Ten years.
It had been ten years since that day on the dam.
Ten years since the love of his life had been taken from him. Ripped from his arms. Murdered, by the monstrous legate Lanius, aptly named the monster of the east.
The Courier paced around the room. The Sink, as it had been named by the Think tank. It was a great day. The greatest day, in fact. The day he had been working towards for the last few years. And now it was almost time.
He stepped towards his power armor. A rugged suit of T-45d power armor he had fixed up specifically for this purpose. Increased agility thanks to overcharged servos. Faster movement speed, at the cost of lighter armor. But it shouldn't matter. Where he was going, even the lightest modern armor would seem like it had been forged by god himself. If there was a god.
Ten years. How had he spent that much time?
The first year was easy to remember, he thought, as he stepped up behind the power armor, opening the suit and stepping inside.
The first year was easy, because he hadn't done anything. Not anything that mattered, at least. He'd walked the Mojave, much like he had done before she had entered his life. After all that time, he barely remembered how it was to be alone, and he despised it. He'd helped those who needed his help, and watched as the NCR truly made their presence known in the wasteland. It hadn't taken them many months to fully take control of every single aspect of life in the Mojave. He'd cared then. Cared for the lives of every single person he crossed paths with. He'd solved the problems of anyone who asked, roaming the lands like some saint.
That was also when the dreams had started. It had barely been noticeable at first. Just a glimpse of a snowy landscape suddenly appearing in his dreams as he slept. A sudden remembrance of something he was certain he had never experienced in person, triggered by the slightest things, such as seeing the farmers working outside the McCarran airport. He'd suddenly see visions of farmers working fields of fresh dirt, with clear skies and trees in the distance. Visions of snow covering the lands, seen from high mountains. Visions that could not possible be his own memories.
That's how it had started. Since then it had only gotten worse.
The Courier waited as the suit finished its diagnostics. All systems operational. On the nearby tabletop, he went to pick up his sword and dagger. Her sword and dagger. He still remembered rinsing her blood off the dagger. It had taken him most of a day, not because the blood had stuck, but because he could not get himself to remove the last real evidence that she had even existed. The weapons could have been manufactured, but the blood… that was her.
The second year had marked the beginning of change. While the visions had increased in duration, vividness and frequency, there had also been more tangible, real life events. For instance, he had travelled to the Sierra Madre Casino to witness its grand opening... two hundred years late. What he had foolishly hoped would be a chance to relax, had instead become another fight for his life. Forced to work with three odd companions, he had been tasked with finding a way into the casino vault by the twisted former Brotherhood of Steel elder, Father Elijah.
The Courier had gotten his revenge. Elijah had met his end, ironically locked within the very vault he had been so desperate to break into, doomed to stay there for the remainder of his days. The three companions had not been much luckier, each of them meeting their end at the Couriers hand. They could not be trusted. No one could, as he came to learn.
Sliding the sword and dagger into the sheaths he had attached to the suit, the Courier made his way through the Sink, throwing a last look around the room he had lived in for the past few years, and headed for the elevator. Spending so much time here, he had restlessly scoured the Big MT for all of the personality holotapes that had been scattered through the area, bringing the quarters to life around him. Despite all his efforts, nothing could fill the void in his heart.
He'd joined the Happy Trails Caravan Company, heading to trade in New Canaan. Another attempt at getting away from the Mojave, getting away from all the memories. A chance to start over. Instead, after a back breaking journey, he'd been thrown into yet another petty conflict. He'd met the previously great Malpais Legate, now known simply as the 'Burned Man' after the fate he had suffered at the hands of Caesar himself. Joshua Graham was his true name.
The simple tribes had reminded him too much of the Legion. Its foundations were lain in tribes just like the White Legs, the Sorrows and the Dead Horses. Reminded him of the very people that had taken his love from his arms, murdered her in front of him. How could he possibly lend his aid to any of them? Instead, they had fallen at his hand. Every single one, until there were no more for him to hunt and track down. The canyons of Zion had been their homes, and they had known them well. But not well enough to hide from the Courier's wrath.
Whenever he dreamed, the visions would take over. What had first seemed to be nothing more than sporadic glimpses into a foreign world, had now taken such root in him that he had no doubts they were memories passed into him through the amulet. Her amulet, and her memories. He witnessed her rise to power, from nothing more than a simple thief caught in the wrong place at the wrong time, to a leader and crusher of armies, spearheading the fight for unity in her homeland.
The Courier stepped into the elevator, carefully manipulating the power armor gloves to press the button, sending it down towards the Big MT research facility, where the Think Tanks were sure to be waiting for him.
Next, he had been lured to the Big Mountain Research Facility, where the 'Think Tanks', what remained of the greatest pre-war scientists, had experimented on him, torn him apart and put him back together as just as much man as machine. He'd played along with their demented minds long enough to regain every piece of himself. He had confronted them in the end, fully intending to destroy them, make them pay for what they had done to him. Yet as his finger curled around the trigger, an idea sprung into his mind.
Teleportation. It was what had brought him to the Big MT, and what had once upon a time brought Lyannah to the Mojave. If ever there was a chance for him to rejoin his love, this would be it.
And so, he had spared the robotic scientists. In return for their lives, they would build him a machine. A machine, that could transport him to her world. Skyrim.
They had run tests on her amulet. Examined it to the best of their abilities, searching for any clue as to how they could teleport him across dimensions. And they had found it.
Magic.
They had called it an 'until then undiscovered type of radiation', but the Courier knew. It was magic. Just as the strange Daedric 'prince' Azura had said, the amulet would let him be reunited with Lyannah.
And so, the Think Tanks set to work. While they toiled, there was one last journey for the Courier to endure in this world.
The elevator arrived finally at the bottom floor, and the doors slid open. Step by heavy step he marched into the spheric chamber, at the center of which stood their contraption. The Courier did not presume to understand how it worked, or even if it did. Is was probably as likely to kill him, as it was to function, but he did not care. He could no longer endure having Lyannah seem so close, her memories nestled within his mind as if they were his own, all while in reality being worlds apart. Now, he would either join her or perish.
Finally, all of the clues he had discovered through his journeys, led him to The Divide. There, he walked a lonesome road through the ravaged lands, fighting the horrors that lurked around every corner, until finally he came face to face with Ulysses, a ghost from the past. The Courier learned that it was himself who had caused the devastation in The Divide. Inspired by this, Ulysses sought to 'reshape' the world by utilizing the still active nuclear missiles, in a long forgotten bunker.
One last time, the Courier had saved the Mojave, and New Vegas. He had destroyed Ulysses beneath the flag of the old world. And he felt nothing. It had felt like nothing more than an obstacle in his path. A bump on the road.
Only for the briefest moment did it strike him that he had become as ruthless as Lyannah had been when they first met. Now he understood her. The bitterness. The anger.
He had walked that lonesome road back, returning to the Big MT. As if guided by a divine hand, the Think Tanks had made great progress. Soon it would be time for him to leave.
That had been months ago. Now, he stood in front of the great machine, watching it whirring up and preparing the portal that would take him away from everything he knew, and into a foreign world.
He was ready.
The Think Tanks stood by the side, for once keeping quiet. He considered once again destroying them before he left… he had no more use for them. But then, that would be pointless, and they had served him well in the construction of the machine. They would live.
He drew in a stern breath of air, steeling himself. The machine buzzed and span, a blue glow emanating from the middle of it. Arcs of electricity shot across the room, and with a sudden flash of light, a the very air seemed to tear open, leaving a man sized rift.
It was time.
The Courier stepped forward with determination. He had waited long enough. A small smile formed across his lips, and with a final step he leapt through the portal.