A very small update. Thanks to odalique for the review and advice.
Her breathing was ragged. Her throat was dry and she was moments away from falling apart. She was alone.
She could not do this. She could not be this person, this myth of Skyrim, the Dragonborn, the thane of oh so many holds.
So many things were expected from her, so many things were required from her. And they did not stop. Those things did not know how to stop.
Ulfric had made it clear that the Civil War needs her, that the Stormcloaks need her. Tullius did not seem to understand the Power of the Voice, even though Legate Rikke had explained it to him, but he knew of her prowess in battle and knew that she would be a wonderful addition to the Legion. And Elenwen, that Thalmor witch, had ordered her to not stick her nose in Thalmor business, for if they capture her, they would surely behead her this time.
She had left the Companions with Vilkas in charge as Harbinger. She had declined the position of the Arch Mage at the College of Winterhold, and had tasted the life of a thief, but could not stomach it. She was glad she had made no contact with the Dark Brotherhood. Who knows what would have happened then? She did not dare think about it.
As she finally stepped on the steps of High Hrothgar, she collapsed, her right hand clutching her chest, as a silent cry escaped her mouth. A stream of tears fell down her face. She was tired, very tired and wanted peace and to have nothing do to with the world.
After she had no more tears to shed, she stood up and staggered towards the door of High Hrothgar.
The citadel was dark and quiet, one of the Greybeards meditating some feet away from her. A small smile graced her lips as she sat, her back hitting the wall. She smelled the scent of candles and wet stone, and sighed.
If only she could remain locked up in here forever and never go down.