A/N: So anyway, I decided that as part of the general theme of this fic wrapping up the Skyrim content that never made it into WQA, we deserved to have some Dragonborn DLC content. And here it is! After writing Reclamations, I decided I was never writing that questline again, and for the most part, I'm still not. Here, Miraak sent cultists to assassinate Elisif in her own courtroom in Sun's Dusk 203, which went about as well as you'd expect (unarmed Elisif Shouted them both down while backing away with Maia in her arms, and then Madanach descended in a righteous fury and that was that). Elisif finally went out to Solstheim in early 204 after the initial investigators didn't come back, and then the Companions party headed by Eola didn't come back either, and after that Madanach freaked out and insisted Elisif do something, so off she went, returning a few weeks later with all her missing people rescued and Miraak dead and a few souvenirs including all Miraak's stuff and some Black Books for Keirine. Sounds good, right? Well... not quite, as you will see.

Summary: Our heroes return to Sky Haven Temple with their Elder Scroll, only to find their means of reading them will need a rethink and a new plan. But all is not lost as another visitor to Sky Haven Temple is able to ease Eola's fears regarding her unborn children on one score... but raises a whole new one. Meanwhile in Solitude, the High Queen has troubles of her own, as her past refuses to stay there.

"We got the Scroll!" Eola cried as she led them into Sky Haven Temple's main hall. "Bryn! Bryn! Where's our Moth Priest, we've got some Scrolls to read! Has Elisif's arrived yet?"

Brynjolf stepped into the centre of the room, but he wasn't smiling.

"In the library," was all he said. "Elisif's arrived yesterday, but… there's a problem."

"A problem?" Eola asked, exchanging glances with the others, alarmed. "What sort of problem?"

"Come with me and I'll show you," Brynjolf said. So they followed him onwards to the Blades library, where Esbern was sitting across the fire from Dexion, reading to him from the Song of Pelinal. Dexion himself was listening attentively, but not reading himself. A blindfold covered his eyes.

"Why are his eyes bound?" Cicero whispered. "He cannot see with that on, can he?"

"No," Brynjolf said shortly. "Nor with it off. That is our problem. Our Moth Priest can't read Elder Scrolls any more."

Esbern and Dexion looked up and Esbern lowered the book.

"Ah. Eola. Cicero. Serana. Athis. I wondered when you'd be by," the old man said. "Has Brynjolf told you our news?"

"Yeah," Eola whispered, her own troubles forgotten as she came to kneel by Dexion's side. "What happened? I thought you guys could read the Scrolls without going blind?"

"Oh child," Dexion sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Even we succumb in time. It is the price we pay for our knowledge. Even so, you are correct. We normally do not suffer so quickly. Alas, in my haste to read, I neglected to take the proper precautions. Days of meditation are normally required, as is fasting and vigil and the blessings of the Eight. Alas, I did none of those things and now I pay the price."

"We all pay the price if we can't read these Scrolls," Athis said sombrely. "We'll never know the prophecy."

"You mean we have gone to all that trouble for nothing?" Cicero wailed, at least until Serana hushed him.

"Hey, you got quite a bit out of it as I recall," Serana said. "Not a complete loss. And at least if we've got the Scrolls, my father hasn't."

"True enough," Eola said quietly. "Dexion. Is there anything you can tell us? We don't need the bow to defeat Harkon, Elisif will launch the attack on his castle anyway, but if there's anything you can do, even if it's just give us the name of one of your colleagues who might be able to come out here at short notice..."

"Patience," Dexion said quietly, faint smile on his face. "There may be a way. Without anyone else losing their sight. There is a ritual, the Rite of the Ancestor Moth. Properly performed, it should allow you to read the Scrolls for yourself."

It sounded risky. These things always were. But Eola was nothing if not resourceful.

"What does it do?" Eola asked. And so Dexion explained about one of the ancient rituals of the Moth Priests, where the priest would use a special knife to take some bark samples of a sacred canticle tree, attracting the Ancestor Moths the Moth Priests were named for. The moths had been the ones to first teach the priests how to read the Scrolls, and once enough of them were gathered around the participant, they would enable them to understand the Scroll's contents.

"What, Ancestor Moths are real?" Cicero squealed. "Cicero had no idea! Mama told me the story when I was just a little boy who wanted to know what Moth Priests did all day and were they really moths in human form – stop laughing, brother, I was barely five years old. Mama told me the Moth Priests were very wise men and women who read prophecies from the Elder Scrolls and had been taught the art from the Ancestor Moths. She said it was very dangerous to try and read a Scroll without proper training, you see."

"She was not wrong," Dexion told him, smiling ruefully. "Let me be an example, Cicero. But as I said, if you are cloaked with Ancestor Moths, their all-sight will protect you. Of course, you will need first to find a special Ancestor Glade. Fortunately for you, there is one in Skyrim, in the mountains south of Falkreath. I was intending to go there to meditate – alas now I fear I will never see its glories. Nevertheless, if you take the Scrolls there in my stead, I believe you can perform the ritual and find out the entirety of this prophecy."

A sign of hope, and Eola could tell Cicero was keen to get going at least, and Serana also seemed keen to find out the key to the Tyranny of the Sun. All the same though, Eola could wish it was somewhere else.

"Falkreath," Eola sighed as she made her way to the bedrooms, Serana falling into step beside her while Cicero remained behind to poke at the library and bother Esbern, and Athis stayed behind to make sure he didn't break anything. "It would be Falkreath. Not Whiterun or Riften or Hjaalmarch. Falkreath."

"Something wrong with Falkreath?" Serana asked, surprised. "Relations with Cyrodiil a little awkward?"

"Cyro-? Oh, no, sweetie, Falkreath's been part of Skyrim for centuries," Eola purred. "Only the current Jarl is… well, he didn't inherit it, he got appointed by Elisif after the previous Jarl died, mostly I think to make sure he didn't plot against her in exile… or against her husband."

"Ohhh," Serana whispered, starting to see. "The Jarl of Falkreath doesn't like your father."

"No," Eola said ruefully. "Not considering Da overthrew and later executed Jarl Igmund's Da, and then proceeded to cause merry hell in the Reach while Igmund was Jarl there."

Serana's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Wait," she breathed. "Skyrim conquered the Reachmen? Daedra, who does that?"

"Someone with the Thu'um who wanted the mines and got tired of Reachmen raiding border settlements," Eola explained. "But the Reachmen didn't like it."

"I bet," Serana breathed. "Goodness, conquering the Reachmen? Father always refused on principle. Said you were more trouble than you were worth – no offense. But does that mean Madanach led a rebellion then? He's not a hereditary king?"

"He's not, but he's intending Kaie will be," Eola said, a hand drifting to her stomach. "He's been trying to get her to get married and pregnant for the last year, with no luck, I might add. I… well, looks like I got there first. Who'd have thought it. He's gonna be so pleased when I tell him. Who knows, maybe one of them will get to rule the Reach."

"Maybe," Serana said, eyeing Eola's belly. "Poor thing. Being royal's not all it's cracked up to be."

Well, Eola knew that. At least she'd been able to get some independence from the Mournful Throne in adulthood… but she had a feeling the arrival of twin babies would change everything. All the same, getting one over her sister did bring a smile to Eola's face… but truth be told, it was the ecstatic tears in her father's eyes that really made her smile. He'd never expected her to have kids, in fact looking at Cicero, she suspected Madanach was hoping Cicero never bred. Alas, he'd be disappointed on that score, but she had a feeling grandchildren would make up for a lot. First though, she needed to find out what had happened to them.

Esbern had already told her Paarthurnax was expected in the morning. Suited her just fine. Leaving Serana to have a look around, Eola retired to bed. She needed some answers.

Sunlight over the Reach, and Eola held hands with Cicero as they waited, sitting on the steps and watching the Throat of the World. Three hours after sunrise, Esbern had said, and dragons were said to have an innate sense of time. Paarthurnax was never late.

And so they waited, holding hands and watching the sky, and before long Cicero saw it. A shape in the sky, descending from the mountain and growing as it approached. Paarthurnax, Master of the Voice, arriving from his lonely strunmah to have tinvaak with some unlikely friends.

Wind gusted over the courtyard, displaced air as a lord of the skies swooped overhead and powerful wingbeats lowered fifty tons of dragon onto the stone pavilion of Sky Haven Temple.

"PAARTHURNAX!" Cicero squealed, capering about in delight. "HELLO!"

Paarthurnax shook himself off and lowered his head to get a better look at Cicero.

"Ziizahro," Paarthurnax said affectionately. "How have you been, fahdonni?"

"Paarthurnax, Paarthurnax, Cicero can breathe fire!" Cicero squealed. "Look, look! YOL TOOR SHUL!"

A fireball erupted out over the cliff edge, frightening a nearby bird and singeing the leaves off a juniper tree. Cicero squealed and then grinned up at Paarthurnax, looking very pleased with himself. That expression lasted all of two seconds, and then Paarthurnax spoke.

"Impressive. You have gone from knowing nothing to knowing all three words and Shouting like a master. And yet you are not Dovahkiin. It has been less than two weeks. Ziizahro. The truth. What have you done."

"He made a bargain with a dragon necromancer who'd been trapped in the Soul Cairn, promising to ferry the dragon's soul out of the Cairn in return for being able to breathe fire," Eola said grimly, folding her arms as she approached and glared at Cicero. "Which I could live with, but the thing is, he has dragon blood apparently, so do our unborn children and now one of them has absorbed the soul. Paarthurnax, I only have my aunt's word for it that the Ideal Masters never intended this, and neither she nor I know how dragon soul absorption works! Paarthurnax, please, please tell me what's happening." Eola's voice had dropped to a panicked whisper, and she might have forgiven Cicero but that didn't mean she wasn't concerned. And Paarthurnax… he looked frankly alarmed.

"A dragon. In the Soul Cairn," Paarthurnax said softly. "Kaan Sahrot Monah, do not tell me you met Durnehviir."

"You know him?" Eola gasped, sudden relief sweeping through her at the thought she might actually get answers. Paarthurnax nodded.

"Yes, Yol-Ah. Most know his fate. He dealt in forbidden arts and paid the price. Eternal servitude to the Inne-se-Ziil. A salutary tale to us all. And now you tell me he made a bargain with Ziizahro-Meyus in order to return."

Paarthurnax had turned to glare at Cicero here, and Cicero capered about, giggling.

"Yes! Vo dilon, vo alok-yun," Cicero squealed… at least until he saw the way Paarthurnax was glaring at him. "Um. That is what he said. Paarthurnax. Nice Paarthurnax. Follower of the Way of the Voice. Sir. Um."

"Ziizahro Zok-Meyus!" Paarthurnax actually growled at him. "You stupid, stupid joor!"

That was not good, and Eola choked back a lump in her throat, wondering whether to push Cicero off the cliff herself or let Paarthurnax do it, or haul him up before her father instead and let Madanach have the fun.

"Paarthurnax?" Eola managed to get out. "Please tell me what's going on?"

"Your ahmul is more foolish than even I thought," Paarthurnax growled, turning his attention back to her. "He very nearly risked everything. As it is… Laat Kogaan Akatosh. For one of the Dov to choose that path… None do so unless they have no choice left to them."

Kogaan Akatosh. Kogaan… Eola had heard that before, second-hand but she'd heard it.

"Durnehviir said that to Cicero," Eola mused. "That he had the meyriid but not the kogaan. Is this linked?"

"In a way," Paarthurnax sighed. "Sit, both of you. This will involve some explaining."

So they did, and Paarthurnax settled in for a lengthy explanation.

"Laat Kogaan Akatosh," Paarthurnax said in a low voice. "The last way out for a Dov whose life has become unbearable. We do not become ill, we do not age, we can be killed and our souls consumed by an enemy, but few choose to die that way. Nevertheless, there are always those who lose faith. Those whose decisions have trapped them in a life so bleak, they can see no way out save through death and rebirth. Vo alok-yun vothni dilon. No new life unless it be through death. It is not a path of honour, save to regain some after losing your own."

Silence, and while Eola was not from a background where honour was terribly important, Reachman culture favouring survival through any means necessary, Cicero had taken at least some of his father's beliefs to heart, and Eola felt his hand sneak into hers.

"He had lost everything in the Soul Cairn," Cicero whispered. "He just wanted to go home but could see no way out. Eola, this is sad!"

It was, but what this meant for her kids, Eola had no idea.

"So what does it do," Eola asked, ever the witch, and a witch could hear about nothing without immediately wanting to know what it did and how it worked. "What does it mean for us?"

"A Dovah partaking of Akatosh's Last Blessing voluntarily surrenders his body entirely and his soul to the mercy of Akatosh," Paarthurnax said softly, almost reverently. "It is a final death, and that Dovah is no more… but there is a chance for the soul to be reborn, at the genazend, that is, pleasure, of Akatosh. As a new Dovah… or a Dovahkiin."

Eola turned to look at Cicero, whose eyes had lit up with the same excitement she was feeling, and both turned to Paarthurnax, eager to hear more.

"Does this mean one of our babies is Dragonborn?" Cicero asked, practically vibrating with excitement. "Only… did they eat Durnehviir?" Cicero's face fell as he spoke, sadness in his voice at Durnehviir being truly gone.

"No, Ziizahro," Paarthurnax said gently. "Your kiir is Dragonborn, yes… but not before you brought Durnehviir to it. A grown human with Dovah Sos can be united with the soul of a Dovah with no form, but only with Kogaan Akatosh, the blessing of our father. However, the same is not true for one of Dovah Sos whose ziil, soul, is not yet fully formed. A kiir vokiin, one as yet unborn, who has Dovah Sos in their veins, they do not need Kogaan Akatosh to become Dovahkiin. If the unbodied soul of a Dovah comes into contact with an unformed soul of a joor vokiin, the two can merge."

"Merge?" Eola said, not reassured by this. "What do you mean they merge?"

"The Dovah's soul becomes part of the joor," Paarthurnax said, shrugging. "The joor is born resembling its human parents, often its personality resembles theirs, but it will have the gift of the Thu'um. It will be Dovahkiin… but it will be its own person. It will not be Durnehviir, although some of his interests, shadows of his memory, might remain. Your kiir is still your kiir, Yol-Ah. But you can expect the Thu'um, the gifts of the Dovahkiin… and it is possible they might show an interest in the forbidden arts of necromancy. Yol-Ah. Yol-Ah, why are you laughing?"

"Nothing!" Eola gasped, weeping as she started to laugh. "Nothing, it's fine, it is! Only… only a Thu'um-wielding necromancer! That's… that's adorable! They'll fit right in! Cicero, did you hear that? One of our babies is going to have power to rival Auntie Keirine's!"

Cicero squealed, finally happy and relieved at last to have things back to normal, and for a few precious seconds, he and Eola just beamed at each other, holding hands, things between them finally restored… until Paarthurnax spoke again.

"It is not that simple, Yol-Ah. Yes, your Dovahkiin child will be well… but you said you were pregnant with two."

Eola stopped, letting Cicero go as foreboding settled over. Yes, twins, and in her worry over the proto-Dovahkiin, she'd barely given a thought to the other one. Except now she was starting to wonder if perhaps she should.

"Serana said there were two, why," Eola whispered. "What about the other one? They'll be dragon-blooded too, right?"

"Yes," Paarthurnax said quietly. "But the Dov share little and we do not like rivals. Yol-Ah, there may be two now, but I do not think that will last. I think your Dovah child will kill the other in the womb."

"Oh," Eola whispered, feeling her heart sink… but she'd heard of it happening in twin pregnancies, of one twin consuming the other. Sometimes it wouldn't work and they'd be born conjoined – these were invariably sacrificed to Namira when born to the Forsworn. But sometimes it would go unnoticed… but every Hag had a story of someone looking normal but having extra body parts inside, or just the secret coding manual of two people, not one. That was considered lucky, a sign of Namira's blessing on the survivor. Eola had long wondered if she was one such, a Twin-Eater. To be mother to one… she felt sad about the doomed one, but for the survivor to be a Namira-blessed Twin-Eater Dragonborn necromancer… Eola felt that reward worth it. She'd never been the sentimental type.

Sadly for her, her husband was.

"NOOOOO!" Cicero howled, wringing his hands. "Paarthurnax, that cannot be, siblings cannot eat siblings! That is wrong! There must be something!"

"Ziizahro. It is the inevitable way of such things," Paarthurnax said sadly. "I am sorry. Alas, the only hope I could offer is if you were to find another disembodied Dovah soul, allowing the other to be Dragonborn as well. And you could not kill a dragon to do this – your first child would just consume the soul. You would have to seek out a dragon desperate enough to do this willingly."

"THAT IS NO USE TO US, WHERE WOULD WE FIND A DRAGON SOUL NOT IN A DRAGON BODY – wait," Cicero stopped, inspiration dawning as his face lit up. "Elisif! Pretty Elisif must have excess souls! We could ask her if she could donate one! She must have at least one she does not need. She could give it to us! Save our baby!"

This struck Eola as unlikely, to put it mildly, but even though Cicero was Champion of Namira, he didn't understand her ways like Eola did, and when it came to family, Cicero was damn near immovable on the topic. To kill a brother or sister was to invoke the Wrath of Sithis, and Cicero would have it no other way. Ordinarily, Eola liked his loyalty… but there were times it was damn inconvenient. Couldn't he just let it go? Eola didn't want to end up getting so wrapped up in saving a doomed baby that the other one suffered.

But Eola saw the desperate hope in her husband's eyes and realised she couldn't be the one to tell him this.

"Well, Paarthurnax, do you think it could work?" Eola asked.

"Hmm. Perhaps," the old Dovah said, and he sounded curious at least, which was something. "A Dovah trapped in a Dovahkiin's head might choose the Laat Kogaan as a way out, rebirth as a Dovahkiin themselves. You are the daughter of a king, no? Ensure the Dovah in question knows they could inherit a kingdom one day, it will no doubt sweeten your offering. I can make no promises, but yes, it is worth trying."

Cicero squealed and cuddled Eola, all cheerful again. Eola smiled and petted him, but inwardly she worried. She hoped this idea worked because if Elisif couldn't help, she had a feeling Cicero would never get over it… or forgive a child who'd killed their sibling.

Elisif walked down the corridor, solid stone walls hung with tapestries of her exploits, looking like Castle Dour except that castle's corridors didn't roam as far as these. Solid metal doors appeared every so often, each sealed shut, holding back a prisoner too dangerous to ever release. Cidhna Mine had nothing on this prison.

But every prison has a king, and the king of this particular prison reminded Elisif more of the one who'd escaped Cidhna Mine than she cared to admit. A king who wasn't shut away behind a steel door in the darkness but lounging behind bars in a room outfitted like a lord's bedchamber. He even had a library, although Elisif rarely saw him reading. Hardly surprising, given where she'd found him.

Why she'd treated this one so much better than the others, she didn't know. She'd bested him in combat, and the fight with him had been so much more personal than any of the others. None of the others had sent underlings to try and kill her and her baby in her own palace after all. By all rights she should have shut him up in the very depths, or destroyed him for good.

But she kept him around, and for some reason, she couldn't stay away. And so she dreamed, night after night after night. The Last Dragonborn couldn't keep away from the First.

He was lounging on the bed, gold and blue robes splayed out around him, identical to the version she'd gifted her husband, golden mask sitting on the bedstand, revealing a face she'd never seen on him in life. Brown hair the same length as Argis's, one human blue eye, and one golden dragon eye surrounded by scales, and a predatory smile unsettlingly like Madanach's. Miraak the First Dragonborn was a handsome man.

He noticed she was there, grinned and sat up, almost leaping off the bed.

"Good evening, beloved. I knew you missed me."

"Fuck you," Elisif hissed, glaring at him. "I'm here to make sure you haven't escaped, that's all. Don't read anything into it!"

"So you say," Miraak smirked, coming to stand behind the bars. "And yet here you are, coming back to see me. Time after time after time." He tilted his head, still that unsettling grin on his face. "Are you pregnant yet?"

"No, and this is none of your business!" Elisif snapped at him. "Maia's barely a year old, Madanach and I agreed we'd wait..."

"Fuck him!" Miraak growled, slamming a hand against the bars of his cage. "He's dying, an old man, a fading power, rotting away from the inside. You know it, I know it. He has a handful of years left, if that. You are Dov, you are in your prime! You are young, beautiful, glorying in your strength. You are a magnificent creature, Yolaazov. Put him away and take a lover. Get with child again. Your servant-to-be-mounted, your Aar-Goz, he will suffice."

"No!" Elisif cried, horrified. "I'm not sleeping with Argis!"

Miraak roared in frustration, and pounded the bars again, before turning away and kicking his chair across the cell.

"Let me out," Miraak said quietly. "Open the door, come in, lie with me, let me have you. You do not know love until you have loved another of the Dov."

"Don't bring love into this!" Elisif shouted. "I do NOT love you!"

Her Thu'um rattled the entire cell, and Miraak groaned, sinking into a nearby padded chair.

"Every time you do that, you arouse me," Miraak said matter-of-factly, and Elisif shuddered in horror and backed away.

"You are vile," Elisif said, revolted, and Miraak just shrugged.

"Then use my soul for a Rotmulaag and end me, Yolaazov," Miraak said, apparently unbothered by the idea of no longer existing.

"No," Elisif found herself saying.

"Why not."

"Because..." Elisif couldn't answer, except to admit that he wasn't far wrong. He was attractive. His voice crept down her spine and enticed her. She couldn't stop picturing herself naked and underneath him while he pounded into her and a traitorous little voice whispered that didn't she want a man in his prime, a man who could get hard more often and on command, one who wasn't tired all the time like Madanach was lately, and didn't she want another baby. Didn't she want to be pregnant again, big with child, swollen breasts and round belly, while Miraak's hand cupped his unborn child…

"I'm not having this conversation," Elisif snapped, turning on her heel and walking away. Best not to think about him any more, best not to think about the one other person who understood what it was to be Dovahkiin.

Fuck you, Miraak, I choose every day to be a good person, to be a good queen. You'd take over the world and enslave us all.

"I could never enslave you," Miraak called after her. "You could always throw me off. Damn it, Yolaazov, can't you see we're made for each other?"

Elisif stopped, took a deep breath and then turned around.

"My name," Elisif said coldly, "is Elisif. And I'm in love with Madanach, who is a better man and a better ruler than you ever were. And if he'd been the one trapped in Apocrypha for eons, his escape plan would have SUCCEEDED!"

With that, Elisif turned and walked away, determinedly not looking back. Why she couldn't kill him, she couldn't, or wouldn't, admit. But damned if she'd ever let him win.

Elisif opened her eyes to darkness and the sound of coughing, the same horrendous, chesty coughing that seemed to be a feature of her life these days as her husband coughed himself awake before collapsing on the bed, exhausted.

Elisif said nothing, but somehow he knew she was awake.

"I'm sorry, cariad, did I wake you?" Madanach said softly, turning to face her.

"No, I – I don't think so," Elisif whispered, rather glad to not be arguing with Miraak at least. Edging nearer, she snuggled into Madanach's arms, and if he wasn't the strong, handsome man Miraak was, he always made her feel safe.

"Was it the dream again," Madanach said, voice low and a little forbidding. He'd known something was wrong the first night she'd been back from Solstheim all those months ago, and eventually she'd given in and told him everything. He'd been furious at first that she'd not eaten Miraak's soul… but Elisif had burst into tears and Madanach couldn't stay angry, not at his pretty young wife. So he gritted his teeth and bore it, but he'd never exactly liked the idea of an eternally handsome rival living in his wife's head.

Elisif nodded, dreading the response, but to her surprise he just sighed and stroked her hair.

"Was he on at you to take a lover and get pregnant again?" Madanach said wearily. Elisif nodded, closing her eyes and trying not to think about just how much she actually wanted another baby. The sad thing was, Madanach wasn't entirely opposed but he wasn't as strong as he once was. Her husband of two years was visibly ageing and being father to a small baby was wearing him out. Elisif truly had no idea what to do about any of it.

"Maybe we should find you one – not Argis," Madanach said, and Elisif's eyes flew open.

"What?" Elisif whispered, trying to think if he'd actually just said that or if she was still dreaming.

"Maybe you should take a lover," Madanach said, sounding tired and defeated and old and just giving in. "Someone who can give you what you need. Someone who'll father another baby for you. Someone who can take care of you when I'm gone."

"No!" Elisif cried, before he could even finish, tears springing to her eyes. "You're not dead yet! And I don't want anyone else, I want you!"

Madanach closed his eyes and held her closer.

"The coughing is getting worse, every winter I get sick, that mine has ruined my breathing, and I don't know how many years I have left," Madanach said quietly. "I've already told Argis he's to protect Maia with his life when I go, be the man in her life if I can't be, and to make sure any stepfather she gets is good to her. Had a word with Cicero too. Little fucker's got his uses."

"Don't you – Mara's mercy, Madanach," Elisif whispered. "You aren't dead!"

"No one lives forever," Madanach said softly. "And I'm not young."

"Madanach, stop it, I love you!" Elisif whispered, memories of Torygg's funeral coming back to her, of her howling over his body and she couldn't go through this again, she just couldn't.

"I love you too," Madanach said roughly, rolling her on to her back to kiss her with all the ferocity he could muster. "By the gods, I love you."

Elisif kissed him and wrapped her legs around him, and while Madanach was ageing, he was very much not dead, not yet. Banishing thoughts of Miraak from her mind, she gave herself up to her husband. Her marriage was far from over just yet.

A/N: Exciting, isn't it? I felt it a bit sad to have one DB twin and the other not, and then I wondered who else might want freedom at any price, even death. And then I had a bright idea. It may of course be a terrible one, but that's half the fun.

I admit to playing fast and loose with the lore a bit (no change there) but it's always been a headcanon of mine that the dragon soul absorption only happens automatically when the dragon dying was killed by or at least was attacking the Dragonborn - it's something done by a victorious dragon to their slain foe. Where the Dragonborn just happens to be nearby at the time and the dragon was non-hostile to them, soul absorption does not have to happen. From there, it was just a matter of wondering if it could happen voluntarily ever, and under what circumstances.

Dovah translations:

Ziizahro Zok-Meyus - Cicero Most-Foolish

Kaan Sahrot Monah - Mighty Mother Kyne. Ever wondered how dragons curse? Now you know.

Laat Kogaan Akatosh - Akatosh's Final Blessing. Strikes me that even a race of immortals might want some way out so I've written in a voluntary kill switch for Dov who truly see no hope and want another chance. Few take it.

Inne-se-Ziil - Masters of Souls, aka the Ideal Masters.

Vokiin - unborn