Chapter Four
When the thousand years are ended

The talk of dragons arose only months after my mother left. It was the eighteenth of Last Seed and life had been progressing slowly, with only petty gossip floating around the market stalls and the war raging slowly and steadily on. The grey skies of Riften were grey as grey could be and life was as it was. The months leading up to the rise of dragons were routine. Each morning we had breakfast cake and milk, and each afternoon I attended Temple with Evesa. During the evenings I supped with Runa and we walked around the shops until it was time to go to sleep. Each night I had the same dream over and over and when I woke up I would try to forget the face that haunted it.


I tried to remind myself that she would never wait for me. I wasn't waiting for her. I wouldn't; not this time. I knew she had left, and though I never really knew why, I promised myself I wouldn't question it. I forced myself not to be reminded of Balimund's throaty laugh with each heavy clanking against steel. I forced myself not to think of all those secret glances when I passed by the red-haired man selling his false elixirs. I closed my eyes and cleared my mind when the Blue of flowers caught my eye. There was a time when Mother was everywhere. But now she was gone.


On the eighteenth, it was hot outside. The air was sticky, the humidity frizzing my hair. I was with Evesa in the temple of Mara, the both of us doing our own reading. She was absorbed in her text, flipping pages religiously, tearing into each word with her eyes. I however, could only concentrate on the conversation happening before us. They spoke in frantic whispers, but I'd grown accustomed to listening to words never meant for my ears.

"Dragons! Dragons are back, Dinya!" Maramal cried to his wife who was picking up the discarded trash from the earlier sermon. "Skyrim is no longer safe."

"Skyrim has never been safe, my love," Dinya sighed, comforting Maramal with a touch to the arm. "Have faith in the Empire."

"You know the extent of the Stormcloaks! Ulfric killed the High King! They must be behind this dragon—situation!" Dinya's mouth former a line and she picked up a broom, proceeding to sweep the floor.

"That was years ago, and the Stormcloaks are fools. How could they possibly have control over dragons?" Maramal slumped down slightly, his face full of worry.

"Whatever it is, dragons are not a good sign. Mara save us."


On my mother's name day, I had still not heard from her. Runa and I sat in my bedroom that afternoon; she'd told me she only wanted to stay in. I believed she was avoiding one of the orphan boys. Lately she'd been receiving a lot of attention from them and I was not surprised. Her skin was glowing from the summer darkness and she oft wore her golden hair loose, left to drape across her shoulders like a curtain of smooth honey. Her once-round face was beginning to harden but her blue eyes remained the same: bright, youthful and naïve.

We were sewing. Runa was terrible at it, but she was determined to learn. Her stitches were large and crooked and her fingers were fumbly and unsteady. Runa lacked the patience and concentration to perfect this skill, but nonetheless she was proud of her 'patch', as she called it. It had started out as a change purse but she'd sewn one side too many.

"Next," she began, "I want to make a tunic."

"You hate wearing tunics," I reminded her, placing my needle aside as she dropped her own. "You said they make you feel frumpy and gross."

Picking up her dropped pin, she replied, "I don't remember that."

"Well you said it," I informed her as she cursed herself for pricking her finger once again.

"Doubt it. And it wouldn't be for me." I frowned a tad, taking her patch and needle to put next to mine. "It would be for Francois."

A blush caressed my face as she said his name. I wondered how she could say it like that. Steady, careful, confident.

"W-What?" I stuttered. "Francois is gone; he's been gone for a while."

"Noo... Constance told us a week ago. Francois and his mother are visiting next month." I was confused. I wondered why she had not told me before. She knew that I had cared about him. I said nothing but I wished that she would have told me before. I wished he had told me.

"Wait," Runa said, her ears perking up the way they always did when she got excited. "You still like him." She giggled as my blush deepened.

"I-I do not!" She laughed harder as she went on teasing me. She roared in hysterics. I don't think she realized it wasn't reciprocated.

When she calmed, I still felt irritation in my chest, but she did not note on my silence. "It's crazy though... how everything went down with the dragons and everything? Is it even safe for travel?" She paused. "I'm kinda glad though... that Ulfric survived." I looked up at her. She looked towards the ground with unease.

"You're a Stormcloak?" I asked.

"I don't know, Loralei. I just... At least they think for themselves." When I said nothing, she continued. "But I guess it doesn't matter. Not now— with the dragons." Silence followed. Like always I found nothing I could say.

"Have you heard from your mother?" I shook my head. Runa smiled slyly to herself as if something witty had crossed her mind. "Dragons are back— when will your mother be?"

I didn't laugh.


Dovahkiin.


On the first of Heart-Fire, summer was still clinging on to the world. It was early in the evening and the skies of Riften were turning from grey to pink. The Bazaar shops were beginning to close, and the citizens of Riften were headed not home but to the Bee and Barb for a drink and a song. Runa was playing tonight, something many citizens had grown accustomed to. She told me she was paid three coins for each song. By now, I assumed she'd had at least three hundred septims stashed away. Though I'd always made an effort to watch her play, tonight I didn't feel like hearing her music. I wanted only to sit on my favourite barrel and watch the colours change in the sky. I was alone by eight fifteen, even the beggars turning to the inn to evade the looming evening chill that forewarned the fall. It was cold, I realised but I decided not to feel it. Perhaps it would prepare me for a long, cold winter, harsher than the last.

The moment seemed almost picturesque, with the town completely vacant and the sun setting faster and faster. The cool breeze shoved and pulled on the fallen leaves, and I cringed at the sound of them sweeping across the hard ground. The store signs rattled and creaked from old age and lack of upkeep. All around me I felt eeriness, but somehow I was not compelled to follow my neighbours into the inn. I was waiting for something. I didn't know what and I didn't know when, but like a disciple awaiting forgiveness, I was patient. I did not have to wait long though, for when the sun was hidden behind the city, and when the critters fell to sleep, I heard it, and so did the rest of the world.


It was almost like a whisper; one that travelled with the wind or the rivers or the trees. Like a whisper that could shake the ground and rattle the world. The word which was spoken or whispered or yelled seemed not to matter, because everyone understood what it really meant. Skyrim had shifted, and perhaps this was the newborn crack in the world that would shatter everything, or perhaps it was the bandage that would heal the wounds we already created.


It was not long before the whispers of the Dragonborn were upon us.


I received the letter only four days after it was sent. A courier; a man with thin clothes and an ugly hat had come up to me in haste.

"Here, for you," he said, holding out to me the enclosed envelope, "from Elaira." I took the letter hurriedly, grabbing it from his hands. He was off before I could even open the envelope. It took me a moment to unfold the paper in my shaking hands. It was like holding an explosive in my palm, and any button, any movement could set it off, but when I finally opened it, I couldn't tell if I was relieved or disappointed with the lack ofboom. I tried to look for some sign that this couldn't be real. It had been too long. She was gone. But it was here: all the signs that anyone needed. The paper was thick and subtly off-white, but the same kind Mother had always liked to use. She used blue ink instead of black, a luxury only the rich could afford. Her hand was messy and masculine, scrawled quickly and almost crookedly. It was her, I knew it. I only hesitated for a moment before I read its contents.


4th of Heart-Fire, 4E 206

Daughter,

I know I have been gone for my longest now, and am sorry I have not returned or written, but I have been away. Where does not matter, so do not ask me.

I am the Dragonborn.

Keep it to yourself; burn this letter. You won't be able to reach me yet, but I will write again soon.

Yours,
Elaira AuvreaArnith
Thane of Solitude


My eyes ran hurriedly across the page and when it was over, a sense of numbness washed over me. It was like the calm before the storm, where I tried to feel something but there was nothing, not a single emotion washed through me. But when I closed the paper once more and looked around me, I felt everything pile up inside of me. It started from my toes as I remained like a statue, and from there it rose until my body felt heavy. I couldn't pick apart what I was feeling, and I was at a loss of breath. Panic vibrated through me as I looked all around me, and I forgot where I was. I was desperate for something, anything, but everything was blurred and my senses were halted. I searched desperately for the market stalls, I longed for the smell of baked bread diluted by the city pollution. I waited for the buzz of the town, the grumbling of people and the hammering of the anvil, but I couldn't see or feel anything and the more I searched for it, the more was lost.

I stood there, in the middle of the city whose name I could not remember, clenching onto the piece of paper that I couldn't even understand, and I would have stood there forever, in confusion and daze for it not a hand placed gently on my shoulder that stole me out of my reverie.

"Loralei." I blinked and everything was back. Nothing had really changed.

"Runa," I replied. Her worried eyes searched me, and my response was only to hand over the thick, off-white piece of parchment in my hands.


"Are you going to burn it?" Runa began as she took a seat next to the fire. We'd somehow shifted to Honeyside, Runa feeling the need to speak in private. The house was empty, but warm and only the slight smell of the cold lingered. It was the late afternoon now and market stalls closed early for a light shower was falling from the sky.

"I don't know," I replied, standing next to the cooking pot, where I'd started up a stew. Lydia would soon be home, and it was my turn to cook.

"She did tell you to…" Runa reminded me, gazing into the flames, almost timidly. When I said nothing, she continued, "Are you going to show Lydia?" I had not thought about it, as it had seemed almost like a reflex. Of course I would show her the letter. She would want to know the whereabouts about the great Thane Elaira!

"Yes," I answered steadily. "She'll know what to do."

"That smells amazing," Runa cooed, taking in a deep whiff. I would have thanked her but politeness was not quite on my mind. "What is it?"

"Stew… Rabbit and pheasant," I responded, setting aside my wooden spoon for the moment.

Silence filled the congested space and I somehow became aware of my breath. In and out; it seemed too easy to forget.

"Are you glad?" The silence shattered as she questioned once more. My only answer was a look. Before Runa began to open her mouth once more, I spoke first.

"Not every silence needs to be filled." She did not speak for the remainder of the evening.


20th of Heart-Fire, 4E 206

Loralei,

I owe you some explanation. I know it was not fair… Everything I have done has not been fair, but I still must explain what has happened. I was crossing the border and ran into Ulfric and his men. The Imperials captured us. I was on the chopping block when the dragon came. He was great and black and I was afraid. It is almost ironic how he saved me—and Ulfric. What happened after has been a blur. All I know now is that I have a great many duties and honours to fulfill; ones I cannot tell are a blessing or a curse. I have been appointed Thane of Whiterun, and that is only the least of my worries.

Dragonborn they call me now.

It is strange. I do not feel different with this new discovery. The first time we killed a dragon, everyone looked at me in awe. They looked as if something amazing or horrifying had just happened. And perhaps something amazing and horrifying has happened, but whenever I slay a Dragon, I feel the same. When I think about it, I know I should feel more complete in some way or at least feel a loss. But I don't and I cannot. I've never so yearned for more wisdom—more truth.

I am going to climb the 7000 steps. I do not know what awaits me on High Hrothgar, but I believe it is my calling. I am staying at the inn in Whiterun, and after my pilgrimage I shall return there. You may write to me if that is what you wish.

I hope you are well. Pray for me, love, and let the divines guide you.

Give my best to Housecarl Lydia and Runa.

Yours,
Elaira Auvrea-Arnith
Thane of Solitude
Thane of Whiterun


25th of Heart-Fire, 4E 206

Mother,

I don't know what to say, because I do not understand. You are Dragonborn. I am the dragonborn's daughter. That is all I know, and all I can say… But Runa has showed me a song and I hope this excerpt may be of aid.

"And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold, that when brothers wage way come unfurled!

"Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound, with a hunger to swallow the world! But a day shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies, will be silenced forever and then! Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw, Dragonborn be the savior of men!"

However, I must congratulate you on becoming Thane of Whiterun. I am only saddened that you must be away for so long. Riften longs for your return, and I am hopeful that you will concede to the city's yearning. However, I hope your pilgrimage is a safe one and I hope those steps do not tire you as they might others.

Luck to you, Mother.

Cordially Yours,
Loralei
Daughter of the Dragonborn

P.S. You asked for my prayers but I've not stopped praying.


Runa sighed as she lounged on her bed. Constance had taken the boys on a fishing trip, and the orphanage was empty. Runa had been invited on the trip but she had opted out, saying that slave work was beyond her. "You're so lucky."

"How am I lucky?" I asked, sweeping the floors because Runa would not. She did not protest (neither would Constance). Ever since three new boys had arrived during the summer, Constance had been very overwhelmed and the state of the orphanage was not as prim and proper as it once was. Constance made an effort to keep the place in order, assigning chores and such, but as the naïve say and the adults agree, boys will be boys. And of course, Runa will be Runa.

As Runa sat in her unmade bed, with her duvet at the foot, the rain clattered against the wood and the fire burned on.

"You have everything…" Runa said silently, looking everywhere but my eyes. I set aside the broom for a moment before moving towards my friend, sitting on the bed across from her.

"I don't, Runa," I stated steadily.

"You're rich, you have a family and Lydia… you're smart and pretty. Your mother is the Dragonborn!"

"Don't be a fool," I said to Runa quietly. I couldn't tell if my heart was slowing or if it was clattering against my chest. "I don't have a mother." There was not a pause, for there never was with Runa. She leaned over and gently took my hands into hers. They were clammy and warm and soft and reminded me of someone long gone. She looked at me now, her eyes gazing widely and wildly into mine.

"Me neither." Despite everything, I laughed with her, so hard until my stomach hurt and I forgot why I was laughing in the first place.


When Francois came into town, Runa and the boys ran hurriedly to see their friend. They laughed and they talked and they told stories. I watched on from my barrel, as the old friends reunited. Francois looked older, cleaner and wiser. His mother seemed happy and together they were content. He sent me and wave and a smile and I did my best to return it, my own familiar blush unable to find me. He went off and they played together, and I felt quite content to be forgotten.

We did not speak for the remainder of his stay, but Runa heartily gave him a change purse, only three sides sewn this time.


It was always easy for me to see what others could not. I never really wanted to, if I'm honest, but that never stopped me. I didn't want to see what people were really feeling. I didn't want to glimpse into peoples' pasts. I didn't want to know their stories and their sorrows. I never really cared. I wanted to hide behind a misty veil, ignorant to what might be behind it.

People always want to know and to learn the insides of a human being. They want to know thoughts and secrets and feelings that don't belong to them. A heart, a brain; blood, bones: it's never enough. They search their neighbours' hands and travelers' faces, but they still find nothing. When I looked at a strangers face, I saw their mothers' warm embrace and their fathers' cold hands. I looked at them and I felt their touch, both warm and cold. But I didn't want it. I didn't want to know their secrets or their feelings. I didn't want to know their mother's name. I did not want to memorize their laugh or hear it again. I didn't want to. I did not care.

Perhaps there was something that went wrong with me, somewhere between my conception and up until 4E 206, but was it really so surprising that I never asked why? Was it so shocking that I never wished to hold your hands or listen to that wise advice made for another time? It wasn't to me. I'd never tried to figure out the reason for my disregard, but I really need you to understand that I never knew the reason either. It might be that I felt so much, that feeling what others feel was bringing me to my maximum capacity. Or maybe it is that I just did not feel at all, not the way I was supposed to.

I laughed and I smiled and I used to cry. I blushed and I dreamed and I loved. But it was almost like I was slowly backing away from reality until I was outside of my own body, and I watched from behind eyes that no longer belonged to me. My skin still felt warmth and the chill and the rain falling from the Heavens, but it was skin that wasn't mine. Loralei was not me. I wasn't a little girl who roamed around and sat on barrels. I was a nameless soul that wondered through bodies and was stuck between Nirn and Sovngarde, and I could never find where I belonged. I laughed and I smiled and sometimes I felt joy; but I didn't really want to.


Lydia seemed different during Mother's absence. When I used to look at her, I would be in awe. She'd always stood tall and proudly, but never pretentiously. Her smile was always crinkly and her laugh was loud and frequent. She always spoke to me with patience and only the slight condescension that came with being an adult. She was a perfect Housecarl, always knowing the proper formula for being protective versus caring, welcoming versus hostile. Like most people of Skyrim she could tell stories all night and would always have more for the day next.

But when I looked at her from my seat at the table, some forgettable day at the end of Heart-Fire, she seemed dark. Her grip on her cereal spoon was deadly. She looked down at her food, rather than calmly looking around like she had always. She did not ask me how my sleep fared. She did not ask me if I wanted milk or juice. Religiously, she ate, spoon after spoon and when she was finished, she stood up, bowl in hand in one swift movement. It startled me, but Lydia didn't seem to notice. She only began washing her dishes.

I felt a need to question it. I didn't, of course.


5th of Frostfall, 4E 206

Loralei,

I found the song quite comforting, so I must thank you. Have you told Lydia I've written? I've not yet heard from her.

The climb was alright, though I did run into a frost troll and a good many wolves. However, I am alright, and High Hrothgar was quite mysterious, and to you it shall remain that way. The things I've learned and shall learn I cannot explain, and I won't burden you with a failed effort.

The Greybeards have sent me on a quest to retrieve what is named: the Jurgen Wind-Caller. I am to go as soon as possible, though I do think I shall get a companion. I never liked travelling alone.

I'm in Solitude, staying at the Winking Skeever. I planned on visiting Proudspire Manor, but I've decided against it-best to keep it the way it is.

Please tell Lydia I miss her… She was always my dearest companion. If you didn't need her, I would have taken her with me!

Yours,
Elaira


10th of Frostfall, 4E 206

Mother,

We received your letter a day or two ago, though I haven't gotten to writing. I haven't been quite busy, but perhaps lazy… I do Father's name shame. Life is good and peaceful. Lydia tells me to inform you that she is as well as ever, and is comfortable though she misses you. Runa misses you as we; she raves about how amazing it is that I am the Dragonborn's daughter… I know I was not supposed to tell, but it's Runa. It's myRuna. She's been playing a lot at the Bee and Barb, almost every night. I am very proud of her, and you would be too. She'd love for you to see her play sometime soon, she's improved very much.

These months have been the longest, and sometimes I wish I could sleep through them all like a bear.

I wish I could adventure with you, Mother.

I wish you'd come home.

Loralei


It seemed everything was slowing down in the worst way that could ever happen. A minute was an hour. An hour was a day. A day was a month. A month was a year, but I was still here. I was still in Riften, stuck looking at the same grey sky, hearing the same stories told over and over again. All the letters and words of every book seemed the same and faces were melting into nothing. Every step I took, I went nowhere, and the more I stood still, the slower time passed.

They tell you that time is constant. There are 365 days in a year and it's all spaced out evenly. Each second, each minute and each hour have set values that can never be altered. Time is unstoppable and unchangeable. That's what they tell you but that's not true. An hour can be too much; too long. So long that your brain is burning inside your head because even though the world is moving around you, somehow time has slowed. An hour can be too little, too short of a time that you don't understand where the seconds went and goodbyes are rushed. An hour is sixty minutes, a minute is sixty seconds. But it is nothing but something we made up. It is something that we thought we could control. But really, it's nothing. Time is a lie. Time does not even matter.


They sang songs on the late Emperor's birthday; sad songs and happy songs; songs to dance to and songs to cry to. And I danced and I watched people cry. I ate and I laughed and I listened to stories, but I did not feel as though I was truly there. And it was Runa who noticed.

"Loralei," she whispered to me. "Where did she go?"

"I don't know." I was calm, but stiff and I felt as though I'd swallowed cement; I could feel it drying inside of me, thickness and heaviness multiplying. Runa looked over my face, searching for something. Searching for me, but it seemed that in the time of dragons, I was nowhere to be found.

She took my hands, and I let her, even though my fingers only felt like dead weight. I tried to appreciate the sentiment because Runa always wanted appreciation, but I couldn't find it in me. Instead, I tried to feel bitter that our hands were warm and clammy and I did not want her touch. That did not work either. I tried to feel an urge to embrace my friend, but I only stood still. I looked up at her face and I tried to miss her, to miss me, but I only saw a face whose familiarity was lost. Desperately I tried to react, in any way. I squeezed her hands, but I didn't mean it. 'It'being the sentiment that usually came with a response like that. I could see that for once Runa realised it as well. She knew that she wasn't enough, and I desperately wished she was, because if I was forced to feel, I'd want it to be because of her; for her.

She let go of my hands and she began to cry. I did not know if it was for me or for her, but she sobbed into her own clammy hands, and I could only watch and pity her, disgusted with myself. She cried and she whined and she hid her face, but she stood there in the middle of a loud room and no one seemed to notice. She was an ugly crier, I observed. Her lips were swollen and her face was red, her eyes shrinking four sizes. I wondered if I cried like that. I couldn't remember.


I envied Hroar.

He'd died so young and unhappy. But to live old and unhappy seemed so much worse.


"Is it your mother?" she inquired dreadfully. I gnawed at my lip. It had been several minutes now since she'd burst through my door. It hung open, and I dared not close it. She was across the room from me, and she looked like a tiger about to leap. I had been avoiding her since Emperor's Day and she'd come knocking at my house each day since. I never answered the door. I was surprised she waited this long to come in by herself. She was in complete desperation; for answers, for me, for anything. "Or is it me? The dragons? Are you still upset that Ulfric escaped? Did something awful happen?"

"Stop," I said for the umpteenth time. It was weak, and I am still not sure if I'd meant it. I avoided her eyes as my heart beat against my bones as if it was trying to escape, each loud thump harder than the last.

"Are you ill?" She came close to me in one long stride and touched my forehead with the back of her palm. "Please don't be ill, you're my darling!"

"I'm not sick," I said simply, moving her hand from my head. "Not… like that." Her eyes weren't daring or curious. She was concerned and sad and it was written all over her face. She was nearly trembling and I could feel it. Maybe it was me who was trembling.

"What do you mean?" she asked softly, moving back in submission. She was flushed and looked old and young at the same time.

"I don't know," was all I could manage. Stillness replaced the previous unstoppable vibration and I finally met her eyes. There was a moment of nothing. And then she began to cry once more. And it was awful and it hurt my ears and rattled my brain. She curled up into herself and she shook and it was so sad to see. And somehow, in some weird turn of things, I started to cry too. In a heartbeat or a blink or something, I was curled into myself and I was heaving. Something within me or beyond me had snapped and I stopped trying to hold myself together. And somehow I couldn't decide for myself whether it was sad or if it was beautiful or if it was both. I screamed and I panted and it was ridiculous but I couldn't stop. It was hard to tell what was real and what wasn't and everything was blurred, and I felt lighter with every sob. With every painful, ridiculous little tear, the bodiless soul that I had become, wrapped around the little girl's bones and they—we became one once more.


23rd of Sun's Dusk, 4E 206

Daughter,

I have found a companion—a few. Already, I have many stories to share for when I return. So many things are going on, it is hard to keep track. The world knows my name now. The word is out of the dragon within my veins, and it is secret no longer.

Whiterun has grown on me. I have a home there now, Breezehome. It is small and simple, but I'm sure that a life could be made there. Perhaps someday you could call it home as well. I am staying there frequently, as is my companion. He's a jolly fellow and a great warrior, and I am proud to fight and journey with him. I believe you would enjoy him and his stories. He knows a great deal and is very learned.

Sometimes I go to caves I find along the road and I'll find a pretty place to sit, and we will—me and Belrand that is. And we will just talk and laugh and look around us. Belrand could talk anyone's ear off, and you'd ask him to do it again. He's a great lad.

Sometimes I make sure to make detours into caves and whatnot so we may explore more together. You see, our agreement was he would accompany me on my mission of Dragonborn… it's silly isn't it? Avoiding your duty to spend more time with a friend. I'm sure you'd understand, though; considering Runa! I miss your shenanigans, the lot of you! I hope you two are very happy, as I admit I am content.

Yours,
Elaira
Adventeress-Fatale


29th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 206

Mother,

I am glad you have found good companionship and are happy. Breezehome sounds lovely and I'm glad you can call someplace home.

Luck to you,
Loralei

P.S. It is silly; go save the world.


4th of Evening Star, 4E 206

Loralei,

However brief, I do enjoy your letters! Though, I shame myself for rambling on, when I wish only to know what you are up to. Now, I must keep this one brief as Belrand is calling me to have a drink. Sometimes I forget how delicious BlackBriar mead truly is.

Be dutiful!

Yours forever,
Elaira


12th of Evening Star, 4E 206

Mother,

Things are getting better as the winter becomes stronger. I am glad to be with Lydia and Runa and Maramal. Things are going as they always were, except I believe the white has brought a brightness to our grey city. I've started playing at the inn with Runa, and I'm improving as well. I pick the flowers I see and I save them for you until they wilt.

Love,
Loralei

P.S. Remember: be dutiful


And so the Winter passed calmly and by the Spring of 4E 207, when the rain was light and the flowers blossoming, great news passed through the world. It was Maramal who brought the news to our city. "Alduin has been defeated!" he cried, running like a child through the streets. A flush caressed his face as he shouted in glee. Slowly, we all looked towards him as he fell to his knees. "Alduin, World-Eater is gone forever! We are saved! All hail Mara! All hail the Dragonborn!" With this message the town around me shouted and cried for Nirn had been saved. Those sad people of Riften dined like kings that night, drank like drunkards and sang their hearts away.


Still, I waited for her return.


Yet, the spring progressed happily with no word from the Dragonborn and soon enough, it was Rain's Hand and the town gathered at the inn to sing me songs. Runa and Maramal lead the chorus, singing loudly and obnoxiously, all the songs they could remember. Sometimes I sang along, but for the most part, I laughed at my neighbours and ate the treats they had brought me. It was strange how this winter had brought back colour to this grey town. The citizens were flushed and drunk and I was glad to see it. Twelve was still young, and I felt younger than I had in many years as my friends all danced around me.


It was Mid-Year when she stood before me, older and stronger than I had seen her last. Her freckles were bright, as were her eyes. She looked at me and I felt unsure what to do. She no longer needed to kneel to see my face. She looked down at me and said nothing until a man clad in steel armor came up behind her. He had grey, shoulderlength hair and a bald spot. His face was wrinkled and his mouth wide. He placed his hands on my mother's shoulders and looked at me with a smile.

"You must be Loralei." His voice was deep and Nordic. "I am Belrand."

Mother spoke now, looking between me and her companion, with unsure twinkling eyes, greener than I remembered. She spoke, and once more, my world shifted beneath her feet. "Loralei, this is my husband."


Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. If you have anything to say about it, please review, it encourages me so much! Many thanks to Stefanie!


Published on 05/08/2014

Edited on 25/04/2015