Chapter 11

Aan Zoor Oblaan

"A Legend Ends"

"When Akatosh... Auriel.. what have you, came to me so many years ago, I dared not question his judgement," he flashed a prideful smile towards Bjorn, who stepped forward. "Now I have utter faith in him."

Bjorn bowed proudly. "Destiny or not, Atmora is in my blood. It's my home. I'd do anything to protect it."

"You were a blessing upon this sacred land, Bjorn. You're ancestors would be proud... Yngol... noble Ysgramor..." he sighed reminiscently, "... even his achievements would not rival this victory here today, Champion."

Drenyir gestured to the bloodstain on the ground where Hyrandus had fallen to the Soul Eater Bow. "And what about them?" he asked. "Do they have their honor redeemed?"

Ynullum laughed jovially. "Of course they do!" he chuckled. "The Wind Regiment was finer today then I had ever seen them. Their spirits rest now in Sovngarde, even Hyrandus. I envy them... to walk the Shor's Halls with the heroes of Nord-kind. It was kind of you to ask, Dark Elf."

Bjorn stood by his friend stoically, "at times, even an Elf can have the heart of a Nord."

Ynullum nodded in agreement before speaking again. "So, shall we return to the Palace for a victory feast? I have never felt the Heart of Atmora beat so powerfully. It can feel the curse of Drogdoiiz lifting."

Mariah and Drenyir hurriedly followed Ynullum as he turned back to the courtyard. Bjorn joined them after retrieving Godbane from the pile of ash and bone. It twitched with power, but after being soaked with the blood of it's ancient foe, the blade's thirst was satisfied.

The walk out of the antechamber was harrowing. Even on the field of victory, the countless corpses of the Cold Army were an unsettling reminder of the cost of life here today. All was quiet on Atmora once they reached the courtyard. The wind was non existent, and the snow had slowed to slight flurries. Bjorn smiled when he noticed the clouds. They had stopped swirling around the palace and lightened to a cool grey. With the Lord of Ice vanquished, the land seemed to be returning to normal once more.

The palace doors swung open, and the walk to the throne room was just as dreadfully quiet. The three took their seats at the table and summoned their meals like they had before, eating in silence. After she had finished, Mariah turned to Ynullum.

"So what will happen to Atmora now?" she asked. "Will it ever return to the rolling grassland it was so long ago?"

Ynullum stroked his beard inquisitively. "In truth, I cannot tell. With the curse lifted, the clouds will part and the sun will shine once more on Atmora. When the great thaw is over, our rivers and lakes will return, and hopefully life that has remained dormant will reemerge. As for my people..." he seemed lost in thought. "Perhaps the curse will reverse and the surviving Cold Army will return as the Nedes they once were. Or perhaps they will remain in the twisted form they are now, hiding out in glacial caves as the world becomes foreign to them. Only time will tell."

With the meal over, Ynullum walked them back to the barracks. "It is late, and tonight we sit on a field of valor. You must all be tired after the battle today, so you may rest here one more night before I return you to your homeland."

The group fell into their beds, except Bjorn who Ynullum had held back. He smiled warmly. "It is good to have you in these halls once more, Champion," he said, gripping Bjorn's shoulder firmly, "it is sad to see you go."

Bjorn nodded solemnly. "It was my pleasure to serve Atmora. It will be hard to return to Skyrim after all that has happened on this voyage."

"Do not worry, Bjorn. You are the Champion of Atmora. Keep the armor, and Godbane. Let them be reminders of the home you saved after thousands of years of sorrow."

"Will the Nords ever return to this land, my King?"

"It is hard to say, but remember this always. The Heart of Atmora can only sustain me for so long. My life is ending, Bjorn Frosthammer. I will see Atmora restored before Sovngarde calls me home. When that day comes..." he looked Bjorn in the eyes intensely, "the burden will fall to you. You are of royal blood, and the divine protector of the land. I will recall you to Atmora, and you will take your place as King. I trust you will carry our people home on an exodus to rival the voyages of Ysgramor."

Bjorn felt lightheaded, overcome with the burden of this task. "When will this be, exactly?" he asked shakily.

The smile returned to Ynullum's face once more. "Not for many years," he replied, "you have much more to etch into the fabric of time. Atmora will call you home when you are ready. Sleep well, Champion."

Bjorn nodded and walked to his bed. As he expected, Mariah was there, curled in the fur blanket, fast asleep. Bjorn climbed into the bed and wrapped his arms around her, which she snuggled into comfortably. Sleep did not come to him easily, however. For hours, Bjorn lay awake with the thoughts of his future. His destiny, it would seem, was far more incredible than he would've expected the day he found the letter in his father's study. But as it always had, the call of sleep came to him eventually, and Bjorn's eyes closed.

The snow fell hard. The ships stayed in formation. Bjorn gazed out across the sea, watching as the fog moved in. To his left, he saw Ylgar's ship, steadfast, keeping with the fleet. To his right, Bjorn saw Ysgrammor's ship, commanding the landing force. The snow began falling faster as the armada hit the fog. Suddenly, all was quiet. Bjorn could not hear the lapping of the waves, or the metal clangs of readying swords. The fog was thick. Bjorn reached out into the mist, and was stunned that he couldn't see his fingers from this distance. He stumbled off his perch, trying to reach his crew. Noise returned, but the fog did not lift. Rather, Bjorn became discomforted by the return of the sound of cracking ice. Bjorn slipped and fell, and when he stood, he gasped. Before him was a ghastly spirit, clad in armor the likes of which he'd never seen. He looked around him, seeing the fog lift slightly. The ghost reached out to him, and Bjorn turned away in an attempt to avoid the ethereal grasp. But rather than attack him, the spirit extended it's hand and pulled Bjorn to his feet. The spirit bowed to him and the crack of ice beneath the bow disappeared. "Bjorn Frosthammer," it whispered, it's voice seeming distant as an echo. "Warlord of the North. You have nothing to fear of the Sea of Ghosts. We have heard the call of Akatosh. We grant you safe passage. You will not suffer the same fate as Yngol upon your return. Luck to you, Champion." The ghost faded into the mist as it lifted. Through the clearing fog, Bjorn saw his goal and grinned with joy. The snow-capped mountains glittered in the moonlight, and the shores of Skyrim seemed welcoming and calm. After a long journey, he was home.

Bjorn rose sleepily the next morning and packed his gear. Drenyir and Mariah were up already, waiting in the doorway for him. Bjorn packed away the Champion's armor, donning the furs and leather he arrived in. However, Godbane rested quietly at his side, ready to meet any foe it's master encountered. He joined the group by the door and they proceeded to the throne room, where Ynullum waited patiently for them. Stepping up to the Heart of Atmora, he turned to the group.

"Dear friends, it has been an honor to have you in my halls. You have showed more valor in battle for a land not your own than I have seen in the eyes of my own soldiers so many years ago. The Heart will take you back to your ship and command the wind to carry you home quickly. Your return to Skyrim will be quiet, this I can guarantee, but remember that Atmora will always open her arms to you. When the thaw has ended and the harbor at Jykulfyk is restored, you may come and go as you please. My old eyes would be grateful to see you again. Keep always my gifts to you, and use them to remember your journey to this sacred land."

He clenched his staff, which glowed with a mystic blue light. "Are you ready to return to your homes?"

The group nodded, Mariah taking Bjorn's hand as the room began to fill with magicka. Bjorn held it tight as the Heart glowed fiercely, opening a portal out to the harbor. There sat the Ice Wraith, it's crew making the ship ready to sail. Ynullum raised his hand, sending them off.

The three stepped through the portal, and with an electric rush, the sea breeze off the coast of Atmora met their faces. The portal shut behind them, leaving them facing the Ice Wraith, which sat bobbing in the waters off the harbor. The group approached the landing boat, and before too long, the Ice Wraith was sailing south, Skyrim bound.

The Captain personally greeted them when they boarded the ship. After vigorously shaking their hands and congratulating them, he gave them a confused look. "Where are the others..? Where is Lady Highbourne?"

Drenyir and Mariah stole a glance at one another. Bjorn had intended to answer him, but at the thought of the treacherous Thalmor agent, his blood boiled and his anger kept his mouth shut. Drenyir stepped forward and addressed the Captain. "They knew what they were getting into when they signed up for this expedition. The others didn't make it, claimed by the weather, or by the twisted beasts that stalk the plains. We're the only ones who made it."

The Captain shook his head sadly, folding his hands behind his back. "Well, we're still obligated to take back the expedition, with or without Orendali. Head down to the bunks, or stay up here on deck. The southern winds are unusually heavy today," he cocked an eyebrow, "we should be back at Winterhold in a few days."

Bjorn returned to his perch at the front of the ship, leaning on the railing, feeling the wind on his back. He found it funny that he stood here, looking out to sea for the first glimpses of Skyrim just as he had done the same when approaching Atmora. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Mariah, bundled in furs to keep the bitter wind away. She smiled warmly and joined him at the head of the ship.

"Does it feel strange?" she asked, gazing out to the sea.

"Does what feel strange?"

"The fact that you're waiting here for the first sign of Skyrim, just as Ysgramor, Yngol and Ylgar did so many years ago."

Bjorn shook his head slightly as the realization came to him. This is what Yngol had been doing just before the Sea of Ghosts claimed him. He never saw the shores of Skyrim, and he never saw his father and his army storm the beaches of the new world. Now that he had thought about it, it did feel a little distant to him. Like a fading memory rather than a first experience.

"Yeah, I suppose you could say that," he replied, turning to her with the same kind hearted smile.

She nudged him with her shoulder and grinned before looking back out to the water. "What do you think will come of the expedition? What do we tell the Archmage?"

Bjorn thought for a moment. "I suppose we'll give her the short version, like Drenyir did. You can give her the books you have in your satchel and... we call it finished. We did what we were told to do. Tell Mirabelle stories of a barren, desolate land where few creatures survive and all culture has died out. She wasn't there. She'll buy it."

"I suppose. Is it wrong not to tell her the truth?"

"Skyrim isn't ready to know about Atmora. Give it time. Someday another expedition will arrive and find a Atmora as it was thousands of years ago. Let that expedition be the one to tell Tamriel the truth."

"What will you do, Bjorn?"

"I guess just... go home. All in all, I'm still a Frosthammer of Solitude. The Champion of Atmora... the Warlord of the North," he laughed at the thought. "All of that will have to be left behind."

He turned to her again, this time the smile gone from his face. "What will happen to... us?"

Mariah folded her hands together and thought. Bjorn could see sorrow in her eyes, but she made no effort to hide it. "I'm... I'm not sure, Bjorn. I still have duties at the College but..."

"You will always be welcome in Solitude, at Frosthammer Manor, Mariah. You could always come home with me."

She looked at him, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. "I would love that, Bjorn. Just like I love you. But I still have so much to learn in Winterhold. I will write to you every day, and in a few years when I'm finished at the College..." her voice trailed off, unsure. "I'll find you then. If you'll still have me."

Bjorn choked back his emotion. The rigid facade of the Nord crumbled around Mariah and he struggled to put his thoughts into words. "Of course I will still have you. As long as you keep writing, I will keep replying. As much as I would want you with me, I won't force you to abandon the life you've been chasing."

Mariah embraced him and buried her face in his shoulder. They stayed like that for awhile, her hair floating lightly in the wind. After what seemed like hours, she looked up at him. "Thank you, Bjorn. Come find me later before bed."

She walked off, and no sooner did she disappear from sight did Drenyir approach the Nord, who was still recoiling from the talk.

"So! Here's the hero of Atmora, just where I expected him to be."

Bjorn immediately put up his facade, grinning at the Dunmer. "Where else would I be?"

Drenyir chuckled and joined Bjorn at the bow. "What's next for the Warlord of the North?"

"I'm going home. That life I learned about on Atmora has no bearing in Skyrim. I guess it's back to being an investor."

"Well that's boring."

"You're telling me. What about you? Back to Solstheim then?"

Drenyir shrugged. "I'm not too sure. Got nothing waiting for me on that rock. I might stay in Skyrim. I hear there's a fletcher in Solitude looking for an apprentice."

"Maybe I'll see you at the Winking Skeever now and then?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't have it any other way."

Drenyir clapped the Nord on the back before walking towards the stairs. "I'm heading to the range. You have a good night, Bjorn."

Bjorn nodded and said goodnight before looking back out across the water. After all that had happened, it all had to be buried in history. After another hour or so, with the moons high in the night sky, he headed below decks and found his way to the bunks. Sure enough, Mariah was waiting for him. She kissed him lightly before laying down. The rocking of the ship was somehow calming, and Bjorn quickly fell asleep.

The rest of the trip home was quiet. Like Ynullum promised, the journey was uneventful and fast, and in five days the ship made harbor just off of Winterhold. The three survivors approached the College, trying to figure out just what they would tell the Archmage. The door to the Hall of Elements opened easily and there they found the Archmage, wrapped up in a lecture about the Eye of Magnus and it's magical properties. Bjorn, Drenyir and Mariah turned to one another and smiled. They would let Tamriel think that it was a mystical artifact locked away by the gods after Lorkhan's trickery, but they alone would know the truth.

The Archmage seemed alarmed to see them and quickly dismissed the lecture. The students gladly emptied the hall, leaving on the Archmage and the survivors. Bjorn grabbed one by the arm, a shifty looking Bosmer. "I've heard you have some things for sale," Bjorn whispered, allowing the other students to funnel around them. "Would you be willing to sell me one of your trinkets?" The Bosmer smiled wryly, and unclipped his satchel.

Mirabelle stammered for a moment before speaking.

"You... you're back? And behind schedule, might I add. Where is Mrs. Highbourne and the rest of your team?"

Bjorn stepped forward. "They didn't make it ma'am. The cold got to them."

She flashed an irritated expression. "Did you learn anything? Was this whole expedition a waste?"

"We're sorry. Nothing remains on Atmora but the frozen husks of ancient cities. Mariah has some tomes for you, but beyond that, not even the ruins of Khartagyllum gifted us any secrets." Bjorn adjusted his cloak, hiding Godbane in it's folds.

"Give them here. I... I'm not sure what to do with you all now. You will be paid the agreed upon sum and the deceased will have the funds sent to their families."

Mariah handed the Archmage her satchel. "What about me, ma'am?"

Mirabelle looked her over once, remembering who the Imperial was. "Yes yes, Mariah, was it? You may continue your studies. There is a lecture on ritual destruction runes in an hour. You two?" she gestured towards Bjorn and Drenyir. "You sellswords have been paid, and therefore we have no more use for you here at the College. You are dismissed. Thank you for your time and courage."

Drenyir and Bjorn bowed and turned for the door, followed shortly by Mariah.

Drenyir turned to Bjorn and shook his hand firmly. "See you at the Winking Skeever then?"

Bjorn nodded. "Of course, Drenyir. And I'll talk to the innkeeper about mounting that boar's head." He winked slyly and Drenyir chuckled.

"You do that. And keep an eye on her, will ya?" he nodded his head towards Mariah, who still hustled to catch up to them. "She's a smart girl."

"I will, Drenyir. See you around."

Drenyir walked out of the College and made way towards the carriage at Winterhold. Mariah caught up to Bjorn, who was waiting patiently at the bridge back to town. She hugged him tightly. "So you'll be heading back to Solitude now?"

Bjorn nodded, loosening his grip and holding her around the waist. "I will. You'll be okay here, by yourself?"

"Yes. By the Eight, I survived Atmora, didn't I? I don't think anyone here can bring me down. Wait until I show them some of the things the Blessings of the Heart taught me..."

"Mariah, don't go showcasing that. We keep it secret, alright?"

"Yes, my love. I was just kidding anyway."

"What's next for you here?"

"I'm hoping to fall in on a study with a new student here. His name is Pyric Thorne. Fascinating stuff, really. He says he retrieved some notes left behind by Arniel Gane when he disappeared... all about the Dwemer and the Heart of Lorkhan." She was practically bouncing with excitement. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Well, if you're alright, then I guess I'll be on my way then. I'll wait for you to write me."

Bjorn adjusted the collar of his tunic slightly, revealing a glimmering gold necklace. The snow drifted lightly around them, and the lapping of the waves below was almost serene. Mariah's eyes widened and a huge grin appeared on her face.

"Oh, Bjorn... is that an Amulet of Mara?"

Greetings from the desk of WWIIbeast1945! I want to extend my most sincere thanks to the fans that have read my story from the very beginning, and those who popped in sometime later but enjoyed it enough to keep reading. You all are wonderful people, as well as my motivation, and it makes me so happy when I see so many new visitors in my story traffic. Please, leave your thoughts in a review (even if it's a factual or grammatical correction, I will change it), as I do read all of them, and please, dismiss any fear you have about the future. While this journey has ended, the adventures of Bjorn Frosthammer, Drenyir Yamarith and Mariah Valentino (or perhaps Frosthammer, now) are far from over, and I already have a sequel in the works far more epic than this one. Feel free to leave your own ideas in a review as well. If I like them enough, you might be credited with something in my next project.

That's all from me. Again, thank you all for reading and I will see you all again very soon!

Stay strong and keep your gun loaded: WWIIbeast1945