Hullo, everybody! I've had AP tests for the past few weeks, so in honor of today being the last one, I'm posting this chapter! :D This one will knock you all for a loop, I'm sure. If you have the downloadable content for Skyrim, you'll understand, and if you don't please research it so you can understand! The story progresses, just as I promised, so I look forward to the reviews, and I hope you enjoy! -LR

The dogs next door are howling again.

I don't really mind, in fact, I've got half a mind to join them. People aren't free like animals are, to just do as they please. They're not more civilized, either. They're only more pent-up. More aggressive. Dogs, wolves, they can howl at the moons like the heart and soul of a lost lover, and it's fine because it's their nature. Let some human do the same, and men would only judge.

That fresh in my mind, I open my eyes.

I am tired.

Tired of people. Everything they touch eventually turns to ash. This much, I know. The way my parents died, the way Adjin abandoned me, the way the great love of my life just. . .

I press my lips into a thin line, staring up at the ceiling. I'm tired of people, really I am. This whole world is so much better off without them. But, everyday is one I need to get through. Because, when He arrives in my dreams, to torment me, to mock me, I have to be there to witness him, and remind myself exactly why I am still here.

Reluctantly, I rise from the bed of the rented room in the Bannered Mare, and stumble to the wash bin. A polished silver plate hangs over it. Dip the cloth. Ring it out. Press it to my face. Pull it away.

Look at the face, the person life has given me.

My eyes drift lower and I press my lips together again.

Look at the poison heart I had sewn over my own.

Marrick!

I shut my eyes tight against her voice.

Marrick, I love you.

"Shut up," I order, pressing the palms of my hands against my eyes, harder and harder until I see stars. For once, my Princess, she listens to me. I take a deep breath and face the man I've become.

Black hair, blacker than sin. Full black beard to go with it; the fuck did that come from? The tail I've kept since I was eight ears old is absolutely gone, lost in a sea of my new wild mane. My eyes just as dark, and sunken, with heavy purple circles beneath them. Pale skin, like the skin of a corpse, a straight nose, like an arrow. And then, my mouth, my fucking mouth.

I try to smile, try to find my old arrogance. But, it's all dried up. She stole it from me. She stole me from myself, and I don't know what to do anymore. It's like I don't exist. I look like shit and nursing on Alto wine and tavern girl tits hasn't been any help. Not when none of them were-

I lock eyes with myself in the mirror. "Don't you dare," I snarl, "Don't you fucking dare." My own face stares back at me helplessly. "No," I snap, "I had to, I couldn't- we didn't-" I slam my fists against the counter. "FUCK!"

Now, in addition to having the worst of all my history of hangovers, both the women in my bed are stirring. I curse myself under my breath.

"Keller?" mutters the dark-haired one, what was her name. . . ? "Keller, why are you up? Come back to bed."

I curse some more.

In Whiterun Hold, I am Keller. Eastmarch, it's Firenze, in the Pale, it's Dane, in Falkreath, I am Pate. No matter where or who I am, however, I am always wanted, falling in and out of women's beds like-

And become part of the legion of all the faceless women you've had? She smiled No, thank you.

"You did it again," I hiss at my reflection.

"Do it again?" babbles the girl, rousing the other one. "Wake up; he says we're doing it again."

"Doing it again?" the other girl pipes hopefully.

"Not you," I say, aggravated.

"Then, me?"

"No, me. I'm talking to myself."

"Oh, I do that, too."

"Me three."

I groan. With the weight of my headache and my memories, I just can't stomach their bullshit, too. Then, there's a tentative knock at the door, which still ends up sounding like a hammer smashing into my face.

"Fuck me," I grunt. "Aye, I'm coming, I'm coming."

The girls find this hilarious.

I'm too fucking wasted to flip them off, and too wasted to talk myself out of opening that door, behind which stands my landlady, Hulda, with a light that in my drunken state, feels like a handheld sun.

"I can help you?" I slur, "Can I help you?" I'm rocking back and forth, my balance gone, and squinting, trying to use my hand like a visor. It's not working.

"It's the sixteenth," she says. "The sixteenth of Sun's Dawn. I need your rent money, Keller."

"And you're collecting it now? At five in the morning?"

"Ten, actually!" lilts one of the girls.

I turn around, squinting into the dark.

"Ten?" I snap, incredulous. "It's ten o'clock, and you didn't think to wake me up?"

"Are we your maids?" This from the brunette, rolling onto her stomach and arching her back to stretch it. "Is that why we're here, to tell you the time?"

"Shut the fuck up."

"Or, is it something else? 'Cause sometimes, I feel like I'm here for you to call me some other woman's name, while you fuck me into Oblivion."

My eyes narrow; Had I, really?

I shake myself out of it, and glower at her.

"Just be glad you're getting fucked into Oblivion," I suggest coyly, and turn back to Hulda, to find her staring at the floor, her face bright red. She has a hand shielding half her face, by her nose, like she's blocking out some horrible smell. And, maybe she is. I try to take a subtle whiff of myself. Not bad. Not bad at all. Just kind of stale.

So, stale me and cum.

That's how I smell.

I look back; her hand is still in the same place.

"Do I smell?" I ask. Fuck subtlety.

"What?" She's appalled. "N-no, I-"

"It's not hard, just a yes or no question."

"I-" she stammers. "No, just. . . just. . ."

I frown, "Just what?"

"You. . . you're naked."

Blinking drunkenly at this information, I let it sink in and glance down. Hey, she's right. There's my cock, right there between my legs.

"Well, what d'you know."

Believe it or not, I wasn't trying to be an asshole when I said it.

"If you could just. . ."

"What? You never seen a cock before?"

"You poor, deprived woman!" gasps one of the girls.

Her friend will not believe it.

"She must have," she says defiantly. "She must have."

"Of course I've-"

"- seen a cock?" I smirk. Now I'm being an ass. "You got a husband? Fiancee? Lover?" She gives no reply. She tries to shy away, but I catch her wrist in one hand, and her chin in the other. "Lover, then?" Hulda goes red and my smirk becomes a grin. "Want me to teach you something you could do for him?"

And that was the switch.

Suddenly, my landlady seems to remember who she is, who I am, what I'm doing, what she's letting me do, and the financial situation she was trying to amend.

"I want you out of here!" she shrieks. I start to mumble, saying that I was only joking around, but that only makes it worse. "You sit in this room and let it stink while you rot inside it! My girls spend more time in here than they do serving, you seem incapable of turning a profit and even when you're not having sex with some poor woman, you wake up in the middle of the night screaming loud enough to make one think you are." At that, I swallow; I know the night terrors are getting bad, just not that bad. "I am finished!" Hulda huffs. "Absolutely finished! Keller, I want you and your things out!"

"Alright, alright," I laugh, in spite of everything, snagging a sheet from the wardrobe by the door and wrapping it around my waist. "Just calm down, why don't you?"

"Calm do-"

"I have the rent money; it's just inside. I'm going to go put on some clothes, get the money, come back out, and give it to you. I won't have anybody up here. I will try to keep my noise level down, and you won't smell anything coming from this apartment, ever again."

Hulda's angry look turns sympathetic, which is about the last thing I can take from anyone, at this point:

Pity.

"Keller," she sighs, "You said that last month. And the month before that. And the month before that." I wet my lips. "To be honest, money isn't really the problem; you pay rent when you remember to. It's your lifestyle."

"What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means? You spend your nights drinking yourself into a stupor, and smoking sweetleaf even though you've claimed to hate it. Your hours are unpredictable; sometimes you're in the pub before it's even opened, and you. . ." Hulda lowered her voice, ". . .you've been using moon sugar, and drinking skooma-"

"It's dreamwine, to help with the nightmares."

"It's skooma, and you know it! I've seen the Khajiit who deals to you!"

"Hulda-"

"No, Keller! No! It's been one thing after the other with you! You disturb the other patrons and guests, you leave messes in your wake, you get into senseless brawls-" She shakes her head. "This is done. I'm evicting you, Keller."

"Evicting me?" I repeat, disbelievingly. "Are you serious?"

"For once in my business with you, yes."

"If this is about money-"

"It isn't; I thought I made that clear." I sigh, leaning against the doorjamb for support. "You and your things out. Today."

Me and my mouth, I tell you.

I cross my arms, a sardonic grin gracing my lips.

"And, what if I say. . . no?"

Believe it or not, this isn't the first time I've been dumped on my ass by an inn-keeper's husband.

Prolly not the last.

I'm sitting the mud, struggling to get to my feet as I keep slipping in it, blinded by the sunlight. Passersby watch and laugh, and I keep swearing at them. I'm only wearing underclothes and my black cape; I look like a fucking jester, only a jester has more dignity. After a while, I give up and just sit down in the mud beside some nameless beggar, laying my back against the wall of the inn, shutting my eyes against the light.

Suddenly, I don't need to; someone's standing in it's way, shading me.

"Marrick."

Before I can talk myself out of doing it, I open my eyes. After five long years, that voice is so sweet to my ears that I can't bear not seeing the one it belongs to.

Ironically, just as it isn't my first time being dumped out by a innkeeper's man, it's also not the first time Adjin's seen me in such a state.

I squint up at him.

"Was wondering when you'd show."

Adjin doesn't smile like he's supposed to, which only makes this harder. Grimness never suited the man, it's one of the reasons he's the only person on Mundos I can stand. I study his tall frame appreciatively; Adjin's dress is always immaculate.

His mustachio and goatee are just as ringed and glamorous as ever. He's wearing fine boiled black leather, with steel mail beneath it. A jeweled, scarlet Alik'r hood crowns his head, its veil hanging off the side, to the left of his face. His scimitar and Elven dagger sat in their scabbards at his hip, along with the pouches hanging from his embroidered belt. A scarlet cloak rippled like water as it hung from his broad shoulders.

"Oh, Marrick," he says quietly, and instantly reduces me to guilt and shame. But, all that washes away again when I remember that I'm shit-faced.

"What?" I ask challengingly. "You want a piece of me, too?"

"I'm not sure," he replies, his lips quirking. "Do you have any left?"

I really want to laugh at that, but I feel like he's been seeking me out for this. I haven't seen him in years. Not since I said a whole bunch of shit I didn't even mean to a woman I'm still mad for.

His sister.

I squint up at him again in suspicion.

He must want to beat the piss out of me.

"You must want to beat the piss out of me."

He pauses for a moment. That's what I like about Adji- he (unlike myself) actually thinks about what he's going to say before he goes and says it.

"The shame you try so desperately to hide is vengeance enough for what's happened," he says carefully. "I don't need to 'beat the piss out of you'."

I snort sardonically, "I call bullshit."

My FUCKING mouth, I tell you!

But, Adjin only sighs, making me instantly sorry for it. The first person to ever give me a chance, the most powerful and wisest man I've ever known, and I here I sit, ungrateful and baiting him.

He stoops down beside me, uncaring of the mud.

"You know I could never bring myself to hate you."

It isn't a question; it's a statement. And, it's absolutely true. He can't hate me, just as I can't hate him. We're stuck to each other, in that way.

"Yes," I say quietly, "I know."

"I'd like to ask you a question, Marrick."

"Then will you beat the piss out of me?"

"Ask me nice, and maybe, just maybe I will."

I can't help but smile this time. He knows how to get me.

"Fire away."

"Why did you leave that day, five years ago? Why did you say what you said?"

He says it so smooth and quick that I barely have time to catch my breath before it hitches. Immediately, I turn hostile again, unable to stop myself.

"Because I was tired of your sister," I smirk, "and, I really needed to cut her off." Adjin's face is stoic, like a rock wall, making me feel sorry and guilty and shameful again. Just a look from this man, and I'm reduced to a little fucking boy. "I'm sorry," I whisper hoarsely.

He nods to himself and wets his lips before speaking.

"Do you know what makes a good liar, Marrick?"

I flash him a glare. Didn't I just fucking apologize?

"No," I say, raising my chin. "But, I know what makes a great one."

Adjin sighs patiently. "What makes a great liar?"

"Not getting caught."

He shakes his head, a grim smile on his lips.

"Anyone who can lie well, is a good liar," he says. "But, a great liar is one capable of lying to himself." I stick my tongue in my cheek, and he glances at me. "You aren't that great a liar, Marrick."

"Fuck you."

"Oh?" he says, raising his brows. "And, what would the tavern girls do?" I sigh as he rises to his feet, dusting off his clothes. "I'm leaving at dawn tomorrow, Marrick," he says. "With or without you."

"Didn't you have business here?"

He cast his gaze on me again, their brown depths turning warm and full of care.

"I have business anywhere you are."

I swallow hard.

"What have you come for? I'm washed up and strung out. I have nothing to do, and nowhere to go."

"You have your destiny," he dissents, his eyes twinkling madly. "You have everyday on this earth, Marrick." He raises his arms, gesturing grandly all around us. "Do you see them?" he asked. "Do you see how they mock you? How they spit on you? They have no idea who you are!"

"And they shouldn't!"

"Why for?" he queries, cocking his head. "For your sake? You're not here for your sake; you're here for theirs, Marrick. It's been five years! The dragons are out of control; they fly where they please and ravage the countryside. Suspicion and crime are rampant in every city, the civil war has made everyone coarse and thickens tension between brothers, and worst yet," he scoffs, "they think the Dragonborn a fable, dying or dead. And, five years' absence gives them cause." I wet my lips, staring hard at the ground. "Well, Marrick?" he asks gently. "Is he?"

I could become hostile again, snap something horrible at him, to make him shut up. But, his words trigger something in me, that makes me tell the truth.

"He doesn't want to be," I whisper hoarsely. "He doesn't, but he- I don't - I'm not-"

"You're not what?"

"I'm not strong enough!" I shout. "I can't protect this world, not from Alduin. Not from itself. Not from me." Not from Him. "The same way I can't protect her. Not from Alduin. Not from Skyrim." I shake my head vigorously, "but, I could get her away from me."

To save her from Him.

"She never did tell you, did she?" Adjin asks, studying me.

I break from my thoughts, "Tell me what?"

"What Segen means." My heart stings, and I can't manage a vocal response, so I just shake my head. "Why don't you go and find out?" He touches my shoulder with a soft smile. "Make the world safe for her again."

I don't know what to say. And, what's more, I know that if I open this mouth of mine, I'll start crying like a bitch, which I refuse to do in front of Adjin. So, choking back the tears, I simply shrug.

"I'll think about it," I reply quietly.

I take myself and my things down the street, to the Drunken Huntsman; the only other inn in Whiterun.

My Princess, she followed me, lingering at every post, in every window, in my every thought.

It's only when I'm asleep, though, that she comes to me.

"Marrick. . ." I shut my eyes against that sweet, deep voice. "Marrick."

That second time gets the best of me, and I open my eyes. There she is, wreathed in light, with that pretty boy face she wears so well. Her pale, pearl like eyes, laughing at me, the cuts on each cheek and her nose ring lifting with her smile. Her long red-brown hair, thick and curly, like thunderclouds. Skin like golden mead, her form thick where it matters.

There she is, wreathed in light.

My Princess.

"You look like shit," she laughs, her fingers tracing the edge of my face. They trail down my neck and my chest, stopping at the purple ink of the briar heart tattoo. "I could take a guess as to how you must feel."

"Fuck you," I manage hoarsely; she smiles.

"That your way of saying you miss me?"

I wince, my expression turning desperate.

"You know that I do."

"Do I?" She traces the purple ink with this teasing smile on her face.

"You took everything from me," I croak out, feeling the searing pain of those first few days without her. "Everything. My soul. My heart. I've nothing left for myself."

I am crying now.

She starts laughing again.

"You left, Marrick," she reminds me, sweetly. "You left. Everything I 'took', you practically gave me. You threw it to the wind, and I picked up all the pieces. I was alone-"

"No," I moan.

"Am alone-"

"No!" I plead, my words wracked by my sobs. "I had to, Rontu, I had to, you know I had to, it's not safe!"

She shakes her head, that smile lingering.

"You could have told me," she says, like I don't say it to myself enough every day. "You should have told me. We could have faced Him together."

"I know," I whisper, my eyes burning from the tears as I shut them. "I know."

"Then, what stopped you?"

"Rontu-" I say helplessly, "Rontu, I'm so afraid."

"And, that's stronger than you?" She cocks her head, her eyes patronizing. "Stronger than us?" I can't bring myself to voice my answer. I don't want to see her disappointment when she sees my doubt. "If that's so, Marrick, then you never loved me at all."

"You know that's not true, I'm doing this to protect you!"

"I," she raises her chin, and the act slaps me in the face for how it reminds me of myself, "I don't need protection from anyone. It seems you've forgotten who I am." She smiles. "I am the Prince of Death, the Child of Daedra. I am the heir of the Ebon Chain, Crosser of the Sea of Ghosts, the Toothless Biter, the Bane of the Dark Brotherhood, the Sharer of Souls, I," she laughs, "am my own protection."

"I didn't want to leave you," I say, weeping like a bitch. "I didn't! I have the Red Wave, have her hidden away. We could have been leagues away, in the middle of the sea, away from all of this; that's what I wanted!" I sob. "I wanted you always to be with me."

She shakes her head, smiling softly.

"But, that would mean I couldn't live without you."

"I can't," I bit out. "I can't live without you."

Rontu's smile widens, "But, you are, Marrick," she whispers. "You are."

"Rontu-" I'm cut off by footsteps, severe and resounding through the dark void I always meet her in, footsteps, the footsteps, His footsteps. "He's coming now," I breathe, panicking, "Rontu, you have to leave, please!"

"I'm not afraid of him."

"Rontu, please!"

"You're so much more than your fear."

"I am my fear!" I holler. The footsteps keep coming, louder now, the sound of metal hitting the floor. "You have to leave!"

She isn't listening.

"So much more. One day, you'll know that I'm right. You think he's strong? You think he holds my fate over your head? He doesn't." She beams at me. "You aren't weak, Marrick, you're strong. You'll see. Yes, He has power, yes He's taken everything from you. But, now is the time to make a stand. You know you have the power to take it all back." The footsteps are pounding in my ears, in my own chest it seems. "You know what to do Marrick, don't shy from your destiny. You've been asleep for long enough," she says, "Now, it's time you wake up and fight your fate. Become who you were born to be."

She's gone now. She's escaped Him.

The world is cold, without her near me, and colder still, with His dark presence.

Him.

He stands above me now, in my Princess' place. His armor is like nothing I've ever seen; deep black robes seeping power, and a mask with great, curving horns. He carries a golden-hilted blade, shaped like tendrils intertwined together, and a black staff also seeming to be wound of tendrils. His gauntlets and boots matched the material the mask was made of, and through the mask, I can see His eyes gleaming at me, mockingly.

For the longest time, neither of us speaks. I'm holding my breath, my heart's racing and my eyes are wide and wary. My mind aches with the wish that I could make myself disappear.

But, He sees everything.

Even right through me.

"She got away," He muses, His voice sounding like ten, all speaking together.

I swallow hard, "She got away."

Slowly, to my amazement, my fear of Him dissipates like sand between fingers. She got away; she's gone. Like five years ago, she's gone. And, once again, it's because of this motherfucker.

"This time. She got away this time," he amends, before raking his gaze over me. "Something's changed in you," he murmurs. "You're still afraid, yes, that's so. . . but, most of that is for her, not of me. No," he says, surprised. "No, you aren't afraid of me anymore. You're angry. You hate me. You seek vengeance from me."

"I am not afraid," It's my mouth talking but I feel her speaking through me, "I will fight my fate."

I feel strange. I feel. . . like myself. And, if I know this, I know he knows this, because He knows all. I open and close my fists, trying to stop the life from returning to them before he can smell it.

"Curious," he says; I can hear the smile on his voice. "In the course of five years, you go from missing sleep due to your fear of me haunting your dreams and threatening to kill the one you claim to love. You did everything I asked of you, from abandoning her, to abandoning your so-called 'destiny' as the 'Dragonborn'. Yet, after speaking to her once, you find your courage. Very curious."

"I've found my courage, aye," I say, and step closer to him. "Now, all that's left is to find you."

Me and my glorious mouth.

"Foolish boy," he says, and begins to laugh. "Do you even know who I am? Who it is you've been fearing all these years?" He doesn't care for my response. "I am Miraak. The true Dragonborn. I await you in Solstheim, where I will enter back into your pitiful world before plunging it under my rule once more. I command legions, boy, whereas you were so afraid of your nightmares of me, that you couldn't even bring yourself to defeat Alduin."

"I can now," I reply, "and, I will."

He pauses, perusing me.

"You can try, little Dragonborn," he says, a smile on his voice. "Until then."

The red sun is rising and I sit beneath it, overlooking the hills of Whiterun, bathed in its light.

A new day.

My day.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the great Redguard, dressed elegantly once more in royal blue and black, as he leaves the city gates. He rounds the bend, and keeps walking towards the stables, stopping in his tracks when he sees me.

I'm sitting astride Fenris, who had almost forgotten who I was, he'd been in his stall so long, all the few things I own strapped away in his saddle bags and tack.

"Yesterday, I said I'd think about it."

"And, did you?" he asks, trying to fight the curve of his lips.

"No," I smile, and he cocks his head at me. "I did dream about it, though. . ."