would take her by the hand, I would shine my torch on the path ahead of us, I would cut down anything that stands in her way. If I could, if she asked me to, I would face Miraak for her.Fjoara sleeps beside me, one hand stretched across the narrow space between us to settle on my arm. Her jaw is clenched, brows knit together--peace never seems to find her in sleep. Had I ever looked the way she does now?These days, the nightmares don’t plague me anymore. I no longer see golden masks, relive the pain of Corprus, worry that I’ll wake up with an assassin’s blade at my throat. I can live with Red Mountain looming over my shoulder and still feel at ease.And yet, for all the lengths I’d gone to cultivate my peace ever since I walked out of that final battle, it was facing Neloth once more that managed to disrupt it. I was suddenly, brutally reminded of what he and I had once shared, and how I had so grandly, magnificently fucked it all up.All things considered, it was a relatively unremarkable meeting.In the early days of my journey, when I was still young and dumb and struggling for coin, I had taken on a contract to collect and deliver rare ingredients to Tel Naga’s alchemist. Since I was not Telvanni, it shouldn’t have been possible for me to meet Neloth. Were it not for the wrong turn I’d taken at his tower, levitating higher up than I was meant to go, I never even would’ve.When I found myself in his laboratory, face-to-face with him, I thought that he would incinerate me right on the spot.I’d heard rumors of Neloth: he was ruthlessly dedicated to his work, he was painfully arrogant, and he was feared by most, even his own retainers.I knew that I should’ve been afraid of him myself. Only, I wasn’t. Looking from the short distance I was away from him, I saw only a mer. A mer with tired, but piercingly perceptive eyes, and a once-sharp face now taken by faint wrinkles and creases. So, yes, while I was sure that he still could have felled me with a single wave of his hand, Neloth was no longer the mythological being he was held up to be.“Who are you?” Neloth snapped upon my arrival. “How did you get up here?”“Teldryn Sero,” I answered. “I levitated.”He furrowed his brow. “By what means? A potion?”“No. I know the spell.”Neloth blinked in disbelief, took in all my cheap netch leather armor and my chitin sword. “What is your reason for being here?”I held up the satchel containing the delivery. “Ingredients for your alchemist.”“Give that to me,” he said, approaching me. “I’ll take them.”When Neloth took the bag from me, our fingers brushed. Instantly, he snatched his hand back, the bag dropping to the floor and spilling its contents. We both stared at the carefully wrapped bundles of blood thorn for a single, silent moment. All the while, my hand flared with a spark of…something.“Look what you’ve gone and done now!” Neloth then barked, wiping the hand that had touched mine on the front of his robes.I tilted my head in confusion but bent down to collect the herbs. Once they were replaced in the satchel, I set that down on a mostly empty table next to me.“I’ll be going,” I said. “So sorry to have disturbed you.”I walked away, not waiting for him to respond. Somehow, I knew he wouldn’t have anyway. But as I cast a spell of Slowfall to make my descent, I felt his eyes on my back, heavy and probing, as though he attempted to dig through the layers of my flesh. It was an odd feeling, one that I found I…liked.Only a handful of months later, a courier came to me with a letter from him, requesting my presence at Tel Naga once more. By that point, I was well into the throes of my work with the Blades and low in the ranks of House Redoran. I went to Neloth with wary curiosity, very aware of the risk I was taking, of the hostility between the Telvanni and Redoran. Neither Caius nor Athyn would have approved of this choice, but I could take care of myself. I was sure of it.“You joined House Redoran” was the first thing Neloth said to me upon my arrival.My hand drifted down towards my newly acquired steel longsword, even though I knew any attempt to use it against him would end embarrassingly quickly in my death. Neloth’s gaze followed my movement and he rolled his eyes, confirming my suspicions.“I have no quarrel with you,” he said. “Your rank is not significant enough for my time. I merely want to know why .”I furrowed my brow. “I’m a warrior. Why wouldn’t I join House Redoran?”He scoffed. “No, you’re a spellsword,” he replied. “Redoran wouldn’t know magic if it slapped them across the face and turned them into a scrib. They’re a waste of your talents.”“My talents? What would you know about those?”‘Sheepish’ is hardly a word I would ever use to describe Neloth, but for that moment, it was the only one suitable. “Nevermind that,” he barked, returning to his usual caustic demeanor.I quirked my lips into a sly smile. “You’ve been watching me, haven’t you?”I was surprised to find that I didn’t altogether mind the idea of that. I’d spent most of my life slinking around unnoticed by everyone (aside from that one very particular moment when I had needed my obscurity the most, and it failed me in the most spectacular way). For someone to see me, especially someone of Neloth’s magnitude, was a feeling I relished in.“So what if I have?” he retorted, crossing his arms tightly.“Why?”Neloth stared at me, hard and intently, for many uncomfortable moments. I wanted to squirm under his gaze, but I stood my ground, chin held high.“You are significant,” he finally said. “How so, exactly, is not yet apparent to me. Nevertheless, I would be a fool to pass on the opportunity to be a part of that. And you would be an even bigger fool to place your destiny in the hands of the Blades or House Redoran.”“What are you saying?”He huffed a breath and shook his head. “I see deductive reasoning is not your strongest suit,” he muttered. Then, in a more audible voice, he said, “I’m offering you an apprenticeship of sorts. An informal appointment, as it would be completely counterintuitive to keep you here in this tower, but just the same, I extend to you my knowledge of all things arcane and magic.”I gaped openly at him, utterly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events.In my own time, I had also looked into Neloth. I learned of his neurotic reclusiveness, how hated he was by the other Telvanni councilmembers, how he hadn’t taken on an apprentice in many, many years. Yet, I also learned of his brilliance, that it was perhaps second only to Divayth Fyr’s. He was right. I would be a fool to let this opportunity slip away.And, besides, there was still the matter of how I felt inexplicably drawn to him.“Yes,” I said. “I accept.”My life changed very quickly after that. More so than it already had upon my release from prison.I formally pulled out of House Redoran. I traveled further down the path that I soon learned would lead to me becoming the Nerevarine. And throughout it all, I was taught by Neloth, returning frequently to Tel Naga where I would stay for a week or so at a time.I’m still not sure how or when the lines blurred, how I began to feel something more than I ought to towards a mentor. And in his strange, cryptic way, I knew that Neloth cared for me too.It was the way he cleared a space for me in his laboratory, in how he began having the kitchen stocked with my favorite foods, in how his patience with me seemed to be much more than what he gave anyone else. But the biggest tell of all was how I’d fallen asleep one night over my studies and woke up the next morning in my bedroll. He very well could have had one of his servants move me, but even so…he cared, didn’t he. And then there was the Corprus.Though I knew it was Divayth Fyr who was the foremost expert on the subject, it was Neloth I went to for help. I appeared at Tel Naga a pathetic, trembling mess. Never had I known terror so intimately as I did then. Not while I was in the Imperial prisons, not while I was an urchin on the streets of Blacklight, not even when I later went on to face Dagoth Ur.“What’s the matter?” Neloth had asked in his usual sharp-edged voice, but I’d since learned how to read beyond his words. If he hadn’t cared, he wouldn’t have even asked.“I have Corprus,” I told him.There was a flash of fear in his eyes, but he didn’t back away. In fact, he drifted ever so slightly closer, his arms nearly lifted as if he intended to embrace me.It wasn’t fear of me. It was fear for me.“And just what am I supposed to do about that?” Neloth asked brusquely, and I heard the hidden helplessness in his words. “Go see Divayth Fyr.”I shook my head. “I need you to help me.”His lip twitched. “Don’t be ridiculous, Teldryn. What good will you be to me as a Corprus monster? Go see Divayth Fyr. I won’t say it again.”And I was being ridiculous, wasn’t I? What did it matter if Fyr was the one to help me? I ought to have wanted the fastest and most surefire way to a cure. But there was still some irrational, scared part of me that only trusted Neloth to administer it. And if it didn’t work, then I wanted to die by his hand, for him to be the one to cut short my inevitable suffering. He would do that for me, wouldn’t he?“Please,” I whispered.Neloth stared at me in the way he was wont to do--like my mind was an enigma he intended to decipher. Finally, he blew a huff of air through his nose. “Fine,” he relented in a way I’d never seen him do before. “I’ll attempt to come up with something. But if I am unsuccessful, you will go to Fyr. Time is too short for grievous error.”I stayed at Tel Naga while Neloth worked, him letting me have use of his quarters--something that should have surprised me, but didn’t. Not with the way he’d so uncharacteristically had a change of heart.It took him three days. In that time, I grew steadily worse. The disease began with an unrelenting fog in my mind, then degraded to a fever, spiraling finally downwards into the agonizing sensation of melting, boiling, expanding flesh. But whenever I looked down at my body, I found it unchanged.On the third day, Neloth came to me with a small phial of viscous blue liquid.“Drink this,” he ordered, hauling me up from the bed by the shoulders and then holding me steady.He’d never touched me before then. I let myself cling to the weight of his hands on me as I choked down the potion. The taste was vile and potent, much like the disease that gripped me, but the relief was immediate and overwhelming. My pain was chased away, the fever was broken, and the clouds cleared from my mind.I hadn’t realized what I was doing until my arms were already thrown around his neck.“ Thankyouthankyouthankyou ,” I chanted in a delirious, nonsensical string of sound.Beneath me, Neloth was frozen with shock. It was as if he’d never been embraced before. But he didn’t attempt to remove me. And eventually, his arms came up to encircle me, too.Somehow, in some way, I’d managed to work myself into Neloth’s stunted, shriveled up husk of a heart, as he had into mine. Did I love him? Did he love me? I still don’t have the answers to that. All I know is that the way I feel for Fjoara reminds me very much of how I had once felt for him.And so, does that mean I love her?Sleep won’t find me tonight. Not only had I left things unsaid to Fjoara, but I also had to Neloth. I still owe him an explanation. It’s the very least I can do. And besides, traveling with him tomorrow will be unbearable otherwise.Gently, I slide out from under Fjoara’s hold. She gives a soft sigh but settles back into bed without waking. I slip over to the chair with my discarded shirt and pull it on, but I can’t find my cloak, so I settle for hers. It trails a bit on the floor--she’s taller than me--but it’ll do.I left our borrowed quarters to return to Tel Mithryn’s main tower. The door I haul open and the rune I step onto, floating up to Neloth’s laboratory. He’s not there when I arrive, so I grab an empty chair and sit back, making myself comfortable for the wait ahead.But it’s not a long one. Neloth appears shortly after, as though he’d known of my arrival. In truth, he probably had. He’d just been waiting in the wings to make me uneasy, to tell me that his time is more important than mine.And I suppose it is, in a way. He would live long, but I would live even longer.Wordlessly, Neloth goes to take a seat in the chair opposite mine. A good sign. Very good. An even better sign is that I am not currently burnt to a crisp where I sit. But he waits for me to begin, his impatience like a looming presence over my shoulder.“You know, Neloth,” I say, “the goatee suits you. It’s very youthful.”Neloth narrows his eyes. “I know you didn’t come here just to compliment my facial hair.”“You’re right. I didn’t.”“Well? Get on with it, then,” he snaps. “I haven’t got all night.”I exhale a long breath. “I wanted to offer you an explanation and an apology for the way I left things with you.”I pause, waiting for him to interject with some snide remark, but he remains silent, only crosses his arms. So, I continue.“I had always intended to return to you after Red Mountain,” I say. “The reason I didn’t was that…was that I didn’t know if you would have still wanted me.” I bite at my lip, swallowing the nerves that had just cropped up. “I had served my purpose, fulfilled the prophecy, became…insignificant. And that was the reason you wanted me around, wasn’t it? Because you wanted to have your hand in history being made?”“No,” he replies gravely. “It started as that, but it did not end as that.”“What was it, then?”Neloth sits back in his chair. “I never did tell you how I obtained the cure for your Corprus.”I stay quiet, wait for him to continue, though my heart does something akin to fluttering in my chest.“I went to Divayth Fyr myself, I traded with him the diagram to my staff enchanter for the formula to his cure, I humbled myself before him.” Neloth spits the word out with such venomous distaste. “I did this all for you, Teldryn, not knowing if you would even become the Nerevarine. Certainly, not knowing if you would even survive .”The guilt is crushing and devastating, like Baar Dau as it fell from the sky. I am not normally a mer to cry, but I can’t help the tears that well up in the corners of my eyes. Do I have my answer now? Of course, he loved you, you blithering, idiotic s’wit.I quickly swipe the tears away with shaky fingers. “I’m sorry, Neloth. I’m so sorry.”He stares down at his lap, pulls on his goatee. “It no longer matters,” he mutters. “I was a footnote on your long life, as you were on mine.”“An important one,” I insist. “I could have done none of it without your help.”Neloth looks up at me. “It was…” He seems to shy away, flicking his gaze to somewhere beyond me. “...an honor.”I shake my head in disbelief, staring down at my restless hands. Neither of us speaks for a considerable stretch of time, but it’s not uncomfortable. Not with the air having been made free and clear around us. I could probably sit here for the rest of this long life of mine. So, for all eternity, then. It’s only now that I realize just how tired I am--an existential exhaustion.But I know it’s still not the time for rest. Not yet.“Thank you for agreeing to help us,” I say, turning my attention back to Neloth.He gives me a dismissive wave. “I would rather not have to rebuild my tower again somewhere else.”“You know that’s not your only reason for doing it.”“Certainly not,” Neloth says. “I’m also quite curious to observe the Dragonborn’s power.”“It’s a sight to behold.”“She’s likely to become much more powerful than you,” he says. “Much, much more.”“Unlike some others I know, I don’t mind being less powerful.”Neloth gives me a sharp look.“Do try to keep her alive in the meantime, though,” he says. “Her inexperience is glaringly apparent, and I’d loathe for Nirn to fall into ruin because she wasn’t there to save it.”I sigh. “I know very well. And it’s always the goal.”“You do love her, though. Do you not? That makes the job much easier.”My eyes snap to him. I still remember how to see past his words to the masterfully concealed truth. In this way, I know that this will be the closest to an admission of his feelings I’ll ever get. But Neloth doesn’t seem to realize what he’s just said; there’s no bitterness, no malice, no vengefulness in his expression. Just simple curiosity.I’d always been fond of his insatiable need for answers.“I think that I do, yes.”“Very well, then,” he says, standing up from his seat. “Now, if you’ll excuse me. There’s work to be done.”“We’ll see you in the morning,” I respond.Before I can leave, however, Neloth pauses and tosses a glance behind him. “You know, I don’t think I like your mohawk.”I laugh. “Fjoara doesn’t seem to mind it.”And he just scoffs and resumes his path forward. But if you look hard enough, and if you know exactly what to look for, as I do, you could see the shape of laughter take its form in him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The dark, brackish waters of Nchardak’s flooded main chamber stretch endlessly before me. Thick with rotted oils and heavy dust and the crumbled pieces of a thousand lost lifetimes. If I plunged my hand in and swirled it around, my gloves would surely come out black. But the worse horror is my uninhibited imaginings of what might lay underneath, what ancient brass monsters will rise to drag me to their depths.“You cannot possibly expect me to swim through that,” I say, staring down at the water with a curled lip. It is better to hide my fear under a mask of prissy entitlement, even if Neloth already loathes me for that.It was when he rolled his eyes as I squealed upon walking through a wall of spiderwebs, when he groaned as I dropped down onto an old stone bench, cradling my aching shoulder. As he stood around with crossed arms and a tapping boot, waiting for this sad little woman to muster up and move forward. Hail thee, O mighty wizard.But Teldryn shielded me from him. Walking behind me and plucking the webs from my hair, plopping down onto the bench next to me, laughing when the stone split beneath him. Like it was Neloth’s own spiteful doing. And daring him, with every breath, to speak even a single bad word against me.Well, I suppose his pent-up resentment had to come out sometime.“Did you learn nothing at that little college of yours?” Neloth snaps at me. “There’s a spell for this. It’s elementary.”“I was there for just six months,” I hiss, forcing the spikier remark back down. Something, something you pompous old mer.Neloth scoffs but says nothing more upon Teldryn’s hard glare. Instead, he directs a gesture toward the water with a magically-charged hand. Stepping onto the surface, he casts a glance back at us. “Learn quickly or get to swimming,” he says. “We have work to do.” Then, he walks away, disappearing into a passageway up ahead.I sigh and bend down to begin unbuckling my boots. The least I can do to ease my future suffering is to have dry shoes. But Teldryn stops me before I can even undo the first buckle.“You won’t be swimming,” he says. “It’s not an easy spell, but I can try to teach it to you.”“And if I can’t learn it?” I ask, but I am already making the outcome sure in my mind. I will learn this spell. I will walk across this water.Teldryn shrugs. “I’ll just carry you. It’s no issue to me.”“Maybe I’d prefer that to learning,” I reply, and I’m not thinking. If I had been, I would have snapped my lips closed before the embarrassment came tumbling out.But Teldryn smiles. “Is that so? Well, you only had to ask,” he says in a velvety voice.I’m tempted. So very, very tempted. I am taken by the thought of being held in his strong arms, breathing in the warmth of his skin, a moment to just let myself rest and be cared for. But this is not who I am. I have to be more.“No,” I concede, shoulders falling. “Please teach me.”Teldryn reaches for a pouch on his belt, pulling out a small bottle of magicka potion. “Take this, then. It’ll make things just a bit easier.”I swallow it in one gulp, a choice I begin to regret when the bitter taste washes over my tongue. My eyes water and I have to hold a hand to my mouth.“Apologies,” he says, noticing my discomfort. “Effectiveness over taste.”“It’s fine.” I cough, grimacing. “As it should be.”We wait a moment while the potion takes full effect, and in that time, Teldryn shows me the casting motion, guiding my hand through the air, arm around me, chest pressed against my back. If I could have learned like this at the college, perhaps I would have tried harder. But then, I have an unwelcome thought of Tolfdir in Teldryn’s place and nearly throw the potion back up.“Alright,” I say quickly. “I’m ready to try it.”And by now it’s true that I can reach out and touch Aetherius, that I can take a piece of it like it’s wet snow, let it melt against my skin, sink into my veins. I make my cast and step onto the water. No, not water. This is solid ground. This is a cobblestone path that leads me over the…the unseen horrors below in the darkness.I gasp. There’s water in my boots, water up to my knees. I’m stumbling forward like a newborn deer. I can’t fall in. I cannot fall in. I won’t make it back out. I will not fall in.“Easy there, outlander.” Teldryn’s steady voice by my ear, his arm around my waist. “You make this look like nothing at all. Keep going.”The water is at my ankles, then I’m back on top of it, and we’re walking forth together. I can breathe again. I’m back on my cobblestone path. But I’m also leaning on him, letting some of his strength carry me.I won’t think of that right now. The next time I’ll do it all on my own.Our destination is a hallway off the main chamber, blessedly unflooded. When we reach it, I’m flushed with the effort of our journey, hair sticky against my forehead, panting just a little bit. Neloth is there with his tapping boot and crossed arms, annoyance smeared on his face.“If I had known it was going to take this long, I would have dragged you both across myself,” he says upon seeing us. But then he seems to pause. “You didn’t swim. You were successful with the spell.”I am still and say nothing. All to hide the sloshing in my boots and the shortness of my breath.“I hear the college isn’t accepting just anyone these days,” Teldryn says offhandedly. “It’s quite competitive, actually.”Yes, right, because my magical prowess got me in. Perhaps it was also because I am my father’s daughter. Pity the poor fool who would turn away High King Ebonhand’s little girl.I can’t say any of this. Instead, I say, “Well, it’s all in the teacher. You can learn anything with a good one.”Teldryn laughs. “Neloth would know of that. Best teacher I’ve ever had. Must have gotten it from him.”Neloth almost bares his teeth, then seems to think better of it, whirling around, red scarf whipping through the air, and heading down the hallway. I’m quick to follow behind him, but Teldryn continues at a more leisurely pace behind me. Were it not for the hollow clanking his armor makes, I would have thought that he had left entirely. I don’t like the feeling. I always wish he’d just walk next to me.“Tell me, then, Teldryn,” Neloth says as he walks. “What happened in your fight with Dagoth Ur? What good did my teaching do?”My ears perk up, but somehow, I know that neither Neloth nor I are going to get the answer we’re looking for.“Huh. You’d ask just like that?” Teldryn says. “I defeated him. What more is there to say?”“More. Everything.”“I acquired the Profane Tools, destroyed the Heart of Lorkhan, destroyed Voryn, ended his cult. Just as it’s always been said,” he replies, words bearing small, sharp teeth.“Fascinating,” Neloth says. “And what of the Tools?”“I returned all but Keening to Vivec. Always liked that little blade. He had no qualms. In fact, I probably could have kept them all. He owed me.”To be owed a favor by a god. An aspiration I ought to have. Do have. I look back at him. “Where is it?”He grins, reaches down, and flicks the dagger from out of his boot. It is soundless, glimmers blue and gold in the dim light as he tosses it up in the air and then snatches it back mid-fall. My mouth waters. I would do anything to possess that weapon.“Can I see it?” I realize I’ve stopped in my tracks, turned to face him.He’s raised an eyebrow at me. “Only if I can see Dawnbreaker.”“Do we truly have time for this?” Neloth drones behind me, but I ignore him. This is between Teldryn and me.I gently unsheathe my sword, giving it to him like it’s a sliver of the sun whose light will scatter if touched the wrong way. And then he gives me Keening, indelicately flipping it into my palm, slicing a small tear in my glove. I begin to take it off, but Teldryn shakes his head.“Don’t,” he says. “It might kill you.”I know it won’t—surely it would have already—but I heed his request. I don’t need to take my glove off to feel its coldness, its unnatural heaviness, the very foil of Dawnbreaker, whose unceasing warmth is the only thing that still tells me it’s at my hip.“Which do you think is worth more?” I ask.“You wouldn’t dare,” Teldryn answers, looks up at me and then back down at my sword. “This blade will save your life.”“An iron mace could save my life. What good is a weapon to a mountain of gold?”“You’re talking like a greedy old wretch,” he says, but his voice is light. “Sell this sword, and I will never forgive you.”“And what about this one?” I ask, holding his little dagger up.“Even at my most destitute, I never even dreamed of it,” Teldryn replies, and he plucks it out of my grasp.Then, he holds Dawnbreaker out to me but makes the mistake of having it by the guard. The scorching light that has singed my fingers many times glows between his. But I wait a moment, and he makes no show of pain, only stands there, confused at my pause. Perhaps it’s his gloves, too.I take it from him and slide it back into the scabbard.Neloth has left us behind, and he’s nowhere to be found, but the only place he could have gone is straight ahead, beyond a stone archway of definite importance. Teldryn and I follow this beacon and find him standing there in the center of a cavernous round room. Windows in the domed ceiling cast down the first sunlight we’ve seen in hours onto a green pane of glass set in the floor. When I step forward to peer down into it, a Black Book stares back.“The both of you are utterly intolerable,” Neloth says. “Have we had quite enough of this strange mating ritual? Might we return to the task at hand?”A mating ritual or an elaborate means of distraction? The latter, the Black Book at my feet answers. I scowl at it.“Yes. We’re finished,” I reply. “Tell us how to reach the book.”“Well, as you can see, the book is made accessible by use of this control panel.” Neloth motions toward a tarnished brass tower. “However, its power source has long ago died, so I have no means of using it. I have attempted to fabricate a new source but cannot seem to connect—”Teldryn walks over to the control panel, rips the cover off, and jams the tip of Keening into its mechanical guts. The glass slides back with a faint click and a deafening scrape of metal, and the book’s pedestal rises above the ground.“Neloth is always getting lost in his own head,” Teldryn says simply.“Do you realize how easily you could have bungled that? This technology is ancient and unpredictable,” Neloth barks.“And also, damn near indestructible,” Teldryn counters, then he looks to me. “So, Fjoara, are you ready to get this over with?”I think about sitting down, here and now, and eating the hunk of cheese in my pack. Think about turning around and walking right back out of this room. Think about a well-placed slash with Dawnbreaker, burning the book to a crisp.But I do none of those things. I merely look back at Teldryn and say, “Yes. I am.”He tilts his head and considers me for a moment. Then, he reaches a hand out to me. “Come here,” he says gently.I do as he says, placing my hand in his. Together, we stand before the book. But I hesitate, fingertips hovering over the filthy, rotting, horrible cover. I will not open it. I cannot open it.“I have your back, hla’aka,” Teldryn murmurs.Hla’aka. The word swims in my mind, shimmering, blanketing me with all the tenderness of how he said it. I do not know what it means, but I know it is meant for me. That it is perfect for me. That it belongs to me just as Teldryn does. Given himself to me, I can do anything as long as he is by my side. I slip my thumb under the book's cover and flip it open.All at once, I am small and stretched thin, vision black, mind flayed from body. If I could, I would scream. Maybe I do. Something burns deep in my throat.I stumble forward into this newly created aspect of myself, hands scrabbling to find security in the heavy air. My eyes return to me, and I am dismayed by how familiar the fetid greenness of this place is. So familiar, yet so incomprehensibly far and different from Nirn. I could lose myself to despair, imagine that I will be left here to disintegrate, but my rumination is quickly halted by the sound of retching at my side.Fear shakes through my body, but when I jump back, my sword shrieking as I draw it, all I see is a mer crouched on the ground.My mind slams back into my skull, and I realize. I gasp. “Teldryn?”“B’vehk,” he rasps, struggling to his feet. “I can’t—”I rush forward to steady him, hooking my arm into his. He leans on me for a moment, taking labored breaths, chin to his chest. Would I, too, have been like this had Miraak not frozen me still the first time? Certainly so. This place is poison. It’ll start inside your mind, eat you for all your scraps, wipe its teeth with the sheaves of your skin.“Fjoara,” he says with some urgency. “You dropped this.”I blink, and he’s standing before me with my sword in his hand. I didn’t give it to him. Why does he have it?“Huh?” I push back a piece of hair falling in front of my face.“You dropped your weapon, Fjoara.” He pushes the grip of it into my palm, closes my fingers around it. “Don’t let this happen again.”“Yes, alright. I’m sorry.”He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. Just tell me that you won’t.”“I won’t.”Teldryn exhales a sound of stifled frustration. But when he looks back at me, his eyes have their usual twinkle. “So, tell me, then, Master of this Realm. Why am I here with you?”“How am I supposed to know? It’s you who’s meant to be an expert on the Daedra. Or so you say.”“I made no such claim. I’ve merely had dealings with them. With one.”“More than I can say.”Teldryn is quiet as he scans the murky horizon that’s almost overtaken by fathomless towers of decaying books that disappear into the crackling sky. “It doesn’t matter why or how,” he finally says. “I’m sure the answer is quite a simple one: ol’ Mora wants something from me.” He sighs. “Don’t they all.”“But he still let us come here together.”“Don’t think he’s so benevolent. He wants something from you, too.”“True, but perhaps he’s underestimated the strength of us united.”Teldryn quirks his lip. “I’ll let myself think that,” he replies. “If we are to face Hermaeus Mora together, then it’ll be nothing at all.”“As simple as walking on water.”“Precisely so,” he says. “Well, onwards we go.”He motions to the path ahead, alien and untrod. As is our usual habit, I take the lead and, for a moment, I am so sure of myself. Sure that I cannot be harmed, that I can slice ribbons out of anything that crosses me.A tentacle emerging from the inky black sludge on both sides of us rises and slaps the cracked ground in front of me. I bite my tongue to keep from screaming; I taste blood. I’m gripping my sword so hard that my bones could splinter. My feet are stuck in place. I cannot make myself move. I cannot.“You’re untouchable.” His shoulder brushing against mine. His pinky linked with mine. “You won’t let anything hurt you. Just as I won’t.”“You’re right,” I whisper, and I feel the truth of it. “I won’t.”“So come then, hla’aka.” His voice, low and warm. “Onto what waits for us.”I begin walking once more, expecting him to fall into place a few steps behind me, but he doesn’t. The tendrils of my fear are sliced in two inside my chest. Fear is not a word in any language when he is with me, when he is by my side. I can step up to Hermaeus Mora, to Miraak, and laugh in their faces.My hand in his.