Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. I am merely a fan who appreciates the ingenious glory of Hetalia's masterful tomfoolery and Skyrim's beauty.

Warnings: Angst, Torture, Blood, Violence and Death

Tale Fourteen Characters:

-England/ Arthur Kirkland

-America/ Alfred F. Jones

Time frame: During and after "I Promise", "Dragonborn: Part I", and "God"

~Dragonborn: Part II~

Tale Fourteen

"Don't look back"

More than a month of searching had finally come to an end, and what he found was a reality far worse than any nightmare.

Though he was finally here…Alfred lay withered and dying, just out of reach. This precious soul was now like a broken doll, clothed in rags, and left to die in a silver cage lined with blood and filth stained straw. The dehumanizing treatment had proven too much for the half-Nord, who so coveted his humanity; and now there was no sign of life left.

This man, his wonderful and loyal friend, who changed the course of the world's fate without ever knowing it, was nothing but a shadow because of him.

"Hey you," one of the guards snapped, "stop gawking at it and hurry up! That one's as good as dead and not worth the time."

The mage immediately tensed and had to force the rush of fire in his blood not to manifest and ruin his cover. For the first time in more than a month he had proof that Alfred was still alive. He was right here, just an arm's length away, still breathing and still bleeding…

The rest of this wretched population wouldn't be able to say that soon, and it was the only thought that enabled him to pull the hood of his robe lower and swallow his heart's demand for vengeance.

As the guard called again for all "actual human beings" to exit the prison, Arthur brushed his fingers against the cage and whispered the incantation he'd forced himself to perfect in just a few days. The rush of warmth he had dammed earlier spread down his arm and pooled at his fingertips, bleeding from his pores and seeping into the metal in his hands…

Changing silver to gold, and leaving a silent promise of hope.

They had been taken into the mines with black canvas covering their heads and hastily deposited into a cell. The door had been shut and locked before Arthur removed his shroud and found that the guards had left Alfred bound head to foot beside him. The half-Nord was roughed up and it was hard to tell what blood was his or not, so the mage quickly released the man's binds and began assessing for injury.

However, when Alfred was free he shoved the Breton back and snarled at the man contemptuously. "Get off of me!" Alfred barked out. "I think you've helped enough."

The move earned the blond a glare and Arthur crossed his arms as he stood over him. "I suppose if you can be impolite then you're fine. Though the next time I tell you to do something it would be wisest to comply, so things like this don't happen to you."

"You got us thrown in prison, Arthur. A fucking silver mine!" the half-Nord shouted, getting to his feet and practically screaming in the mage's face. "Oh yeah, listening to you has really done me wonders. Thanks a lot!"

Color in Arthur's cheeks rose and he clenched his fists to keep from matching the other's tone. "Seeing as how we're both still alive, you're welcome. You may be near indestructible but I have a hard time believing that even you could survive a battle against every guard and assassin in this city. We needed to get into the mine and this was the best way."

"Y-you wanted to end up here?" Alfred exclaimed belligerently, getting mere inches from Arthur's face. "When were you planning to share that plan with me? Would it have been before or after we lost all of our armor and gear, ended up accused of murder, and trapped underground in a fucking inescapable hole?"

Arthur was more than ready to violently slap some sense into him, but stopped as he noticed the intense heat radiating from the half-Nord. It happened sometimes that Alfred's body temperature would rise to near boiling degree, usually when he was feeling threatened or extremely angry. Arthur had also noted the phenomenon when he had been nursing the other back to health in Riften, thinking it was just a bad fever that wouldn't break. The mage was more than certain the marvel was tied to Alfred's abnormal strength and healing abilities…which he still couldn't fully explain.

It reminded him to think better of getting physical with the man and in taking a step back he seemed to snap the other out of his state. The half-Nord now just seemed frustrated and ashamed.

Keys rattling in the cell door broke the moment and a tall, dark-skinned guard in steel armor walked in. It took the mage a moment to process exactly what he was seeing, but eventually he realized that this person was an Orc...a female Orc (at least he assumed it was female, considering the cut of the armor). The guard was an imposing figure, even compared to Alfred, and stood at the door idly tapping the sword at her side and watching the pair with eyes the color of lifeless coals.

"All right, prisoners, eyes front," she commanded, clearly enjoying her job and disdain for the new inmates. "You're in Cidhna Mine now and we expect you to earn your keep."

Arthur and Alfred exchanged glances before the half-blood voiced what they both were thinking, "What exactly does that mean?"

The guard focused her attention on Alfred, sizing him up, and the rhythm of the finger tapping her sword increased. "There's no resting your hides in a cell in this prison. Here, you work," she replied and her lips curled back into a yellow toothed grin. "You'll mine ore until you start throwing up silver bars. You got it?"

The agitation coming from Alfred was almost palpable and Arthur's concern for his abnormal lack of restraint was growing. The mercenary was usually so calm in any situation, as he had yet to see anything but displays of confidence and the occasional moral outburst from him. Perhaps it was the thought of being underground that upset the half-blood so much, or maybe just the thought of being imprisoned truly was as horrible to him as being buried alive. Regardless of what the hang up was, Alfred needed to get it together for both of their sakes.

"All right, open her up!" the guard barked and suddenly the gears controlling the precautionary wall separating the cell from the mine began to turn.

The guard gave them one last look before heading to the catwalk outside and Arthur guessed this was their cue to go down to the excavating area. It took him braving the first few steps to spur Alfred into motion, but even the mage could feel just how reluctant he was.

The world outside of the cell was only slightly brighter than in it. Torches lined every dirt-covered wall and crude wooden scaffolds connected various earthen walkways to the stairs leading to the bottom of a vast pit, the center of which hosted a virtually abandoned bonfire. It was a leap of faith trusting the integrity of the supports to their weight, but eventually Arthur managed to lead the way down until he and Alfred were on solid ground.

The bottom of the quarry was so cold that their breath was visible and their boots could not protect them from the frosty bite of the terrain. Looking up from their position, all either of them could see was an empty darkness. It was as if someone had opened up a rift to Oblivion and tossed them in, like a pair of torches thrown into a hole to judge its depth. But neither of them had any illusions that anyone topside was looking for them; the world would never have noticed that they were gone. Lights thrown down here were meant to be forgotten and die, but unlike the sparse population gathered around the fire pit, Arthur had no intentions of playing a willing party to this fate.

"Come on," Arthur began, breaking his companion's disheartened search for an end to the darkness above. "We need to find Madanach."

Arthur had already begun moving towards the fire in the center of the area when he noticed the lack of movement behind him. He turned and found that Alfred hadn't moved and was staring at the path ahead looking…ill.

Despite the cold, Alfred was sweating profusely. The half-Nord's respirations seemed restricted and his complexion was ashen in the firelight. If Arthur didn't know any better he would think that Alfred was frightened within an inch of his life, but that just wasn't Alfred. The man had engaged in a hopeless fight with a dragon before they met and had since undertaken numerous precarious ventures, including remaining bound to him. Alfred did have a capacity for fear, yes, but nothing to a paralytic degree, and right now the man looked like a stone tribute to terror.

"Alfred, we're not getting out of here any faster by staying – "

"I can't go in there," the half-Nord bluntly cut the mage off in a shaky voice.

"Can't or won't?" Arthur retorted, getting rather irritated with this atypical resistance. "Regardless of what happened above we're down here now and it is in our best interests to work together. We need to find Madanach and survive this place long enough to escape."

"And what is a man already imprisoned in this abyss for over a decade going to do to help us?" Alfred shouted sounding so abnormally frantic that is stopped the mage short.

Without skipping a beat, Alfred drew closer and continued raving. "What could this man possibly have or do that was worth getting labeled criminals and sentenced to life in here? Tell me, Arthur, what was so fucking important that it merited killing those people?" the half-Nord shouted, now with Arthur backed up to the edge of the fire pit. "Do you intend to have me kill this Madanach too, or are you going to do it yourself?"

Arthur stared at Alfred wide-eyed and slack-jawed. He felt the heat of the fire against his back, but even in Alfred's rage he knew the man wouldn't let him fall in. Alfred was still exuded an aura of menace but had stopped advancing and there was no violent intent in his face. He hated hurting people and even now was remembering his promise to protect the other.

Seeing Alfred acting so unlike himself, yet still managing to be true to his nature…Arthur couldn't ignore how cruel he had been.

More than once now he had dragged Alfred into a situation where the half-Nord had been forced to kill. Though Arthur never enjoyed the act either, he had just come to accept it as another part of survival. He hadn't been forced to concede such a reality until he'd been exiled from High Rock and had to adapt to how incredibly violent it was beyond the borders he had always known. He had gone beyond learning magic in just a defensive capacity and used his powers meant for killing dragons to kill mortals who threatened him. In times when he felt no other options were worth exploring, he had imposed his survivalist philosophies on Alfred and expected him to act as the Breton had learned to. Some would call him a monster for this and maybe he was…

But he'd rather be a living monster than a dead one.

Without a word, Arthur recomposed his face and shoved the half-Nord away from him. That Alfred allowed the gesture further proved to Arthur that the man was all show and wouldn't act on his anger, which caused the Breton to glare and curl his lip in disgust.

"I don't have time to fret over morals and ideologies, and I certainly don't have time to console your guilty conscience. So, if it makes you feel better, blame everything on me and get out of my way. But know this," the mage hissed. "There was nothing stopping you from leaving a long time ago."

Arthur turned on heel then and started away, but it didn't stop Alfred from taking one last shot. "I don't run away from my responsibilities, Arthur. Can you honestly say the same?"

Arthur never responded and continued walking towards the barred door guarded by a murderous Orc in the distance. He never once looked back, just as he'd learned never to do since being exiled to Skyrim.

The terrors before him were preferable to the judgment behind him any day.

The vial empty with the objective of its contents complete, Arthur discarded the empty vessel, not caring where it landed amongst the carnage. The remaining underlings he hadn't disposed of when he first arrived were sprawled across the floor and tables of the dining room, all victims of his specially synthesized poison. As far as he was concerned, justice had been served and a good deal of the obstacles between the prison and his escape route were gone.

Earlier, while his brew had been serving its purpose, he had saddled and packed two horses outside for the long road ahead. He'd hidden them in the brush not far from where he'd stashed the body of the peon he had initially killed to gain access to the Silver Hand's fortress: Gallows Rock. It was a remote location, surrounded by imposing terrain, and situated atop a vast array of ancient catacombs. The decrepit keep was perfect for the organization's needs, but Arthur intended to use the very factors that made it such an asset to destroy it.

The second phase of his justice would come from the liberation of the starved pack of werewolves downstairs. As there was no way to out run or hide from such a hoard in a confined place like this, it assured that no human souls were getting out alive.

Stepping over the bodies littering the floor, Arthur pulled the cloak tighter around his body and stepped out into the hall, locking the door behind him. Everything was in place and he knew exactly what he had to do next. For his part, timing would be the most crucial element of this operation and the rest…was up to Alfred.

The mage's heart ached remembering the sight of Alfred so broken and lifeless, just as he'd been when they'd been attacked and separated on the mountain. All of the man's fighting spirit seemed gone…but they both needed it to escape from this place. He didn't believe any gods were looking out for him after all the things he'd done to get this far, but he still prayed to whoever would listen that something of his companion was still alive inside that shell.

Arthur set his fears aside and forced himself to focus on the door to the lycan prison. With the evening guards already neutralized in the dining room, Arthur didn't concern himself with anything more than the pick in his hands and manipulating the heavy lock. Having spent more than a year with the Thieves' Guild after his escape from Helgen, the task proved simple…but preparing himself for what lay beyond it was more complicated.

Closing his eyes he took a deep breath and resolved himself to a single thought: He was taking Alfred home; and gods help anyone who tried to stop him.

The bolt clicked and Arthur stood, shouldering the door open only enough to slip inside before resealing it. The prison was pitch black and Arthur had to steady himself a hand on the slime-covered wall, as he descended the steps. Sounds and smells of the most unnatural kind assailed him, but he forcibly blocked it out to concentrate on counting…

Earlier in the day he'd mapped out the entire dungeon in numbers, knowing he would have to infiltrate it long after the lights had been doused for the night. With his eyes closed and his hand keeping him along the wall, Arthur waited until he was finally on the ground before casting his first spell, which signaled the start of his mental clock.

Now invisible, Arthur moved faster in getting to the narrow aisle behind the cells that were barred on all sides, making the prisoners completely vulnerable to scrutiny. Though it was impossible to see anything right now, Arthur could hear intermitted sobs, prayers, curses, and now and then an occasional spat between inmates. It worried him that there was still no sound coming from where he knew Alfred's cage would be, and soon he was right behind it…standing still, invisible, and blind…waiting.

He couldn't hear a thing. There was no movement inside and he couldn't risk casting light to see if Alfred was even still alive. His heart clenched and he tentatively reached out to touch the bars of the cage, felt how cold the metal was, and slowly sank to his knees on the floor.

He didn't want to be too late…not again. The first time he'd seen Alfred he had wanted to rip the cage apart and take him away from this hell. However, in Alfred's condition they wouldn't have made it far enough. Arthur had to swallow his despair then just as he did now, and silently beg for Alfred to get up and move. By the time the night was over and the last of Arthur's spells were cast, the mage would be drained and unable to completely support them both. He knew that going into this operation, which was why he had taken care of the majority of their obstacles with a dagger and poison. He needed all of his strength to keep his transmutation and invisibility spells intact, and soon he would need to cast a wider ranged transmutation to unleash the chaos he and Alfred would need to escape.

Alfred needed to not be past the point of no return…because Arthur knew that then there would be nothing left in life worth redeeming himself for.

It was chaos.

After having killed a man to gain an audience with the King in Rags, Arthur's prediction that Madanach could have escaped at any time and was only waiting for the most advantageous moment was confirmed. The mage had come here to give him just such a moment, and after striking his deal with Madanach he had gained the Bretish allies he had hoped to and assurance that the message to his brother that Wayrest was in danger would be delivered.

The dragons were coming, and the world west of Skyrim had no idea.

Now, having rallied his brethren, the furious and vengeful survivors of the Cidhna Mines were trying to fight off the guards and escape into the Dwarven tunnels Madanach had discovered and kept hidden all these years. In the midst of it, Arthur was desperately trying to find his companion, who he hadn't seen since their initial spat upon arrival. With the mission complete, he had no more reason to stay and wanted to grab Alfred and escape. He pushed his way through the fleeing and warring masses, trying to spot the half-blood, but couldn't between getting shoved into walls or knocked to the earthen floor. He had almost made it to the fire pit when a large body slammed into him and pinned him to the ground.

The corpse of a fellow inmate was forcing the air from his body. He clawed at the ground, struggling to dislodge the weight and rise but he couldn't. Panic nearly wormed its way into him, when the body was swiftly lifted and tossed into a crowd of combatants.

The startled mage only managed to look up for a brief second, before he was snatched up and hauled through a violently made path leading back the way he'd come. His savior shielded him from the arrows and blades that passed, even taking a few hits in his defense, but never slowed the pace. They crossed over into the antechamber to the escape tunnel before the pair tumbled to the ground, leaving Arthur partially covered by the other, whose body he could feel violently trembling.

Arthur and Alfred's eyes finally met, and what Arthur saw stopped his heart.

Alfred looked savage and covered in blood. The Breton stared wide-eyed and disbelievingly that Alfred was even still standing with so many wounds and arrows embedded in his body. But it was aura of tension around him that was screaming for violence that shook Arthur to his core. He had never before seen such intense and barely restrained ferocity in another being, and Alfred looked as though he was only just holding it together. A horrible moment of paralysis overcame the mage and he let out a short scream when Alfred grabbed him by the collar and yanked him close.

"Alfred…what – "

"I need you to run and not look back!" the half-Nord cut him off and suddenly doubled over, clutching his mid-section.

Arthur immediately came to and grasped Alfred's arm in concern, "A-Alfred, you're hurt. We have to go – together. I can help – "

"I said run," Alfred growled out in a near inhuman voice and tightened his hand in Arthur's collar to a threatening degree. "And don't look back to see what I must do to protect you."

Sweat poured down Arthur's face and he couldn't stop his shivering. The situation was frightening enough, but something exuding from Alfred right now terrified him. He hadn't experienced this level of fear since the first time he'd encountered a dragon…it was the primordial knowledge that he was prey before a greater predator. His instincts were telling him that he was trapped and about to be eaten, and somehow it was overriding logic that he wasn't in the presence of a monster…it was Alfred.

No sooner had he thought that did he see the flash of something in Alfred's eyes, and suddenly the half-Nord threw him as far as he could into the entrance of the escape tunnel. The mage hit the ground hard and clambered to stop himself before tumbling into an adjacent wall, colliding hard and feeling his entire side go numb before blaring agony assailed him.

Wracked with pain, he choked out a few gasps before barely managing to push himself up….only to notice the light from the prison starting to dim. He snapped his head up and he cried out Alfred's name as the mercenary sealed the way back into the prison with a large boulder.

Arthur kept shouting for Alfred and forced himself to his feet, holding his still throbbing side and staggering towards the barrier separating him from his companion. The moment he first pounded his fist against the rock he knew it was immovable. Something inside him fractured then and an overwhelming sense of guilt flooded him.

This was his fault. He could lie all he wanted to, but he never really gave Alfred a choice about being trapped in this awful place. He had counted on Alfred following him into hell the whole time because he knew what kind of man Alfred was…a good one, who kept his word.

He had just killed the best man he'd ever known to protect people who didn't even acknowledge his existence any more.

The realization froze and finally broke him. He hadn't shed a tear since that shameful night he'd woken from a nightmarish memory of Helgen and Alfred had been compassionate enough to give him company through it, without ever holding the event over him. Now, he couldn't stop the silent tears from flowing and he was alone again, as the best thing that had happened to him since his exile was dying beyond this wall he'd erected to protect him. However furious Alfred had still been with him, he kept to his word and stood as the shield he had promised to be.

Arthur knew he never deserved that, not for how he had treated Alfred since the start of their journey together. He was being given an extension to do what needed to be done and the only way to atone for even a fraction of his sins was to honor Alfred's last command:

'Run and don't look back.'

The mage stopped trying to move the rock and turned away from his companion's tomb. He took hold of his injured side and made his way through the tunnels to freedom, back out into the now burning city of Markarth. But he wouldn't be staying long to revel in the Foresworn's victory…

On the promise he would kill it, Madanach had given him the location of a dragon's nesting place in the nearby mountains and he fully intended to take his grief out on a fellow monster most deserving of pain.

It was a subtle sound at first, just the scraping of something over straw, and then the harsh struggles of exertion. Arthur's eyes flew open and he held his breath until he felt a hand grasp the bar beside him. He could feel the warmth of another against his face and he knew it meant Alfred was truly alive…and healing. The mage kept staring ahead into the darkness, as he listened to his companion giving hope one more shot.

Arthur's breath hitched and a sob escaped him, but he didn't care. No one could see him cry and right now he had every reason to. He turned his face and rested his cheek on the warming metal, locking his jaw against the words that so desperately wanted to come out and only spoke them in his mind.

'Keep going, Alfred. Keep going, my love, and know that this will be over soon. That's it…You've always been so resilient and even now I admire your strength. I know it hurts…I know you never deserved this hurt...

It's my fault all of this has happened…and I pledge to spend the rest of eternity atoning for what I've done to you.

I can't accept your forgiveness until you're free in every way.'

Throughout the night, Alfred continued to relearn the mechanics of his body and Arthur encouraged him in silence. Whenever Alfred faltered or fell, Arthur had to clutch his own arms to keep from reaching out; and whenever Alfred managed to pull himself up and finally stay standing, Arthur had to bite his tongue not to praise him. The tears never stopped and the strain on Arthur's body as he continued to keep the invisibility spell in place was taking its toll. He was so tired and knew his month of no rest and lack of practice with the spell was to blame, but it could not be avoided.

He couldn't risk revealing himself to Alfred without sending the rest of the desperate inmates into a frenzy, so he kept hidden and continued trying to recover his energy.

Arthur had just renewed the invisibility spell once more, still forcing his body to remain upright, when the sound of the prison door opening echoed in the darkness. The mage shook the fatigue from his mind and quickly oriented himself enough to stand. He felt his balance shake and held onto Alfred's cell for support, when finally the torches along the walls were lit.

The darkness lifted for the first time, and Arthur looked to see that his hand was just above Alfred's. His eyes travelled up and saw Alfred's barely clothed back poorly hiding the inadequately healed lash marks beneath. He couldn't stop staring at how thin and malnourished the man was, and how terribly marred his body was with filth and old blood stains. The skin around his neck and wrists were so badly burned by silver that his naked bones were visible, and his face…

His beloved looked ashen and petrified, with eyes locked on the guards who had now noticed and were walking towards him.

Exhaustion forgotten, Arthur let the fury of his inner demons fill him. His expression hardened and his purpose to bring death upon this place rekindled.

The newest inmate was a massive brute, practically a mammoth and riddled with old scars, and Arthur's first target. As the guards neared Alfred, Arthur walked to other prisoner's cell and cast his spell. One touch to the bars and they changed to gold, another and he released his alchemically crafted little spider to attach itself to his victim.

He knew when its fangs had embedded themselves into the man's body and the potent spell had taken effect. Blank eyes turned towards him the mage whispered, "Unleash your beast and kill them all."

The command was immediately obeyed and Arthur stepped back, as the howl erupted and the change began. The man's body began to break, shift and reform. Fangs, claws, and fur sprouted from the now towering figure that was too large for its enclosure. Arthur quickly moved out of the way, as the cage burst apart and the monster roared.

With his first harbinger released, Arthur repeated the process with two more cells and liberated more of his temporarily mind-controlled executioners to let the massacre begin.

As his body and time seemed to slow from the sudden loss of energy his spells cost him, Arthur stood dazed and looking at the werewolves ripping the still screaming guards apart. Blood was everywhere and creating a mural of red and gore over everything. There was an odd sense of peace inside of him that he knew shouldn't be there…but for a moment, all he could see was chaos and bask in it.

This…god-like feeling…is what being a dragon felt like.

He stood over the corpse of the Elder Dragon and watched its body burn. This was only the third time he had successfully slayed a dragon, but already the spectacular achievement had lost its wonder. The lair he'd come so far to find was now painted with blood and lined with the bones of men and beasts the creature had eaten over time. Its broken scales were scattered about, like ruined shields with their handler no more than a blacked husk.

Finally, at the center of the carcass, the amber glow of a soul radiated and Arthur did nothing more than watch, as it stretched forth its hand and latched onto him.

The wind exploded around him and the resonance of his own soul matched the tune of the dragon's. His spirit called to it and the dwindling light rushed forth and collided with his aura. The initial hit always knocked him back a step, but soon his breath returned and he inhaled the essence of his quarry.

The taste of ages filled his mouth and pores. Thousands of years of victory, of glory, flooded him with a taste so sweet it had nowhere to go but bitterly down. The sourness of fury, of defeat and resentment of man, felt like poison in his belly and churned within him until excitement ignited the blaze within.

Power. Incredible power. This was the best part of consumption and every fiber of his being felt so alive! The energy trilled in his veins and constricted every muscle, as fire surged through his body. All the grief and remorse he'd endured since the escape from Markarth burned to ashes before this feeling and his magic burst with rejuvenation. He opened his eyes and could see the world as the beast now within him once had, making the heavens a conquered throne of stars. The mountains were naught but sentinels in his kingdom and all the seas were loyalists clamoring to bask upon his shores. The skies broke out in storms at his anger and the earth quaked in fear, just as all the two-legged insects at his feet danced and died at his pleasure.

Mortality was a disease that would never touch him, just as Oblivion was a realm forever jealous that it would never have him.

He was a god.

The soul bending to its fate within him, Arthur felt the winds calm and his body begin relax. His senses were still incredibly sharpened and with the last of his vision he turned to see the man standing behind him at the mouth to the lair. They stared at each other for a long moment and it was only after the mage blinked away the last of the dragon's eyes did he recognize who it was.

Watching him with an expression of awe and fear was Alfred, completely alive and unscathed. He was wearing the armor of a guard of Markarth and carrying a large sword speckled with blood. He seemed rooted to the spot and couldn't take his eyes from the mage, as though he didn't know…or just didn't want to recognize him.

Arthur's heart began to pound and when he took a step he staggered, as his equilibrium had not returned to normal yet. The gravity of the situation finally hit him when he realized that Alfred had made no move to help him…Their eyes met again and Arthur recognized that look on Alfred's face…

Like prey before a greater predator…and Arthur was that predator.

"What are you?"

No amount of joy at his partner's return or residual power from absorbing the dragon's soul could give him any pleasure in hearing those words from Alfred's mouth. His earlier elation at being a god vanished and all that was left was vulnerability and shame.

It was so new to him, and in not knowing how to process these feelings he steeled his expression and his own indomitable soul stirred.

"I am the descendent of the covenant between divine Akatosh and St. Alessia…Dovah Sos incarnate. I am Dovahkiin, the vessel that consumes the souls of my immortal kin to master the Thu'um."

Alfred continued to stare incomprehensibly and slowly shook his head, "I don't…understand…"

No. Of course he wouldn't. No one would.

No one in this world knew what it was like to be a living god and a monster.

"I am the Dragonborn, Alfred," he stated and even behind his hardened mask he felt his heart constrict in pain. "And for the sake of your life, you should never have come back."

~Fin~

Notes from the Author:

I know this Tale has been highly anticipated and a very long time in the making; and for that, I'm sorry. This story concludes the 3 segments depicting the events between Markarth (in the flashbacks) and the liberation of Alfred from the Silver Hand. I hope this last piece detailing what happened from Arthur's point of view answers a lot of questions about Arthur's character and will explain the motives behind many of his actions later in the timeline. Pie and I have designed Arthur to be a very complex and dynamic character, and we sincerely hope we've achieved that.

-The scenes and dialogue in the Markarth scenes are actual in-game references that took several sessions of watching gameplay to transpose.

-Gallow's Rock is also an actual place in the game and, though its internal workings were expanded for the uses of this story, can be explored in Skyrim. Also, please note that the Silver Hand are much more organized and wide spread in this fic.

-The spells Arthur uses here are high-grade spells and taxing. Pie and I had to do some clever math to deduce how strong Arthur would have to be at this point in the storyline to pull it off. Also, the spider used is inaccessible to alchemize until later in the game; however, that wouldn't stop Arthur from procuring the rare gems via the black market and even less savory means.

-The Elder Dragon in Dragontooth Crater, located in the northern region of The Reach, is also an in game reference. For those of you playing and haven't done this already, there's a Word of Power the dragon is guarding...so make sure to get it! (Know that this is a Shout Arthur and Alfred use very effectively together, as its wind based and increases attack speed)

:) Eternal disclaimer about author liberties~

:') Thank you to all of our fans and followers, both on and here on the Ask Blog. We appreciate all of the support and continued enthusiasm you all have for our project. We hope there won't be so much time in between our next update and wish you all the best!

Sincerely,

General Kitty Girl/Kelbora

Pie