(Disclaimer, I don't own any references like characters or places or actions that take place in the original Skyrim: The Elder Scrolls. Legit I literally own nothing like stocks or shares, I only own a copy of the game. Plus you'll come to find that because this is a fanfic that I've changed some things such as faction alignments and possibly existing factions and may have even made some new ones. With everything I've planned out for this story I wasn't even sure if I should've published on fanfic or fiction because so much is changed but maps and history prior to the events of Skyrim I kept the same. Should also be noted that I'm not really consistent in publishing and working so Chapters will come painfully slow unless I get hit with some die hard feels to write. This is my first story to be going up on fanfic and I gladly welcome the criticism as most would. K, finale thing I need to mention, I think, my writing/word choice doesn't really match up with what might be said in Skyrim. It's definitely more of a modern style spliced with Skyrim dialect. Without further ado, enjoy! )

Prologue

(Thurdas/11th of Mid Year/4E 184)

In the lands of Skyrim, in the hold of Markarth, lay a dying Khajiit, death, may it be common in any land, this Khajiit's death was different. The Khajiit lay on an old feather bed ladened with it's sweat and blood. The room quiet except for the laboured breaths coming from the Khajiit. The cat's fur damp from the exertion it experienced over the past hour. But even though the cat felt much suffering physically, mentally, this was the joyous moment of its life.

The cat felt something grab and hold it's left hand, responding by turning its head towards the source.

Holding its hand, sitting in a old rocking chair, was her husband. His middle-aged face scarred with the exertion of work and battle. His hands of a different manner, soft and smooth but strong with the touch of a warrior. His eyes staring straight into her's, exposing many different emotions, pain, joy, love, fear, wonder. But his face still blank, he still would not share his emotions, his weakness, the ability to not share.

"How are you feeling?" he started

"Not as good as others," she responded "but still hanging on."

She knew that she wasn't going to make it, she would end up just like her mother. The Irony that it was, she killed her mother, and now her child would kill her. She gave a short and sudden chuckle only to receive a twitch of the face by her husband. Could he tell that she had lost too much blood to keep her body going. Or would she die with her husband crying at the side of her dead body in the morning.

"Do you remember what we talked about for the last month?" she said

"How could I forget?"

"You will do it won't you," she said "she should not have to bear the pain that I beared."

"You know I'd do anything for you."

She knew he'd keep his word on that, she could still remember the time he proved his love for her. She had received a letter the day previously that her father had died in Windhelm. After telling him he got his closest friends and some horses and they rode, camped, and hunted their way to Windhelm over the course of 5 days. When it would have taken her at least a week or two. Then there was a multitude of situations where he had expressed his love for her through his actions.

But today would be the ultimate action of love, the action of mercy and peace. When she would die by his hand she knew that she would learn two things. The pain that love brought and the true extent of his love. If he loved her as much to honor this request than her life would end as the greatest it could have been. She would also be spared the pain she endured now and granted peace amongst the gods. A request that she pictured most soldiers on the battlefields would seek.

As she finished the thought she felt her husband's hand start to quiver in her hand. Looking at his face, it was still blank, but not could be said for his eyes. His eyes showed grief and suffering, two types of pain he would have to carry for a better life to occur. A life where he could re-experience joy and happiness and all the other beautiful emotions. Just not with her but a blooded extension of what she was.

"It's ok," she gave a weary smile "It'll be just like getting stitches, short and painful."

He responded with a small chuckle understanding that one would say short and sweet, not painful. She closed her eyes as he reached to a pouch on his side to pull out a potion, of course not of the healing type. She was ashamed when the doctor had told her that magic could not fix the damage done, but fate had it in for her. As he popped the cork he raised the bottle to her lips, and she happily downed the contents, slowly the darkness from her closed eyes became even darker till it was eternal darkness. She could no longer feel, smell, see, or hear, it had been the end for her.

"But scars are forever" he said as her hand went limp in his. She may be gone but he now had a child to take care of and this was only a setback. He slowly and calmly crossed her hands and set them to full length down her body. He then left to the awaiting nurses and mages, informing them that she had passed. The nurses went into a motion of hugging each other and crying over the death of their mistress. The mages went to his sides and gave him words of assurance and comfort and telling him that if he needed them they would be there.

As the mourning went quite one of the nurses brought forth a bundle of cloth wrapped around a small form. Receiving the small bundle he looked into the exposed part to find two little eyes staring right back at him. A little cat face already covered with thin stringy hair and a small cat-ish nose was all he could see. All the sudden the little cat gave a big yawn, exposing her gums, already two sharp teeth about to break through the skin and into their designated positions.

"Well little Ashadon, it's just us two now." He told the little cat, even though she had no idea of what he said or meant. After that, he put on his heavy bearskin cape and wrapped the little bundle of joy inside it, and started to make his way through the long corridors of the keep. Once he made it to the kitchens he had the house cook prepare him a glass of warm milk to give the little baby. After trying a few times to get the cat to drink from the glass he finally got her to do it. When she was done, he thanked the cook and started for his chambers.

When he finally reached the corridor that led to his room he spotted a figure in robes lingering by his door, but continued his walk to the door.

"A trio no longer, can you believe it, after everything we've been through?" Her words made the man cringe inside, memories from their youth flooding back in a wave of nostalgia. But ale also hung in her words as he grasped the handle to the door.

"I'm just as disturbed as you, but now's not the time to talk."

"Will there ever be a time to talk?"

"Maybe, but my wife just died and I need to take care of my daughter."

"So did my sister, but you don't see me locking myself away."

"Well maybe you should go to your room, better yet, go to the storage room. Your kids shouldn't have to deal with their drunken mother."

"You honestly think a pair of twins could remember that night, when they were one, when their drunken mother mourned the death of her closest friend. Even your daughter won't remember what happened tonight." Her words hung in the air as he finally opened the door.

"Do you think it's a curse that'll we'll remember?"

"I think it's a blessing, I'll be able to remember everything about her up until she kicked me out. Her own daughter won't even remember her, she'll just have whatever we tell her." Yet he was the only one who knew her true death, what a bearden to carry.

"We'll talk more tomorrow" He closed the door and walked over to the crib him and his wife had built, but hesitated, instead of putting her into her crib, he went back to his own bed with his daughter and slide into the covers but with the feeling of loss. The loss of his favorite warm body and lover, Akila, how would he do it he thought before he became victim to the darkness of sleep with his daughter clutched to his chest.