It's getting worse, Embla thought when she opened her eyes. There should be no relation between things, no link between vision and what she felt in her lungs, but when she laid eyes on the world around her, the feeling of suffocation seemed to double.
What used to be ashes, or something like ashes, had turned into liquid oblivion, and she found herself floating in a strange black fluid that made her movements slow and her vision bent. She couldn't feel it, there was no wetness brushing against her skin, yet whenever she pulled in air she was struck by sensation of drowning and had to resist the urge to gasp.
Her heart hammered against her ribcage.
She wanted to cry.
It's okay, she told herself. You can do this.
"Em, that's a dragon."
Dragon?
She couldn't see the dragon. She couldn't see Serana, either, her voice and the cold fingers interlaced with hers the only proof of her existence, and she gripped onto them tightly for fear they'd break apart and she'd be swept away, lost forever in an ocean of nothingness. She couldn't see the dragon, or Serana. She couldn't see –
She couldn't breathe.
Her hand flew to her throat, to smooth unscarred skin, her lungs full with liquid which she was suddenly sure it was her own blood, and she heard a snip, and she –
Claws, she thought. Claws and fangs and scales.
She willed them into being with an ease that terrified her. She had but to think about it and they would be there, claws covering her fingers – her claws – and scales over her skin – her scales – and suddenly the air felt light again and the world exploded into colors. She could see the dragon then, shifting between past and present, between there and somewhere else, one moment beautiful bright purple scales, in another sunken eyes and torn flesh.
She stared at its claws and fangs and scales, and her mother's voice echoed in her head.
We have no shape but that which Y'ffre bestowed us, she thought, staring at her own fingers with horror.
Darkness.
Drowning.
Embla wanted to cry.
This is torture, she thought, even as she brought the dragon aspect back. Self-inflicted torture. To choke or to let myself be twisted into –
She retched. She took a step back, placed a hand on her abdomen and heaved. The air leaving her lungs burned like liquid. The wound on her skin stretched, and she wondered if it would open right then and there, spilling her guts on the floor like some twisted banquet for the monsters that inhabited that hell.
Monsters which she was now a part of.
Darkness. Choking. Her blood roared on her ears and she felt her entire body shake.
" – Em! Embla!" hands on her shoulder, shaking her. She could barely hear the voice over the sounds of her own body. "Em, get a grip!"
Slap.
Sharp pain exploded on her cheek, and the world refocused, her hands instinctively reaching out. Claws and scales. Embla found herself holding Serana's throat, face contorted into a snarl, long spectral nails digging into her skin.
She let go, eyes wide, feeling dizzy, but before she could pull away it was Serana's turn to grab her, fingers curling around the hairs of her nape, and Embla felt lips on hers and she kissed back, needing, desperate, unable to resist how much she wanted it –
Serana pulled back, held her gaze and whispered, "I'm not going anywhere either. Let's get through this."
Something inside her cracked. She felt stronger.
Embla took a shaky breath. It felt like air, fresh and cold. The ghostly armor covering her fingers shimmered. She yanked her eyes away from it, putting it out of her mind, and stared at the dragon who sat in silence. Mirmulnir had attacked her on sight, but this one seemed content to watch. There and then not. Dead and then alive.
The delicate veil that of his wings was torn, and it made her think of the cursed word she'd used to get there – the word she'd have to use again soon. A flap of skin hanging loose. It would drive her insane if her gaze lingered.
She knew his name.
She let her hand slide back to Serana's and took a step forward. "Drem Yol Lok, Durnehviir."
It was eerie. The words came to her easier now, almost without effort. She knew things she had no way of knowing. The sound of her own voice was deeper, richer.
It made her skin crawl.
"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin. If you are here, then the time has finally come."
"The time for what?"
"Dinoksetiid. For the end, of course."
The end.
Embla felt the sensation of choking return and swallowed it down on sheer willpower. She cleared her throat. Claws, fangs, scales, she told herself, picturing them in her head. The air grew lighter. Something in her mind shifted. Something alien gripped her soul. She felt stronger.
"I'm Embla," she offered. "Pleased to make your acquaintance." She was an educated, well-read woman who often found herself among high society and intellectuals. But nowhere before had she wondered about the etiquette to address a dragon.
Durnehviir regarded her for a second, tilting his head. If dragons could smile, she thought that was the closest she'd ever see. "You are Dovahkiin," he repeated, as if teaching a baby their name.
Embla scowled at the condescending tone. "Geh, okay. Not important. I'm looking for Diil. A vampire."
"Pruzah. I see you found one."
This dragon is fucking around with me, she thought, and couldn't decide whether that made her amused or irked. The absurdity of the situation was enough to leave her speechless for a moment. "Not – not this vampire," she snapped. "But a vampire who looks like this one. Maybe. I wouldn't know, I've only seen her in a portrait. Have you seen one?"
"Geh. That I have."
A pause. Silence.
"Durnehviir?"
"Yes, Dovahkiin?"
"Where is the vampire?"
"In the Cairn."
Her eyelid twitched. She rubbed her face with her palm, thinking. There was a clear communication issue between them. She ran words through her head, trying to make her intent as clear as possible. "Durnehviir, I need to be taken to wherever that vampire is. What would you want in return for bringing me to her?"
He stared at her, thin tendrils of smoke going up his nostrils. "You need but to ask, Dovahkiin."
Embla very slowly turned to Serana, making sure to twist her face into a frown that could express her frustration. The vampire bit down a snort. She turned back to Durnehviir. "Take me to the vampire, please."
The dragon stood perfectly still for a second, then very slowly raised his wing. Embla felt her heart skip a beat. She was there, leaning against his side, and she knew the moment she laid eyes on the woman that something was terribly wrong. Her arms were flexed, brought close to the center of her chest, fingers bent into claws. Her lips were pulled back into a grimace, showing her teeth. Her face was familiar in all the ways it shouldn't be. And the Elder Scroll was strapped to her back.
Embla had a flashback to the moment the monolith at Dimhollow slid open. Something inside of her broke. She felt stronger. Acid rose up her throat.
"Mother!" Serana rushed ahead-sideways-down. Embla shook her head to clear it, feeling the air grow heavy again. Her hands were shaking and the world spun. Her tongue tasted a metallic flavor and she spat out blood, realizing she'd bitten the inside of her cheek.
Garan's words echoed in her head.
The souls are left hollow. The ultimate shape of peace.
"What happened to her?" She blurted out as Serana approached her mother without touching her. Embla realized she'd asked the wrong question. "What – what kept her here? Why couldn't she leave?"
"I kept her here. She kept me here. The same ones who tricked her tricked me." The tip of his tail moved up and down, tapping on the ground – most times. Every once in a while, it would go right through. "Meyye. We were fools, the both of us."
"What does that mean?"
"The terms of the contract have been lost in time," he explained. "Suffice to say I can only leave when she dies, and for as long as I live, she must stay, yet we are unable to kill each other. Two immortals, to wait forever. Fahdoni. We've grown fond of each other."
"Mother, please, can you hear me?" Serana whispered, her tone carefully emotionless.
"How long has she been like this?" Embla asked. Her mind heeled. She tried to take a step forward and ended up almost a meter from where she intended to be.
"Neh. Mahfeerak. Time makes little sense to dragons, and even less here. Het." Durnehviir extended his neck, and Embla felt the warmth of his breath close enough to be uncomfortable. He bumped his head against her side and she was swept from her feet and pushed the right way.
Embla had to close her eyes to stop the vertiginous sensation of her brain trying to reorient itself. When she opened them, she found herself standing next to Serana and placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Let me take a look at her," she murmured, kneeling. The vampire moved slightly to the side without a word.
She looks like her mother, Embla thought, staring at the woman's sharp features. There was an uncanniness to it, a wrongness to the way her eyes were squeezed shut and her lips were pulled into a humorless grin, and she felt an unexplainable wave of anguish.
"Lady Valerica," she called, lightly tapping her on the cheek. "Lady Valerica, do you hear me? If you do, please open your eyes."
She waited for a second, then two. Nothing. "Lady Valerica?" She insisted. "Please open your eyes. If you hear me, please blink."
Nothing. Embla grabbed Valerica's finger and squeezed the white half-moon of her fingernails, hard enough that she was sure it hurt. The vampire didn't change her expression.
Unresponsive to speech or pain.
She grabbed Valerica's wrist and tried to pull her arm, but the muscles were flexed and didn't budge. Embla felt her heart beat faster. She tried again, with no luck. Giving up on that, she ran her fingers over the vampire's chin, feeling the tensed muscles that pulled her lips open and kept her jaw shut. If she waited long enough, she could feel them spasm under her touch.
Flexing tonus of upper limbs. Extending tonus of lower limbs. Decorticate posture. Risus sardonicus?
Embla pulled Valerica's eyelids up and stared at the pupils. They were wide and did not contract when she cast a Magelight on her hand and moved it close to them. She grabbed the vampire's face and pushed it, meeting resistance. After two tries, she dropped her hand and cursed under her breath.
"Serana, I need you to turn her head to the side while I hold her eyes open," she instructed.
Serana didn't question it, which made Embla feel a twinge of concern. She did her best to pull up Valerica's eyelids while Serana did the movement, paying close attention to see whether the eyes would move. They didn't, remaining fixed straight ahead rather than moving away from the direction of turning.
Embla let go and sat down, exhaling, thoughts jumping faster than she could put into words. She thought about the experiments and the lessons she had back in Alinor, about how the brain was where the mind was kept, and sometimes people's bodies would be alive but their brains were dead so all that remained was an empty husk –
Hollow.
She wanted to say a comforting lie, but she couldn't bring herself to. She'd made an oath, when she graduated. An oath to the people, to knowledge and to the truth. Even in Oblivion – or particularly in Oblivion – it felt important to stick to it.
"I'm sorry," she turned and held Serana's hand between hers. She considered whether she should explain things – that pupils not contracting and eyes not moving when the head turned meant a hurt brain, a damage no one had ever been able to revert. But that was not what Serana wanted to know. "She's gone."
She waited for a reaction, screaming, tears, anything, but Serana merely closed her eyes and took in a deep, shaky breath. The vampire bit her lip hard enough that her fangs drew blood, but didn't move or speak.
"You have a decision to make, Diil." Durnehviir rumbled, watching them. "It interests me greatly."
"I can't ask that of her," Serana hissed, setting her jaw.
Something cold crawled over her heart. Her lungs felt raw. She wanted to cry. "What?"
"It's not fair," Serana turned to her but didn't make eye contact. She moved, very carefully removed the Elder Scroll strapped to Valerica's chest, and Embla noticed how she made a point not to touch her mother's skin.
"I'll be the judge of that," she snapped, abruptly hit by a wave of anger. Nothing about the situation was fair, but she'd see it through, and she'd do it the right way. "What is it?"
Silence. She waited, tried to calm herself down, reminding herself of how much grief the moment entailed. She gave Serana time to think things through. She considered apologizing for being harsh, but she didn't want to interrupt the other's chain of thought. Embla ran a hand over her own hair, stopping at the nape and rubbing circles there.
Tips of claws scraped against her skin.
She put her hand down.
"Burn her." Serana finally murmured.
What?
Embla opened her mouth, but Serana silenced her by raising her palm. Her fingers trembled ever so slightly. She waited. Serana closed her eyes. "Release her. It would be a mercy."
She understood that, at least – the concept of euthanasia, of letting go when she knew there was nothing else to be done. It was the humane thing to do. "Why me?" she asked instead, because something at the corner of her mind warned her there was more to it.
Serana turned, stared at her mother. "Mother does not deserve Coldharbour." She paused, dropping her eyes. "The Dragonfires would set her free."
"It would destroy her," Embla replied, because it would. Body and mind and soul, gone to ashes.
"It will set her free," Serana repeated, and then she said no more.
They're not my words, was the only thing she thought when she looked back at Valerica and her twisted grin. I don't want to. They're not my words.
She was an elf from Valenwood, and she was terrified of fire.
She told herself to see things through. She searched the inferno of her mind for an answer.
Something inside her shattered. She felt stronger as that shred of humanity dissipated into ashes and was replaced by something else – something alien that grew more familiar by the second, something that sunk its claws and its fangs deep within her soul and made a home there. She stared at that thing inside her.
Its eyes were the sun.
Embla knew the words then, and she let them roll off her tongue, not waiting, not warning, not giving Serana a chance to say goodbye. Her vision blurred as she spoke. Fire, Inferno and Sun. They consumed her and the Oblivion around her, turning her blood into molten iron and her breath into a blinding wave of blue heat. The words hurt as they escaped her lungs, not because they actually burned her skin but because she knew they should, and so she felt them scorch her throat and her tongue and her lips.
Embla was wrong – there were no ashes when she was done.
There was nothing.
There was silence.
Serana covered her ears with her palms and whimpered, rocking back and forth. Embla caught herself thinking, for the first time, that maybe Serana was to be pitied.
Pitiful.
The thought felt alien, but it felt hers at the same time.
"It is as they said it would," Durnehviir spoke, bringing her back to their shifting unreality. "A flame as hot as the sun, as blue as the sky. Tell me, Dovahkiin, do you know why I am here?"
"A deal with the Masters," she replied, and then more knowledge presented itself to her. "I – Alduin ordered you to bring him what the mortals made. What even he could not understand."
"Look at me, Dovahkiin."
Embla did. She forced herself to stare at his figure, despite how much despair it sparked. She scanned his decomposed flesh, the holes on his wings, the green film covering open wounds that festered, the stench and the wrongness of it all – to see an immortal being like that, a body that went against its very timeless nature and sought an end.
"You found them. The words."
"That I did," the dragon replied. "I will grant them to you – the words that no dov can ever grasp. The abomination, the Thu'um that turned me into this. I know them now, and even so I can never use them. But you –" he regarded her, "You who are kin to both dov and the races of men. You may wield it like no other ever did."
"And you'll give them to me out of generosity?"
"You've done me a favor," Durnehviir shifted and released a puff of smoke. "You've set me free. You've set my friend free. But that is not the whole of it." Again, she wondered if dragons could smile. "I have paid a steep price for this knowledge. It would be a waste to never see it used."
"I'll take them," Embla said, then hesitated, unsure of what came next.
Durnehviir moved his head closer and whispered, almost inaudible, his tone so quiet she wasn't even sure whether he'd really spoken or just somehow thought the Thu'um at her. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Embla received the words, a shiver crawling over her spine as they penetrated the very marrow of her bones –
She felt it all be whisked away then – fangs, claws, scales, power, everything. Suddenly she was just herself, an elf from Valenwood who was curious about her own body and inquisitive about the world. A young bosmer from the deepest holes in the Green, who was afraid of fire. Pain exploded in her abdomen and she moved her hands to it as she fell to her knees, breath hitched, eyes watering. She vaguely registered Durnehviir opening his wings and flying away, the words he gave her still burning from the inside.
There are no runes for this, she realized, and somehow that was what made the eeriness of the Shout finally register. There will never be any runes for this.
The pain was blinding, a reminder of the wound in her flesh and the wound in her soul, the very soul who had been bleeding ever since her head rolled off her shoulders. She'd slowed it down, shielding herself by sticking to routine and rituals, and then shielding herself by blocking the tear with claws and fangs and scales, but now things were crumbling down and like a wound whose scab had been yanked, she felt her essence bleed again.
She waited for the choking sensation, but the air didn't grow thicker. Rather than becoming more confusing, the world around her seemed to settle back into three dimensions, a desolate landscape solidifying under her feet. She didn't have the time to admire it. The pain was too much. She fell on her shoulder, knocking the breath out of her lungs, curling up in a ball. White spots danced in her vision.
Embla felt the taste of blood fill her mouth. Mortal, finite, temporary. That was her – that was her existence, and when Serana grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up she couldn't help but ask herself who was pathetic then. Something seemed to fall in place, and she finally glimpsed something beyond her limited perception and understood. She looked at Serana and understood why one would want to be like her, despite the price paid.
Mortal. Finite. Temporary. She couldn't blame anyone for wanting to escape it.
And yet –
Pain. Pain enough that she would do anything to have it stop. Pain enough that even finitude seemed desirable. She thought about Valerica, about how an end could be a mercy. She knew that as a physician, had witnessed it time and again, she was no stranger to the concept of letting go.
And yet –
I need to accept this, Embla managed through the haze. I need to accept myself as both things. As me. As… as whatever else I am.
The pain seemed to get deeper, harder, and she felt the slickness of blood in her fingers. She looked down to her stomach to see her wound opening up at the edges. Serana snuck a hand to her back to give her support into a sitting position. Every breath she took sent shocks from her guts to her spine. Her eyes watered.
The Cairn is tearing me apart, she thought, then grit her teeth and stared at the vampire. "Emerald Gates," she hissed. "How do we –"
Serana pressed their foreheads together. "We stop being here, and start being there."
Stop being here, her thoughts echoed, start being there. Stop being here, start being there. Stop being here –
Emerald Gates. The Chapel of Love. The reason why she had to be there, the reason why she'd agreed on that mad ordeal. For a moment she hesitated, panicked, because ever since she stepped foot in that plane she felt irrevocably changed and she wasn't sure she was capable of love any longer. And then Serana kissed her, and her heart raced, and the familiarity of the feeling was such a relief even the pain subsided for a moment.
It was enough.
The world around her dissolved into a blur. Embla closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of cool lips against hers, and then trailing kisses over her jaw and down her neck, stopping just over where her pulse hammered against her skin. She bunched Serana's hair on her fist, digging her fingers deep on her skin, catching Serana's lip between her teeth and tugging –
She opened her eyes. "We're here," she said, staring at black stone steps that contrasted sharply with white marble pillars.
It was less of a chapel and more of a temple, and she could not quite precise how tall it was, both because it was huge and because it was shifting. There were no walls, only columns and a roof. There was no missing the Emerald Gates inside, portals of crackling green energy that were too blinding to stare at. She pushed Serana gently away, leaving a hand at her shoulder.
"Are you sure you can do this?"
"What choice do we have," she mumbled, turning to the gates, no real bite to her tone. The mere thought of tearing the veil again gave her the beginnings of a panic attack. She tried to stand. Pain shot through her abdomen and she stumbled, but Serana caught her in time.
"Thank – ah, fuck. Serana?" She fixed her gaze on the horizon, trying to make out a shape.
The vampire followed her gaze. "Fuck. Let's get going."
The shape, whatever it was, approached at terrifying speed. Around them, she heard a rattling sound and suddenly something moved on her peripheral vision. Skeletons assembled themselves from the ground, black carbonized bones piling up on top of one another.
They're mixed up, she thought incoherently, seeing undead form from mismatched skeletons, femurs too long for tibias too short, humeri that didn't fit forcing themselves on shoulder sockets too small, and there was some deep horror into realizing they rose not as individuals but as pieces of a single monstrous entity.
The ooze, Embla remembered the tale of how the Bosmeri came to be, all out of a single mass, and she remembered the night at the Wild Hunt where she'd felt her shape bend into something else, and she screamed and tried to run, but the pain was immobilizing. She tripped and slung an arm over Serana's shoulder for support, then started limping up the stairs.
The skeletons moved fast, some crawling, some stumbling. And the tall, hulking creature got closer. She felt her heart hammer.
"With these words I free you, hideous, unclean spirit, from the bonds of undeath," Serana chanted, dragging Embla with her, looking back at the wraiths. "From fifty fathers, frozen in slavepast, rip from the wraithloom, sunder the lifeweave, lock tight in earthgrip, hold firm in gravefast!"
The skeletons closer to them exploded into a million shards of bone, letting out an inhuman final screech. The enchantment was effective, but it had taken exactly three out of hundreds of undead that languidly made their way to them, and they would tear the two of them apart long before Serana could banish them all. And whatever was coming –
Embla could see it now. It was made from bones, but not human ones.
Her breath caught in her throat.
The creature shimmered, and it was suddenly covered in scales. She saw Serana's eyes widen, and then the vampire cursed, bent her back and straight up picked Embla from the floor, carrying her like a bride. She didn't have time to protest. Serana carried her up the stairs, but every step seemed to put them further from the gates, and as far as Embla knew, they could be walking on the opposite way entirely.
She fixed her eyes on the beast and filled her hand with flames, feeling a drain on her magicka that was far greater than it should have been, as if even the energies from Aetherius had trouble penetrating that place. The monster, whatever it was, made no effort to dodge the attack, and the fireball licked its breast plate harmlessly. It lifted an enormous battleaxe and slammed it on the ground.
The stone shook under their feet and a crack opened, slowly creaking its way up to them.
"Oh for the sake of Oblivion," Serana hissed and halted. "Embla, close your eyes."
"What?!"
"Embla, please," she insisted. "I can't – not with you looking – just. Just trust me, this once. Please." Their eyes met. "I know I haven't been a good – friend. Lover. Whatever we are. I know I'm not a good person. I'm sorry. Give me – give me one more chance. Please."
It is the nature of the scorpion to sting the frog even as it carries them both across the water, her mother's wisdom echoed in her head, but we don't get out of here by mistrusting each other.
Her heart ached and her lungs seemed to drown in anguish. She closed her eyes. She kept them shut when she heard the unmistakable sound of ripping flesh, and kept her closed when the hands that held her seemed to grow longer, and the fingers that touched her suddenly had claws. She felt the distinct feeling of going up against gravity and heard the beating of wings. She didn't look.
Embla waited.
The sounds of bones being crushed. The sound of breaking stone. The whoosh of air on her ears. She waited, until she heard popping joints and withering flesh, and the nails digging on her skin shrunk back, and Serana whispered for her to look.
The Emerald Gates were ahead of her. She searched for the monster and found the bone-plated creature in front of one of the pillars, hitting its hammer against stone, chipping off chunks that were bigger each time.
It's pulling the chapel down, she realized, and pushed Serana lightly so that the other put her down. She steadied herself on her feet, feeling the energy of the Gates hit her in a wave of heat.
The battleaxe boomed against the pillar. Embla grit her teeth. "Monahven!" she called out, her voice taking a richer, deeper tone than usual. The green fizzling energy grew still, and for a split second she saw the snowy peaks of the Throat of the World, reflected as if on a mirror. Then the image was covered by flames.
Embla took in a deep breath. The structure groaned one last time, and then there were booming sounds as the roof collapsed behind them. All she could hear was the crunch and screams of the skeleton wraiths crushed under the weight of the falling stone.
"Vaaz!" she Shouted, and then arched her back as her skin ripped and this time she saw, or thought she saw, not only the eye of the Dragon but also its teeth and scales and its claws, the very ones who touched her skin and slashed it to shreds. The wall of flame parted as the pillars which held the Gates were hit by debris and began to crumble.
Serana didn't hesitate, and her speed was perhaps the only thing that saved them. But Embla saw no more. Her vision darkened, and she was struck by the feeling of falling in every direction, and then darkness engulfed her.
The snow they fell on was immediately painted red by Embla's blood.
The Voices in Serana's head were silent.
She despaired for a moment, both because she saw Embla bleed out and because she felt, for the first time in thousands of years, that it was the quiet in her mind which would drive her mad, rather than the other way around. She wasn't ready for it, wasn't ready to be alone. The words of the version of herself she'd met, younger yet still haunted, echoed in her thoughts.
So you don't forget, Serana repeated to herself over and over. Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't –
forget forget forget forget cat hat bat fat rat
She breathed in cold air, and let out a sigh of relief.
Embla was bleeding. Serana knelt in the snow and picked her up, the scent of her blood stronger than ever. Much like the one it came from, it was hard to make sense of. She wanted it, wanted to feel it slide down her throat more than she ever yearned for anything, and yet she loathed it, the very smell repulsive. When that blood touched her skin, it burned like embers.
She couldn't see her aura – couldn't get a reading of anything, really. Whatever part of her responsible for detecting magic seemed clouded by static, either by the whiplash of leaving Oblivion or by the nature of where she stood itself, at the peak of the Snow Tower, one of the few places where Nirn was still held together.
She picked Embla up. She knew she had to find the stupid monastery and get her proper aid, but she also knew there was not enough time. She was going to bleed out in a matter of minutes. If they were to have any chance at all, she would need her wings, but she'd only just turned, and even thinking about it made her feel disgusting, and she could never do it under the scorching sun. The scorching sun –
sun sun sun sun sun sun sun
Serana tilted her head up at the sky and stared at it. "I used to believe in you," she spoke, a bitter taste on her mouth. "Look up to you for guidance. You know that, don't you? You know it was you I prayed to, when I came face to face with – " her voice broke. Embla's limp body was warm against her chest. "I asked myself why for so many years. Studied the moves of the Aedra to try and understand."
The sun in the sky, indifferent. Blood on her hands. "But you know what I found. Akatosh only cares about Akatosh." She paused, walked over to a rock and placed Embla down on the snow, her back leaning against it. "So, is this how it's going to be? You'll let your child die like this? Before she fulfills… whatever bullshit prophecy you need her for? Whatever dirty business?"
"Akatosh only cares about Akatosh indeed," A voice above her rumbled, and she turned her head up to see –
dragon dragon dragon dragon the blood of the dragon the blood of the dragon the blood –
Serana knelt in the snow and watched the dragon open his wings and glide down to them, landing with a thudding sound that was way too light for a creature that size. She couldn't find it in her to feel anything, as if her very emotions had been exhausted. She thought, rationally, that she should have been resentful. Akatosh had sent someone for Embla, but not for her, not when she needed it the most, but then again -
"The dov are selfish beings," The dragon said, as if reading her mind. "And bormah is but another dragon." He extended his neck until the tip of his nose touched Embla just above the sternum, and then he whispered a word she could not understand and the dragonborn shivered and broke into a fit of coughing.
She thought, rationally, that she should have felt relief. She felt nothing.
"I'll clear the skies for you."
Serana didn't say anything. She had nothing to say. She picked Embla up again – the bleeding had stopped, but she was still pulling in short, quick breaths.
I'm so tired, she thought, and looked at the sun, and wished, not for the first time, that it could turn her into ash. It hurts so much and I want to go. I want to go. I want to –
rest rest rest rest rest
Serana felt her throat tighten and her chest ache. If I start crying now, I'll never stop, she realized.
mother, the Voice whispered, so that she wouldn't forget. mother mother mother mother -
She was still crying when she reached the monastery. The monks, in their vow of silence, did not comment on it. They did not offer any comfort either. Maybe they thought her a monster. Maybe they were the monsters, unable to show any kind of empathy at all. But the walls, oh the walls – the walls would echo her lonely sobs for eternity.
The heat of blue fire engulfed her, but the noise made by the flames was not enough to cover the words that summoned them – fire, inferno and sun – impossibly loud, impossibly powerful. It was her voice saying it, and even when the fire went out, there were echoes, and echoes, and echoes, like the endless sound of the ocean waves –
Embla sat up, gasping for air, both hands flying to her throat, and burst into a fit of coughing. Her waking brain seemed able to process exactly one thing at a time, and so she noticed first that the skin under her fingers was smooth. Unscarred. Then she noticed the pain coming from her back, burning as if she'd been skinned. And then she noticed the world around her was solid. It was dark, except for the glow of a magelight.
Serana was in the room with her, eyes closed as if asleep, but Embla knew better. She took a few seconds to catch her breath. "For how long have I been out?"
Silence. She squinted, trying to make sense of the room. She was sitting on a stone bed covered by a scarce bedroll, Serana sitting on the opposite one. Her eyes were sunken deep, and despite how late at night it was, she didn't seem mesmerizing as expected. Beautiful, yes, but also something else – sad or resigned or maybe just unspeakably exhausted. For a moment, Embla wondered if she'd misread the situation and the vampire was indeed asleep.
"A week. Well, eight days now. The monks have been taking turns trying to heal you, but they're hesitant about it due to the nature of the wound and because of how weak you were. Or so I suppose. They still don't speak." Serana opened her eyes. They glowed in a dark amber that was almost red. "You were a mistake."
"Huh?"
The vampire moved her finger and the magelight grew brighter, blinding, illuminating the whole room. Embla shielded her eyes and gave them time to get used to the light. The floor and walls were covered with various sheets of paper, all handwritten. A bit of red string was nailed to some of them, linking them to each other into a path she could not understand.
"What happened that day, with your tribe?" Serana queried. "The day you lost all of them."
Embla felt the beginnings of a headache and rubbed her temples. Her back hurt. She pressed it against the cold stone behind her, and there was some relief. "I don't remem –"
Except she did. She remembered even though she didn't want to – the ritual, the Creature, the hunger – "I – I was late. That's why I escaped. I was –" she took a deep breath. "There was no – no warning. We were all meant to be there for the glath – sunset, the sunset meal and no one knew he was going to – the hunt – we weren't warned. I got distracted. It – it's – it's not unusual," Embla grit her teeth, words escaping her. "Kynd miss curfew often. I was young. We're curious people."
"What exactly made you be late?"
I don't remember –
"I was chasing a dragonfly. Unlike any I'd ever seen."
"A dragonfly," Serana repeated, then scoffed, staring up at the roof. "Of course."
"What's all this?" Embla gestured to the room around her.
"You were a mistake," she repeated. "An accident. Aedric miscalculation." Serana turned around and pointed to one piece of paper in particular, the one where the first red string rested. "There was a prophecy which foretold the birth of the Last Dragonborn. Things don't just happen at random, you see, never with the Aedra. There were some… conditions to your birth, or rebirth as it was."
Embla crossed her legs, frowning. "What do you mean?"
"Some things had to happen to trigger the coming of Alduin. Towers had to fall. Doesn't matter. The last two lines are the important thing – When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding, the World-Eater wakes, and Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."
"Skyrim," she guessed. "When Skyrim fell into civil war. That was the last foretold event?"
"Never at random," Serana repeated. "Who killed the king? Who started the civil war?"
"Ulfric Stormcloak," Embla replied. "Though arguably one could blame the Empire or the Thalmor."
"And how, pray tell, did he kill the king, Embla?"
Something clicked in the back of her mind, an extraordinary implication dancing just beyond her reach. She frowned. "With his Voice. The Thu'um."
"An ancient art which no one other than these mute monks around us have known for years. Suddenly, he knows that. Suddenly, he starts a war."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Whose execution was it, that day at Helgen?"
"Ulfric's, of course." Embla ran a hand through her hair. "I told you. I tried to set him free, and that's why I ended up on the chopping block. I – it was my fault he was there on first place. I thought out the ambush. I executed it. I captured him, and so it felt right that I should be the one to let him go."
Serana let out a humorless chuckle. "You played your part, and then some. What a mess, Em."
"I don't understand."
"It was him, don't you see? It was never meant to be you." Serana faced her, but her gaze seemed lost in the distance. "Him. A – what did you call it – ah. A knucklehead Nord. A man, not an elf. A man who was trained in the Thu'um. A man who triggered the chain of events that led to the return of Alduin and the birth of the Last. A man with a little king complex who would gladly take the throne of Tamriel. He was meant to be dragonborn, Embla, not you."
They weren't in Oblivion, but she felt it again – the oppressive sensation of choking, as if the walls were closing around her. She wanted to tell Serana to stop, but her morbid curiosity was stronger, and she remembered then, remembered opening the cell so he could escape, remembered the surprise in his eyes and his hesitation which she'd judged as mere caution –
"Your role was to catch him," Serana continued. "That's why you were late for dinner. That's why you lived. It had to happen, so that you'd leave Valenwood. So that you'd end up in Skyrim, and so that you'd prepare that ambush – that was the plan, Embla, but you messed it up, don't you see? You put your head on that block before his. A plan which probably spanned thousands of years," she clicked her fingers, "Undone in a second."
"Fuck," she said, because it made far too much sense. "Fuck, fuck."
Serana was grinning. "I won't lie, I take some delight in this. I spent hundreds of years learning to pick out the plans of the Aedra. It's not often that I see them fail so disastrously." She licked her lips. "Akatosh grew themself the perfect champion – devout, proud, a man who would follow their every whim. And then, because of a ten-second mistake, he got you, and who the fuck knows what you're going to do, Em? Maybe you'll tear down the gates of Oblivion so a vampire can see her mom again." She burst out laughing, a hollow sound that echoed off to the halls. "You think Ulfric would do that?"
"Fuck," she repeated, exhaling, and then, oddly enough, she felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. "A mistake, huh? A mistake. That's…" She closed her eyes. "At least I know. At least I can stop wondering why."
"Because fuck you, that's why," Serana replied.
Embla found herself giggling, half hysterical, half relieved. "There's no reason," she managed to wheeze. "There's no meaning. A mistake. The first elven dragonborn. A mistake. I'm –"
"Free," Serana completed. "Unlike me. Unlike Ulfric. You didn't make a deal for this. You didn't promise your soul. You didn't kill a king for it. You don't owe a god. You're free, Embla, you have this now and you may do with it as you deem fit."
There's no meaning, she told herself over and over, and then she stood without thinking, and she walked to Serana, knelt by her side, held her face and kissed her. Serana didn't kiss back, not at first, but she could feel the smile against her lips. When she pulled back, the vampire was, oddly enough, blushing.
"Thank you," Serana whispered, brushing a thumb against her cheek. "You didn't have to help me. You put your life on the line over and over. I'm fucked up, Embla," she cupped her face. "But I'm grateful."
She's been crying, Embla realized with utter certainty, staring at the rings around her eyes, and then she thought There's no meaning, and then I'm free.
"I love you," she whispered, and Serana's eyes widened, vulnerable and raw, and Embla leaned in and kissed her again.
"You're making a mistake," Serana breathed against her lips, even as her hands moved to undo the ties on Embla's tunic. Embla grabbed her shoulder and pressed her weight against Serana's body, making the other fall down in bed. "I'm a bad person, Em. You're too good for me."
She pressed her lips to Serana's neck and then, surprising herself, she bit, hard enough to let teeth marks on skin, and her hands drifted down to undo the straps on Serana's armor and she felt a hunger which was unfamiliar, but which she accepted. Liked, even. "I love you," she repeated, and kissed her again. She paused then, hesitated, pulled back and held Serana's gaze.
"Is – is this okay?" She looked for the words, but it was getting harder and harder to find her damn Cyrodiilic. "Is this what – do you – can I – hnng. Do you want. Me? Do you want to do this with m –"
She was cut short when Serana grabbed her by the shoulder and yanked her back into the kiss, hissing an impatient yes and then whimpering against her lips. Embla felt the last of her control slip. She wanted this, and she gave up any pretenses of pretending otherwise.
Serana's body was cold against hers, cold and sensitive, and she took her time to learn her curves and her soft spots. She was gentle with her touch, despite how much her skin burned and her lust seemed about to drive her mad.
It was her nature to seize what she wanted. It was also her nature to be kind. She embraced herself as both.
Her blood felt like fire.
She realized then that she wasn't afraid of it anymore.