AN: Yeah, so, sorry for the depressing chapter. I can't very well write an uplifting, heart-warming chapter when Deb and everyone around her is a complete emotional wreck. Hopefully there are enough "What? Woah" moments in here to counter-balance the "omgpain" moments.
Chapter 2 – Reality
The bath was soothing. Scrubbing gore off of my skin and out of my hair was liberating. Once I was clean, however, I had to face reality. All realities.
Ulfric Stormcloak was dead. An orc Dragonborn had killed him. There was a Dragonborn. I, too, was Dragonborn, maybe. I kept seeing the visions replay in my mind. Me, flying through the sky, being injured by magic, my bare dragon bones in a heap in the market square.
For a brief moment, I was that dragon. Viinturuth, he was called. He was not an ancient dragon, not as ancient as others, anyway, but he was old. He hated humans, elves… anything not dragon. He served a black dragon named Alduin – the same black dragon that had attacked Helgen, I realized. Viinturuth wanted to hear the crunch of our bones against his teeth. I shuddered at the thought.
My mind wouldn't stop running a mental marathon. Foreign words, the dragon's words, learned from its memories that I had experienced all played through my mind. They came in sets. Images of the words and phrases flashed in my mind's eye. They were written strangely, in letters unlike the English or Norren alphabet. Oddly, they looked like cuneiform. I understood the words' meanings as I saw and heard them spoken in a dragon's voice in my head.
Ro. Yol. Nir. Fus. Shul. Laas. Dah. Toor. Yah.
I knew. I understood. I learned from the dragon whose soul had merged with mine, or perhaps was "eaten" by mine. The dragon's thoughts were no longer something I was privy too, however, and I figured that whatever energy he carried with him was now gone, or perhaps had been dominated by my own soul, or something like that.
Yol Toor Shul was a phrase Viinturuth had spoken. Slashes, dots, triangles and lines made up the letters. The phrase meant Fire Inferno Sun. I understood that uttering these words not only caused the air to combust, it brought forth the very essence of dragons, dragonfire – the very thing that brought dragons into existence. Dragonfire could destroy dragons as well as any other enemy. I knew this. I felt it.
Laas Yah Nir was being whispered in my mind as a near-constant undertone to the other phrases. Life Seek Hunt. Diagonal, vertical, and horizontal lines faded in and out of my mind's eye. Unable to ignore the phrase any longer, I said it aloud. The words when spoken acted similar to the life detection spell Marcurio had taught me. All beings glowed red; I saw them through walls, and even the floor. In my dragon-memory I had hunted from the sky, searching for living beings from afar; nothing hid from my sight, not even mice burrowing in the earth. After I uttered these three words, the whispers went away.
Fus Ro Dah. Mostly vertical lines. It had been shouted by Ulfric repeatedly in the dragon's memory, and Viinturuth had spoken the words as well. Force Balance Push. The words caused the earth to shake, and caused bodies to tremble. I wondered if I could make bodies tremble.
I closed my eyes, willing the torrent of thoughts out of my mind. The whispers came back, adding again to the noise. My brain hurt. My eyes hurt. My hair hurt. If I had to describe the way my mind felt at that moment, I would have compared it to being in the front row of a heavy metal concert: strobe lights flashing, subwoofers vibrating, dissonant chords wailing, crowd moshing. My thoughts were too bright, too loud, too frequent and insistent, and they wouldn't stop. After a while it became a constant, steady din, a scrambled mix of light and sound. My brain was electronic static on an old television set and I couldn't turn it off.
I wished myself into another reality – a reality with no dragons, no Dragonborns, no gods, and no Daedra. For the first time in a long time, I thoroughly wished to be back in my own world where magic and the supernatural were just myths. Toilet paper, chocolate, coffee; my family, my friends, and my dog Sam. But all of this meant no Yrsarald, no Stenvar, no Marcurio, Bird, Flavia, Brelyna, or Wuunferth….
I shuddered, and wrapped my arms around my body. "Ow," I muttered. My breasts had become swollen with milk. I sighed, and left my mildly comforting bath to make a visit with Flavia.
. . . . . .
"I just… I can't believe he's dead," Bird said as I nursed Flavia. "He wasn't the best person in the world, but… the way he was killed…."
"It was awful, Bird. Horrible. Right in front of Yrsarald and me. Just… right there. Right there…."
"How is Yrsarald doing?"
My frown lines deepened; I could feel them. "I don't know. I have not seen him since…." Flavia was finished nursing and I held her up against my chest, gently patting her back. "He nearly… lost himself when it happened. He tried to attack the orc, but he… he… I don't even know the words. The orc shouted, and became a ghost. Like a ghost. Nothing hit him. Arrows went through him. And Yrsarald… Yrsa, he… he just fell. Fell on the ground. He tried… he tried…." I hugged Flavia tightly against my shoulder. "I asked a guard before I came here, just now. They never found the orc. He vanished. Like a ghost…."
"And this orc, he's supposed to be Dragonborn?"
"That is what the guards said. They saw him, heard him shout words and kill a dragon south of the city. That is why he was angry with me, Bird. I am… I…," I started to cry. "I am like him. I felt the dragon… its… soul or… I don't know… I felt so much pain, and then there was… just bones. The dragon went into me, just like what the guards said about the orc and the first dragon. I am this… now… too…. Dragonborn…. Why? Why…." My voice weakened to a whisper. The static noise in my mind was still there. "I don't want this."
Bird walked over to me and picked up his daughter. He said nothing for a moment, but, after kissing Flavia's forehead, what he eventually did say hit me hard. "The gods do."
. . . . . .
I wanted to hide. I wanted to pretend none of the events of that day happened. I wanted to cuddle up with Yrsarald and cry, but he was busy with Galmar and Jorleif, no doubt wondering what to do now – if their cause was dead and the civil war was over, or if they could carry on without Ulfric Stormcloak.
So, instead, I sat with Wuunferth in his quarters as he examined the cut rock that I had pocketed from Calixto's house. Before the dragon attack, I had picked up the rock and had visions, confusing visions I couldn't make sense of. Turning the rock over and over in my hands before handing it to Wuunferth, I saw nothing.
"And you saw soldiers? Stormcloaks and Imperials?" Wuunferth asked me as he examined the cut rock. He hovered his left hand over the object, trying to sense whatever magical energies it harbored.
"Yes, in some kind of… temple, I think. There was snow outside, and a statue on top of everything. A woman, I think, with very big wings. I saw everything as… as the people there, through their eyes, just like the dragon vision…. Something called the soldiers inside the temple, and when they saw their enemy, they fought. I felt very… frightened during the visions, almost sick, like… like something evil was there."
Wuunferth gazed at me, his thumb smoothing over the various facets of the cut rock. "A winged statue… on top of a temple?" he asked.
"Yes…," I eyed him, wondering if he knew what I was talking about.
Wuunferth placed the cut rock on a table, stood, and walked over to a bookshelf. He skimmed the titles until he found what he was looking for, a red leather-bound book with gold leaf designs on the cover. He turned the pages, stopped, and then handed the book to me. "This statue?"
I took the book from Wuunferth and looked at the pages; both had sketches. The sketch on the left page was of a woman dressed in a skimpy robe, hands held out in front of her, grasping something round. The page on the right also had a sketch of a woman, again in a robe, but she had massive wings that were bigger than her body. The angelic woman's arms were raised above her head, and her hands were spaced somewhat apart from one another. In between her hands was something round with what were possibly rays of light radiating from it.
"This one," I said, pointing at the sketch on the right page. "I saw this. Who is it?"
Wuunferth advanced the page for me. The next page held some text; not much, but written clearly in large letters at the top of the page was one word: MERIDIA. I froze temporarily. A sketch of a sword bordered the left side of the text, and my fingers traced the inked design.
"Meridia," I said under my breath.
"Indeed," Wuunferth said, sitting back down.
I continued reading the passage about the Daedra, goddess, or whatever she truly was.
MERIDIA
"A single candle can banish the darkness of the entire Ginnil."
"What is 'ginnil'?" I asked Wuunferth.
"It is the emptiness from which life began."
"Oh…." I continued reading.
The Lady of Vosa Energies and Light, Once of the Magna Ge, Ruler of the Colored Rooms, Leader of the Dawn-bringers. Meridia hates all that vogat life and the living. Her bjothig day is the thirteenth of Morning Star.
I looked to Wuunferth for some clarification. "What is 'vosa'… 'Magna Ge'… 'vogat'… and 'bjothig'?"
"Hmm," he pondered a moment. "'Vosa' means, basically, unending. 'Magna Ge' are the children of Magnus. That's what the words mean, in the old language. Sometimes called Star Othen. They are the stars themselves – holes in the sky, letting in the light of Aetherius."
I stared at old mage. "Stars are not holes in the sky, Wuunferth."
The old mage stared at me. "Yes, they are, Deborah. Or, at least that is how they were first created."
"Then why is the sun so much bigger than the other stars?" I crossed my arms over my chest; I knew what I was talking about, here.
"The sun is not a star," was his answer.
"Yes, it is. They are made of the same things. This planet… what is it… Nirn? It is merely closer to THIS star, your sun, than any others."
"I agree – the sun is similar to the stars, but it is not a mere star. The sun is the hole in the sky left by Magnus after he created the world."
My face contorted as I tried to comprehend how a man as wise as Wuunferth could think such a thing. I held up my hands, not in defeat, but in protest. "No, no, I… no, Wuunferth." I rubbed my forehead to ease away a pending headache. "I can't talk about this now." My sigh was nothing short of weary. "What about the other words?" I looked again at the book page. "'Vogat' and 'bjothig'."
"'Vogar' is to go against something on purpose. 'Bjothar' is to… call something or someone to you."
Defy. Summon. Got it.
I closed the book and stared at nothing in particular. "She sent me visions."
"It appears as such, yes."
"Of her temple. Soldiers, killing and dying in her temple." I turned to Wuunferth. "Why?"
Wuunferth took the book from me and returned it to the bookshelf. "You are her Champion. She let you live your life for a while, and now, she is summoning you to her temple."
"To… what? I cannot fight soldiers."
"I doubt that is the reason. You said you felt something evil while experiencing the visions. My best guess is, as her Champion, Meridia wants you to destroy something evil in her temple."
I shook my head. "I cannot do that alone."
"No one said you had to go alone…."
I frowned, and looked away from my mentor. "Too much is happening, Wuunferth." I rubbed my temples, willing the constant din away. "I cannot leave here, not with Flavia still nursing, not with Ulfric dead and… and Yrsarald…." I covered my face with my hands momentarily and took in a deep breath. "Yrsarald needs me. I need him. It was too much already with just being Meridia's champion, but now I am… Dragonborn!? What do I do, Wuunferth? I wanted to return to the college, to graduate…." I looked over to the old mage and blinked the tears away. "What do I do now?"
Wuunferth let out a deep, slow sigh. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Wuunferth suggested, "Perhaps you should ask Meridia what you should do."
I stared at my feet and clutched the silver necklace that Wuunferth had given to me earlier that day.
"Magic," Wuunferth said.
"Hmm? What?"
"Magic," he pointed at the necklace around my neck. "You had asked what the necklace did. It is enchanted; it helps restore magical energies."
I looked at Wuunferth blankly for a moment before answering. "Like my mage's robe?"
He nodded. "Like your mage's robe. And this," my mentor handed back to me the cut rock that had somehow given me visions of Meridia's temple, perhaps sent by the Daedra-goddess herself, "this, I believe, is Meridia's Light, a piece of the Lady herself. It is shown in the sketches of her. I have not been to her temple in Haafingar, but I believe that stone is supposed to be held by her, by the statue." A small smile crept across the old mage's face. "I think the Lady of Light wanted you to find that rock, her rock. Perhaps it will bring you closer to her; perhaps, you can now communicate with her outside of your dreams."
I half-smiled for a moment, but soon grimaced yet again at the unending whispers in my mind. "And what about the dragon voices? I can barely hear my own thoughts."
"Perhaps they will fade with time. You may have always been Dragonborn, ever since coming here, but you only today took in the soul of a dragon. Rest, and see. If the voices get stronger, perhaps there is a reason." Wuunferth's kind smile faded and he somewhat slumped in his chair. He slowly shook his head. "A true shame, the loss of Ulfric. Some may be rejoicing but… not me. And for you, I imagine he could have given you advice about the dragon voices, and being Dragonborn."
"Because he trained with the… Greybeards, right?"
Wuunferth nodded. "He did, for many years. He himself might have been able to help you, but…." His sentence faded with his ponderings.
After a short while of sitting in silence, I stood and collected Meridia's rock. "I am going to go rest and spend time with Bird and Flavia, I think."
"Good, good…," was all the old mage said.
. . . . . .
Yrsarald finally came to bed late into the evening. I had been attempting to write something in my journal, but I barely got passed the phrase "Ulfric died today" when the visions and whispers of dragon words returned with force to my mind, demanding my attention. Thankfully, Yrsarald served as a distraction.
"There you are," I called to my partner. He had previously changed out of his bloodied uniform and into heavy winter clothes. "How… how is everyone? How are you?" It was a stupid question, I knew this, but I asked anyway. Yrsarald looked at me without any emotion written on his face; he said nothing. He then removed his clothing methodically, slowly, and then walked over to the washbasin and rinsed the day off of his face. "Yrsa?" I called, softly, watching him. He dried his hands and sank into bed next to me, and stared at his feet. He didn't look particularly sad, though I would have expected that. Rather, he looked shocked, like he had just run over Bambi with his truck. "Yrsa…," I called to him again.
"Hm? Yeah," he finally responded. "Ulfric is… prepared. For the funeral. Galmar may go to the camps tomorrow, after…." He cleared his throat. "Or maybe the next day. I don't know. Jorleif and I… we still have some work to do, but…." His muscles tensed.
"But?"
"But, I'm tired." He exhaled slowly, leaned in to kiss my cheek, and turned on his side to go to sleep.
I wanted to talk to Yrsarald about what happened. I needed to talk to him. But within moments, he was sound asleep, chuffing away. I stared at his large slumbering form, my jaw open in disbelief, tears welling in my eyes. Maybe it was selfish of me, but I needed him, and he had immediately cut off any possibility of any real conversation. My heart began to hurt as much as my head.
A knock then sounded on our bedroom door. It was Bird; Flavia was hungry. I settled down next to my friend in his bed with the baby at my breast.
Bird had tried to go back to sleep, but failed. "Do you think he's alright?" he whispered, shadows under his eyes highlighting his worry. Bird had done his best to stay positive, but reality had crept up on him.
"Marc is with Stormcloaks. He will be fine."
"But what if he isn't fine?" Bird leaned forward and hugged his knees. His angelic white-blond hair flowed over his shoulders. Flavia gurgled, signaling that she was full. Bird picked up his daughter and held her against his shoulder, his hand cupping her head as if it was a delicate flower. He pressed his tear-streaked cheek against the baby girl's forehead.
I realized then that Bird considered Flavia a part of Marcurio as much as a part of himself or me, her biological parents. I bit my tongue in order to stop crying.
After an awkward silence, I changed the subject, partially for Bird's sake and partially for my own. "Something is wrong with Yrsarald."
"Wrong?"
"I did not seen him all day… since Ulfric died. Since I…." I hugged my body. "I want to talk to him, hold him…. But he just went to sleep. He barely even looked at me."
"He's upset, Deb," Bird said. "His closest friend is dead, and… and you, well…." He frowned as he looked at me. "You're Dragonborn."
"I'm just me."
"Yes, you're you. You will always be you. But…." Bird stood from the bed, laid Flavia down in her bassinet, and sat again next to me. "Listen. I married Marc knowing exactly who and what I married: a mage who may have to… get into a few rough situations sometimes. I understood that. Now, Marc… he's an apprentice Court Mage, healing soldiers…. If he had ended up Dragonborn, too…." He leaned back against his pillow with a sigh. "Well, even as Court Mage, he'd still be here, sleeping in his own bed at night, but Dragonborn…." He turned to look at me. "He wouldn't be here. He wouldn't be mine."
My heart sank into my stomach. "Not yours? What do you mean?"
"The Dragonborn… belongs to everyone. To Skyrim. To Tamriel. They hunt and kill dragons, fight evil, win wars…. They are legends for a reason."
My frown deepened. "Like Talos…."
"Yes."
I sank back into Marcurio's pillow and snuggled up next to Bird. "Yrsarald wanted the white fence."
"What?"
White picket fence. I was already starting to cry. I entwined my fingers with Bird's. "He wanted a normal life. In my world, we say, 'a white fence' to mean a normal life. House, a fence around it, marriage, children…." A tear escaped and I wiped it away. "We both knew not everything would be normal…. There is a war, and he is… was Ulfric's advisor…. I am to be a soldier for Meridia…." I took a deep breath. "I think… both Yrsarald and I thought… thought that we would be at least a little normal. Maybe even have children. Marry…." My tears rolled onto Bird's shoulder. "Being… Dragonborn…. This means… not normal. Is… is he angry with me?"
"Not you, Deb, no. The gods, however…. I imagine he may be quite angry with the gods right now."
After a while of crying freely on my friend's shoulder, I sat up and dried my face. "I should go…. Even asleep, I can hold him…." I sniffled and wiped my nose. I turned to Bird and gave him a knowing look. "Don't worry, Bird. Marc will be back soon."
Bird put on a brave face, and nodded.
. . . . . .
I barely slept that night. The voices and images in my mind were too loud and too bright. I instead held the sleeping Yrsarald from behind – I was the "big spoon" for once – offering silent moral support. His warmth was one of the strongest comforts I had ever known, even without his arms around me. If I couldn't sleep, I was glad to at least have him to hold. I dozed off a few times only to be woken by the dissonant voices inside my head, but eventually with the help of some tea I was able to get some sleep.
When I woke up the next morning, Yrsarald was already gone. I voiced a small, whining sigh. I threw on my heavy, warm dressing gown, stepped into my buckskin slippers, and went to go see if Flavia was awake and hungry. She was.
After talking to Bird a bit more about my lack of conversing with Yrsarald, my friend reminded me that my birthday, my thirty-first, was only two-and-a-half weeks away. I had completely forgotten about it. I made a mental note, yet again, to make myself some sort of portable calendar to keep track of the dates instead of bugging Yrsarald, Wuunferth, or Jorleif all the time to look at theirs.
I felt very heavy that morning. Walking back to my room after Flavia's feeding, my slippers felt as if they were made of lead. I lumbered my way around my room, washing up and getting dressed, mind still stuck on the recycled thoughts of dragons, dragon words, and ponderings of what must be going through the minds of the Stormcloaks.
I cared little of what I looked like. I threw on my college robe, the unenchanted one that hadn't been painted with Ulfric's blood, slid on my fur boots, and tied up my hair in a messy sort-of-bun-thing. It was a difficult procedure to perfect without the use of elastic hairbands, but I eventually got the hang of it using a thin leather strip.
As I fiddled with said leather strip, I heard a clack behind me. Hands still above my head, finishing the tying of my hair, I turned to see nothing unusual. I finished my ambivalent hairdo and turned from the full-length mirror that Yrsarald had purchased a while ago for me – apparently I asked him too often how I looked and he thought he was doing me a favor by buying the thing; ironically, I noticed after a while that he used the mirror much more often than I did.
I was about to leave the room when I noticed Yrsarald's journal was on the floor, just in front of his night table. Soon after moving in with him, I had learned that he kept a dream journal – "Because my dreams are so realistic, I feel like I need to," he had said. The journal was open to a circular sketch and a description. I thought nothing of it, picked it up, and put it back on his night table. And then I realized – the sketch the journal fell open to looked familiar. I sat on the bed and opened the journal, searching for the page I had seen. It was the most recent entry. When I found it, my jaw dropped. The sketch was a circle comprising various designs, accented by little lines that perhaps indicated that the circle was glowing. Under the sketch and on the next page, Yrsarald had written:
Dark. Dead, headless draugr everywhere. Silent, except for a nynnig coming from the circle. Something is missing, but I don't know what. Someone is here with me, but the figure is too bright to see, and doesn't speak words, but I hear things in my head. For some reason I know it's Ulfric. I don't know why I think this. I can't see his face or hear his voice, but it's Ulfric. He's sad and angry, and telling me to do something, but without words. I don't know what he wants. All I know is that there is something missing from this dark room and that nynnig is giving me a headache. I have no idea what or where this room is.
The dream felt quick, and I woke up as Ulfric was shouting something at me, within my mind. I wish I knew what he said. I am sorry, brother.
I closed the journal and placed it again on his night table. I stared a while at the plain leather cover. The static inside my head then dimmed only to be replaced by a familiar humming.
"Saarthal," I whispered.
