It's advised that you read the story before this called "Pyrophobia". If you haven't proceed at your own risk. You'll probably be lost forever in the confusion.

Man In The Mirror

The room is silent as the man approaches. Ulfric Stormcloak, the future High King of Skyrim, sits comfortably on his throne. He is not afraid of the stranger, nor any other threat through the four years since the war had turned in favor of his army. A man requesting an audience with the Jarl walks nearer to him, casting nervous looks around, his eyes pausing for a moment on a strange statue next to the throne: a Nord boy with a painted face and blue eyes, his dark brown hair falling to the middle of his back. He isn't dressed as the other soldiers, and instead wears a fitted armor made of dragon scales and a fox hide. If the man hadn't been able to see that the statue wasn't moving in the slightest, he would've thought it was another guard.

"What is your business here?" Ulfric asks, tilting his chin up and leaning forward.

"I have a message from General Tullius," The man says plainly, staring into the Jarl's eyes.

Ulfric quirks an eyebrow, "What would that be?"

The movements in the next moments are too quick for the eye to follow. In the first moment, the man pulls out a knife and holds it under Ulfric's chin. The Jarl, however, looks passively at the weapon before the man lowers it slowly, feeling a blade on his own throat.

There is a low growl in the man's ear. It is only then that he realizes that the statue is no longer standing proudly by the Jarl's throne, but is holding the knife to his neck. He feels chipped claws from the free hand of his attacker digging into his skin, breaking it easily and causing streams of red to erupt and drain down, across his chest.

He hears a chuckle from the Jarl, "Very good reflexes, Kit."

The knife jerks across his skin, and he is released. He falls to his knees, looking up at the smiling face of the Jarl he'd tried to kill. His last sight is Ulfric commending his young guardian, and a fanged smile aimed at him. Then there is darkness, and the room disappears.

BREAK

"A job well done," Ulfric said, patting me on the shoulder. I still had my fangs bared at the assassin as he died on the floor, but one of the guards came and took the body out as soon as he stopped moving. "I never have to worry with you around."

I nodded. It had been four years since I'd joined my Jarl's army, but my speech had never really recovered. I hadn't spoken since reciting my oath.

Despite my Jarl's praising of my abilities, my heart refused to melt. I could feel my old self locked up somewhere beneath the layers of death and torture, but beating on the walls of ice hadn't helped him. If it weren't for the short moments of clarity I had, looking in my mirror and momentarily recognizing my own reflection in the glass, I would think my old self had died off completely.

I looked at my Jarl with emotionless eyes, brushing back my long hair as it got in the way of my eyes. He nodded, looking rather pleased with my work, and excused me.

"You may retire for the night, Kit. We'll call you if you're needed."

I won't be. The body of the assassin will be carried out of the city, and there won't be another attack. Even if someone is stupid enough to try and kill the Jarl, his associates are smart enough to see a demonstration when they see it.

I nodded, bowing to my Jarl before I turned away. As I walked to the steps, I was saluted by the surrounding guards. They slammed their fists into the hearts of their armor and muttered "Dovahkiin" as I passed. When I reached the steps I saluted the captain lazily and walked the rest of the way to the first landing. Upon leaving the sight of my superiors and soldiers, my balance shifted and I fell in front of the door of my bed chamber. I hefted myself to the door knob and entered the room, quickly shutting out the world before anyone could see me.

I laid on the floor of my bedroom, not even bothering to pull myself onto the bed. I looked up at the ceiling, wishing I could see outside. I couldn't count the days since I'd been outside—I hadn't left since my last Stormcloak quest, and that had been months before.

I sighed and crawled to my bed, resigning to my usual fate of leg failure when my Jarl wasn't watching. As soon as I closed my eyes, exhaustion swept over me and I was dead to the world in moments.

Then the nightmare, the one I have had every night since my death, rears its ugly head to ruin my dreamless slumber.

I stood at the foot of a hill, looking on to the horizon as the sun set. The sky turned blood red and the moons came out, shining down and making the ground below me turn silver. I looked up at the raised land before me to see what I always have in this dream: six large stakes protruding from the ground, each holding someone I loved. There was Mother and Father in the foreground, telling me that it wasn't worth the sacrifice—to save the others before them. Then there was Gerdur, Hod, and Frodnar in a bunched up second row. Hod was silent, his head bowed in misery and shame that he couldn't help his family. Gerdur had tears rolling down her face, struggling to free herself and reach her child, who was crying for her and for me to save him.

And then, behind all the rest, tied to the tallest stake, was Ralof. He didn't beg for me to save the others, nor did he beg that I save him. He didn't even worry over his sister or her family. He watched me with dark, careful eyes, before he took his judgment. Before he said the words that would haunt me forever.

"I loved you Godrael," He whispered. But I could hear it, over the begging and the crying, I could hear it. "I loved you, and you left me to die."

There are no tears from him, just the one solitary truth that he repeats over and over. "I loved you."

"Why didn't you tell me before?" I yelled. "I didn't know! I would've done something, but I didn't know! You didn't tell me until I was fucking dead inside!"

He looked me in the eyes, "I loved you."

I looked him in the eyes, my reply weak and shaking, "I didn't know."

"Dovahkiin?"

Thankfully, I'm awoken by a fellow soldier. I sat up in bed shakily and he hurried from the door to help me up.

"He didn't give a name," The soldier said, his hand on my shoulder for support. "But he looked rather young to be travelling by himself, especially since the rebellion is in full swing."

I thought about anyone young—or, younger than me, at twenty-two—that would have the guts to travel across a warring nation just to see me.

"There was no escort," He said. "And no cart. He claims to have walked from…" The soldier made an irritated noise. "I can't remember. I just know whatever it was is very divided. That's why we had trouble believing him when he said he was on our side."

It couldn't be Lotus or Citin. They were both from across the Skyrim border and wouldn't know much of anything about the war. They wouldn't have known to say they were with the Stormcloaks, or what the names of any villages were.

"Would you like me to send him in or would you like to get dressed first?"

I didn't trust my legs, so I waved for him to send in the guest. The soldier saluted me and turned away, opening the door.

"He'll see you now." The soldier left, and I looked ahead without turning towards the door. The sound of it shutting told me that I'd been left alone with whoever it was.

"Uncle Godrael?" Frodnar asked, his voice deeper than I remembered. I turned to him and noticed that, indeed, he had changed in the last four years. He was much taller and a bit thicker. His arms weren't as well-muscled as a regular adult man's, but he was still a child. His face bored a scar on the left cheek and his eyes looked wiser than I could've imagined.

I nodded.

"Godrael," He sighed in relief and collapsed beside my bed. "I've been searching all over. It wasn't until a few days ago that I heard that the Jarl had the Dragonborn as his personal guard. I came here as quickly as I could…But I had to tell the soldiers over and over for hours that I was on their side before they let me through."

"The…" My voice broke in disuse, my throat denying me proper speech for neglecting it for so long. "Jarl…Under-r…P-Prote-ection…"

"Uncle, you shouldn't speak if it hurts you that much," Frodnar said, clutching my arm and staring at me with worried eyes.

"F-i-ine," I muttered. "I'll be…Be-ee…F-f-fine…"

"Godrael, please," He put a slight pressure on my shoulder and laid me back on the bed gently. "You should lie down. You look tired."

"Al-lways…"

Frodnar smiled, "You always look tired?" I nodded and he chuckled. "I don't doubt it."

Suddenly, he frowned, and reached up to touch my hair, "You still have the grey streak…"

"Dovahkiin?" There was a knock at the door and Frodnar jumped. "Are you all right?"

Then, a distant scorning, "He doesn't talk, you bumbling idiot. How's he gonna answer you?"

"We're fine!" Frodnar yelled. I let out a laugh, which came out as more of a hiss. This seemed to please my soldiers, as they left, their footsteps and arguing echoing down the hall.

"So," Frodnar pressed his cheek to my mattress, drawing nonsense patterns into the quilt. "Do they take good care of you here?"

"Thi-…" I coughed. "So…"

"Think so?" He asked. "I bet they don't make stew like Ma does. Or sew like her. Or make you laugh like Da or Uncle Ralof."

Frodnar frowned and I gave him a sad smile, "Miss th-a-at…All…M-uch…"

"If you miss it so much, why don't you come back?"

I coughed again, "N-not the same…M-me. W-ou-ouldn't be f-fair to m-m-make you a-a-ll…"

"But we love you, Godrael," Frodnar said quietly. "We don't mind if you changed. That's the thing with family, you're kind of stuck with us forever. Uncle Ralof said he even wanted to marry you so he could take care of you."

Before I could let out another mangled answer, my door was forced open, a flustered soldier on the other side.

"Dovahkiin," He panted. "There's an attack…"

"Is it the Imperials?" Frodnar asked, standing at the ready and putting a hand on the sword strapped to his back.

"It's a dragon," The soldier said. "We've tried to subdue it…But it killed twenty of our men in one blow."

I got up and pulled on my armor, pulling back Frodnar when he tried to follow the soldier out.

"Y-You…Stay-ay. Da-angerous."

"I can handle it!" He argued. I shook my head and pulled one of the soldiers into the room.

"Lo-ook after…H-i-im. He…Doesn't le-eav-ve."

She looked slightly surprised at my broken and stuttering voice, which she had never heard before, but agreed to make sure that Frodnar stayed in the room. I rushed out, axe in hand, beside my soldiers. Only when we'd left the safe walls of the city behind did I see the dragon.

It was bigger than any other dragon I'd fought before. It was bronze in color and, from what I saw of the ground and fallen men, had breathed both fire and ice over the land. It barred its teeth and growled, moving closer to us before taking off into the sky.

"Watch out!" It took only a moment for me to realize to whom the warning was directed at. Soon enough, I was on the ground, a dragon above me and glaring into my eyes. I looked right back, no longer fearing death after I'd felt it once. The dragon didn't even notice my hand as it gripped a dagger until the blade was buried in its neck.

The beast shrieked, flailing around as I moved quickly to end it and keep more of my men from being hurt. I jumped on its neck, still thrashing, and grabbed my axe from my back. I locked my legs around the dragon's neck and gripped my weapon with both hands, bringing it down with all my strength to break through its skull. There was another horrifying sound from its throat and with all the strength the beast had left, it tossed me off of its neck and into the air. I didn't have time to shout or scream before I hit the ground with a sickening thud. Just as the edges of my vision went black, I heard the shout of a familiar voice that should've been nowhere near me.

And the world went dark.

END

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