Elisif was waiting for Azrael in the main hall of Dragonsreach. There was nobody there to stay with her, aside from the two sentinels standing guard by the gate. The others had all moved over to the courtyard, and were waiting impatiently. Rightfully so, too. Elisif herself was a little bit tense and on edge. Azrael had taken his sweet time arriving in Whiterun, and didn't really explain anyone why he was absent. He had arrived in the city with the first daylight and had apparently stopped by at Jorrvaskr, of all places. The guards told her he was coming to the fortress just in that moment.

The wings of the stronghold's gate opened, and the Assassin walked in. The guards straightened and raised their heads. 'Hail the Dragonborn!' they shouted, greeting him. Elisif waited for him to reach her at the top of the stairs.

'Expecting me, are you?' he asked.

'Of course I am,' she answered. 'About time you arrived. Everyone's waiting for you. What have you been doing?'

'Already told you. I do not know what awaits me after this, I just wanted to make sure everyone received their farewell.'

She lowered her head slightly. The thought he could suffer or die never left her, and it stung deep down her throat. She repeated to herself time and time again that he didn't fear death, and so she shouldn't have either. It didn't work. The freezing grip on her gut never weakened.

To her surprise, the Assassin sniggered. 'Look at you,' he said. 'The face of a woman who doesn't want to lose something she has so recently found.'

Those words described what she felt perfectly. In the more selfish of its interpretation, but that was the one she usually gave. It felt like the more honest, and maybe the one that held the largest part of the truth. She looked in his eyes and found some comfort in those calm, crimson chasms. How he managed to stay calm in such a situation was beyond her, but she at least understood where that came out.

Azrael didn't say anything more. He just weaved his gloved hands around her slim waist and embraced her. She in turn grabbed the nape of his neck and pulled his head a bit down, making their lips touch. Their breaths deepened and quickened, until they finally let go of one another, temporarily satiated.

'Now,' she said, 'tell me what happened in Jorrvaskr.'

'It was… Strange at first. Coming back to a place that hasn't altered makes you realize how much you've changed.'

Two knocks on the door. The heavy wooden portal opens, without anyone giving the newcomer permission to enter. Farkas turns towards the entrance, Vilkas too. Ria interrupts her conversation with Athis and looks at the door. A grim, cloaked figure walks in. 'Hey,' says Farkas, 'and who are you to…'

'Silence, Shield-brother!' Athis admonishes him. 'He's the Harbinger.'

A long, embarrassed silence follows. Vilkas steps ahead and greets the newcomer with a slight bow. 'Harbinger… How may I serve you?' The others are quick to imitate him. In the months that have gone past, the Dunmer has been nowhere to be seen. The respect the Companions had for him slowly turned into fear and fright. They wished for this day to never come, and yet it has.

Azrael stands at their doorstep. They know not if he intends to kill them or what.

'Rise, Vilkas,' says the Assassin. The Companions is shocked. The tone of his master is anything but threatening. If anything, it's scornful. 'The first thing you say after all this time is asking if I require something of you?'

The man is unable to answer. He is too confused to create a sentence that would make sense. He's too busy understanding what just happened. That sounded a lot like what the common people told of him. Not a bad guy nor a sadist, just someone that doesn't stick to the rules as much as others do. He laughs, mocks and teases, but does no harm to the ones he wishes well.

'Fine,' the Dragonborn continues, probably tired of silence. 'I order you a simple thing. To greet me using my name, understood?'

'I… Good day to you… Azrael.'

'Good day to you, too.'

Nobody knows how to react. The Assassin slowly walks down, his tall silhouette moving silently and stealthily on the floor. Vilkas remembers that strange trait of his. He never produced much noise while walking, and from the recent rumors it seems he has perfected that ability. The two twins look at one another, uncertain on what to do next. Ria looks at Athis, with the same kind of problem in mind. Once again, Azrael puts an end to the lack of sounds.

'Don't want to talk to me? Fine, I'll take it. I don't want to talk with you, either,' he says, and his bluntness staggers all of them in their stream of thoughts. 'But, first,' he continues, 'some mundane matters to resolve. Vilkas, from now on your the leader of this band of murderers with fancy names. Got it?'

'It's an honor…'

'It's not supposed to be one,' Azrael cuts him off. 'And I don't care about your gratitude. Where's Aela?'

'In… In the courtyard,' replies Athis, struggling to find the words.

The Assassin mutters something in response. 'Farewell,' he says, and leaves the room. For most of the Companions, that was the last they saw of him. A hurried greeting and an even more hasty sendoff. The only one who gets to spend some more time with him is Aela, the Huntress, who was in the courtyard trying to deplete her strengths. Since the departure of Azrael, she has been doing anything she can to keep her mind occupied. She has tried everything, including the most despicable of things. Sometimes she thinks she's going insane, but no. Insanity would be a blessing for her, since it would free her of her conscience and her memory.

The Assassin walks up to her without making any kind of noise. She's training with the dagger, striking a dummy. Azrael silently grips the Blade of Woe and moves closer, and when the time is proper he parries one of her strikes with the dagger.

'Wrong,' he says, glacially.

The Huntress turns. At first she freezes, but then her heart warms and a forgotten heat surges through her body. She backs off, freeing her weapon from the blade of the Assassin. She circles around him, and Azrael gets her game. He too begins to move, in circles as well.

The Huntress strikes. She swings past him.

'No way,' he says. 'Look for a better opening, next time.'

This time it's his turn to attack. He feigns, tricks her to parry, and afterwards immediately bends back and sweeps. The Huntress reels backwards, confused, but before she can recover a blade finds its way to her palm and applies a weak lever. Just enough to make her weapon fall from her hand.

A firm grasp keeps her from tumbling back. 'At times even the humblest of students surpass their masters. Happened to me a few times, already,' Azrael says.

Aela smiles. She hasn't done that in a long time.

'And so?' Elisif asked, interested. 'What did you do?'

'I figured I could send her somewhere far away. There was a place where she could have lived peacefully.'

'Really?'

Azrael looked at the woman and smiled drolly. 'Nosy, are we not?'

'I have become such,' she answered. 'Had I not, how would my return in Solitude be? You won't be there forever, holding my hand.'

Azrael tittered darkly and heaved a deep sigh. He looked at her, shaking his head. The realistic way of saying it was the exact opposite of the romantic way to say it. That wasn't a hard choice, given who they were. In those days at High Hrothgar, their relationship had developed. They had absorbed as much as they could from one another, and now they were a lot more alike rather than complementary by that point.

'I'm afraid I won't be holding your hand,' he said. 'I don't even know whether I'll return alive from this mission.'

'You say that like it's the final stand.'

'Well, I do have the feeling this is all going to end awfully quick. That is why I went to talk to Aela.'

'And here you go again. What did you tell her?'

'Once, I was in Falkreath. Nothing too hot, I had some things to take care of in the city.' His belonging to the Dark Brotherhood was still a thing he avoided; she knew there was something there, and they had a silent understanding that it wasn't a thing that was to be talked about. 'I set out to the town, only to find a guy trapped in the prison because he hadn't been able to control his Werewolf transformation and had killed unwillingly. He had a ring that supposedly helped him, but it only made matters worse. I brought the ring to a certain guy,' he said, cocking his eyebrows and deciding to leave the Oblivion Prince avatar part out of that mess. 'And then I was to bring it back to the Werewolf. It's a long story, but let's say I assured his safety and that now he lives far away from society. That's where I sent Aela.'

'Your good deed for the day,' Elisif said, giggling.

Azrael sniggered grimly. 'I don't know. I just hate it when there are available solutions that are not implemented.'

The Dragonborn opened the two wings of the gate leading to the porch. 'Women first,' he said, dead serious and yet with an ironic look to his face. Elisif grimaced playfully and walked on, waiting for him to come ahead and close the heavy portal behind him. The guards, the Jarl, Farengar and other members of the court and city were already there, and looked at them both as they came in. To most people, they were still a disorienting sight. Azrael suspected Balgruuf had seen them kiss while still at High Hrothgar, but hadn't told anyone.

The special guest of the situation was Eorlund Grey-Mane. He was almost done working, but there were still a pair of long horns by the side of the working table. He was stringing some bows, composite bows. Azrael has asked him that favor. He had discussed with Paarthurnax before going, and the old Dragon had revealed him that, without training, uttering the name of a Dovah takes a lot of effort. He probably wouldn't have been able to use Dragonrend in immediate conjunction with the name of his sibling. They needed more conventional methods to take him down. Arrows, for example.

Twenty guards were stationed across the porch. The Assassin had forbidden the Jarl to place even one more, since the Dragon needed to feel safe and have room to maneuver. He would have also breathed flames or ice on them, and everyone needed to have a full cover to duck behind. The strategy of the fight was almost more complex than its actual tactics, which didn't involve much more than a few shots fired and a tactical withdraw by the Assassin.

'Greetings, Dragonborn!' Balgruuf welcomed him, respectfully. 'Everything has been done as you asked. Go ahead and call this Dragon of yours. We're ready when you are.'

The Assassin casted a wide glance at the vicinity. Everything did indeed seem to be in place.

'Hey, soldier, here you go,' mumbled Eorlund from behind, tossing the last bow at a nearby guard.

'Thanks,' he replied.

Azrael turned towards Elisif, bending his head slightly. 'This is the time for you to go.'

'Will you call me back when it's all over?'

'I will,' answered the Assassin. 'Now go.'

The woman walked away and went to the door on the side of the porch. Once she was out of sight, she blew a kiss in Azrael's direction. He smiled faintly and slowly turned towards the sky at the end of the porch.

'Now it begins,' he said, raising his voice a little. 'Everyone, be at the ready.'

Irileth never tired to hear how much his words carried authority and command. It was as if his cold voice was so cold, so hollow to the point where one could fill it with anything he or she may want. More than anything, his tone conveyed a deep calm. He feared nothing, and if he did he didn't show it. There was an acceptance in his voice, but also the will to avert bad endings at all costs. He would have acknowledged defeat and even death without batting an eyebrow, but would have also destroyed anything in his way to prevent that from happening. Actually, Irileth knew better. He would have accepted death without any external reaction, but rather with a tired and bored 'Damn, there were so much more things to do here' passing through his mind. A typical trait of Dark Elves, mastered to perfection.

The Assassin paced towards the open. The sky was clear and azure, not a cloud to be seen. A fairly average weather, for those winter days. The air was as cold as it could get, or so Azrael thought, since it was chilling him to the bone. Strangely enough, his Dragon side was helping him. All he needed to do was occasionally think of Yol, think of the fire, and his body filled with newfound heat, apparently coming from naught.

Eorlund Grey-Mane advanced slightly while looking at the Dragonborn. The Assassin had arrived at the stockade that enclosed the courtyard, beyond which was a three hundred meters fall. Azrael kept perambulating from one end of the yard to the other, at times casting calculating glances at the distances between the walls or the boundary of the yard and the porch. The old blacksmith tried to read through his logic, but it was a more complex reasoning than he could follow.

At long last, the Dragonborn stopped, right in the middle of the courtyard. Everybody held up, waiting with bated breath.

They didn't wait for long.

'Od… Ah Viing!'

The high tension kind of dispersed in the next few seconds, because nothing significant happened. Some expected the Dragon to magically materialize in from of them, and that didn't happen. Some maybe hoped for something apocalyptic and epic to occur, and that didn't happen all the same. The wise among the ranks of the men present knew they would have needed to wait for a little time before the Dragon answered the Call.

Azrael knew better. Odahviing had risen from a mound somewhere in the mountains separating the Rift from Cyrodiil, south of the Throat of the World. Paarthurnax had warned him, however, that after his battle with Alduin many a Dragons had come near the peak to see for themselves. The Assassin had in fact seen Odahviing already once, while climbing the Seven Thousand Steps. A huge, red monster with large wings of a faded, worn reddish color. The scales and the membranes were opaque crimson, the barbs on his back black as coal.

'Don't let yourself go,' the Dragonborn coldly reminded the five guards standing around him.

The wait felt insufferably long. The tension, while lessened in the first moments, was slowly getting worse. Some were twitching their fingers, some biting their lips and a couple even started chewing the leather gloves out of anxiety. The air itself felt stiff, unbreathable. A guard near the rear of the courtyard starting pulling out the sword and then putting back down. He did it for five times before Eorlund muttered a: 'Silence, boy. You're making things worse.'

Irileth leaned towards her Jarl, who was swallowing his own nervousness down his throat. 'Tell me, Balgruuf, will this damned winged wyrm ever come?'

'All happens in due time, Irileth, but it always does. Even if it wouldn't, I trust the Dragonborn.'

Right. Trust the Dragonborn. She trusted him, too, for that matter. They resumed the wait.

Not a long time passed before a earsplitting roar shredded the air.

Azrael turned around and looked. Fine, he conceded, we've got outsmarted. Good work, dear sibling. The Assassin had to save his own life; the guards that were at his side would have had to take care of themselves, unfortunately. However, the world could consider itself pretty lucky considering its savior prioritized his own life over the one of others. The soldiers barely saw the Dragon sweeping down from their right.

Azrael growled in annoyance under his breath. The monster had outplayed them right at the start. It had come from behind, in the opposite direction of the wind blowing, and no one had heard his wings beating. That tactical cleverness and space management that was their peculiar trait and ability proved an important factor.

The Dragon swooped down and tore apart two soldiers with its claws. The talons dipped into the flesh and then ripped it open as the creature whipped its wings and gained some height. Azrael rolled off to the side just in time to escape, because if he hadn't done that he would have been the first to be ripped open. He looked at the bloodied corpses, rent in pieces, and sighed. Death. Just what he needed. He felt ready.

'Joor… Zah Frul!'

Odahviing screamed. The Assassin backed away, looking at the Dragon turning abruptly is search of a spot where he'd be able to land. The others, behind him, had begun moving. Balgruuf was yelling orders to the troops, the guards were coming forth with the bows and Irileth was aiming her arcane lightings at the Dragon. The whole place was moving, and there was a lot of confusion.

Eorlund Grey-Mane, the good man he was, ran towards the soldiers that had survived the Dragon's first attack. They had been thrown around, injured and traumatized. The muscles of decades spent at the forge still managed to help those men. They raised, one by one, with the help of the old blacksmith. They thanked him quickly and limped away to make some sense of what happened. The gore of their friends covered their armors and they had barely seen the giant limb that had struck them. They were fine, for now.

For Eorlund Grey-Mane, the situation was a little bit more grim. The Dragon had eyed him helping the others, and immediately clumped over to him. The old Nord grabbed his trusted warhammer and swung with all the strengths his elderly arms could muster. The Dragon bent its head and completely avoided the hit.

'Everyone, double back!'

The Dragonborn's order, given in his familiar deep and cool tone, reached him as if he was far away. He paid little attention to it. The Dragon moved his neck around, raised on its clawed wings and snapped its head forward. The teeth clenched abruptly with the muffled, unmistakable sound of bladed objects cutting through human flesh.

Azrael was looking, but again could do nothing. Damn it… he swore, but didn't stop executing the plan. Lunging against the Dragon while cursing its name and wishing it everlasting suffering would not have resurrected Eorlund, nor won them the battle. Every piece of the mechanism needed to work, and he was the biggest cog. No room for error, and no time for it either.

The soldiers were doing their job. Balgruuf was barking out instructions, and was saying them right. The guards all ducked behind the walls, and Azrael saw the Dragon trying and immediately renouncing to Shout them to Oblivion. It lumbered onward, eyes now well fixed on the Dragonborn. The Assassin, on his part, stood there without moving and with no weapons drawn. He continued to backpedal, keeping a fair distance between him and his sibling.

Odahviing looked in the eyes of the Dragonborn, and saw a challenge in them. The puny mortal who, in spite of his more than humble origin, had downed the World Eater itself, now stood before the Red Dragon. The reason why he had called upon it was unknown, but the Dovah had awaited to confront him ever since Alduin had been defeated. The glare in the Dovahkiin's gaze looked sincere.

The Red Dragon understood it was a lie only when the noise of a chain filled the air and a heavy wooden bar fell on its neck, smashing one of its barbs.

Dragons… thought Azrael, smirking. So clever and so intelligent and yet they just can't distinguish the false from the true. Such low trickery managed to get it. You might have your ways to dominate us, but we mortal have our ways of tricking you.

Screams of victory resounded just under the dazed roars of the Dragon.

'We got him!'

'He's down!'

'Well done, boys!'

'Silence.'

Everyone obeyed the Dragonborn's command. The cries stopped at once and the murmurs died off in the next following seconds. The Red Dragon raised its head, a different kind of light now stirring its deep gaze.

'Horvutah med kodaav,' muttered the Dovah, with a low and cavernous voice. The sound of it was hollow. 'Caught like a bear in a trap… Zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this… humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?'

'Where is he hiding?'

'Rinik vazah. An apt phrase. Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him.'

'Tinvaak zeim Sul,' replied the Dragonborn in perfect Dragon Tongue, in the astonishment of the mortals and the content of the immortal.

'Piraak hi Dovahzul?' asked the Dragon, his tone mysteriously less resounding and more pleasant.

'Geh, Odahviing. I speak the Dragon Tongue. But we'll converse later. Now tell me about Alduin.'

'He has travelled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejour… the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards… His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshaled there. Zu'u lost ofan hin laan… now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?'

'Have you told me everything there is to know? What of Skuldafn? How do I get there?'

'Ah, well…' the Dragon mumbled. It almost looked like he was ashamed of something. 'Hmm… krosis. There is one detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention. You have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn. Of course, I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this.'

'Is this your offer?'

'You will release me, ro laan, if in return I promise to take you to Skuldafn and stop helping Alduin.'

'Motmahus…' whispered the Dragonborn, tittering. 'This is not simple, but I see no other choice.'

'Onikaan koraav gein miraad,' commented the Dragon. 'It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice.'

Azrael stepped back twice, backing from the mechanism and from the head of the Red Dragon. Everyone, even if for no reason as all, imitated his movement. The Assassin casted glances at the guards on top of the stairs, the ones maneuvering the trap.

'Release it!'

'Dragonborn…' muttered one of them, shaking. 'Is this wise? Can we trust the thing?'

'We can,' he answered. 'It's we that have captured it, this Dragon has done nothing more than answer my call. Besides, Alduin is far and powerless. Odahviing goes its own way, from now on.'

The Red Dragon shook its head, growling. 'Faas nu, zini dein ruthi ahst vaal,' it snarled out.

'What is he saying?' asked Balgruuf.

'That we don't need to be afraid, for his honor holds his resentment back. Come, what are you doing, sleeping?' he asked sharply. 'I said release it!'

'You sure about it? After all the trouble…'

'Yes, I'm sure. Spare me your fears and move.'

The cogs moved, and even in the loud noise came the gloomy comments. 'It's our funeral' or 'This looks like a very bad idea to me'. Balgruuf himself ordered the solders to carry on, but his command served only the purpose of giving the troops and assurance, for they'd gladly obey the Dragonborn alone. Actually, if the Dovahkiin and their Jarl had ordered them to do opposite things, they weren't so sure as to whose command obey.

The trap rose, freeing the creature from its grip. Odahviing growled lowly and shook its head, turning around and lumbering towards the open. It didn't give a single glance to anyone aside Azrael, who gave it a nod of confirmation. He needed to say farewell, then he'd come.

The Assassin turned towards the soldiers, the Jarl, and all the others who had helped him. He looked for Eorlund for a moment, but then remembered that the old man rested peacefully in the belly of Odahviing, which had swallowed him whole.

'People of Skyrim,' began the Dragonborn, with a tone that was half dead serious half ironic. 'I thank you for your help. Should I return from this journey, you'll be the one thanking me.'

'It's been a pleasure for all of us, Dovahkiin,' answered Jarl Balgruff for all his subjects. 'It was an honor to fight at your side. The men died this day will be remembered for eternity.'

Azrael listened and did a small movement with his head as an acknowledgment. Then, his eyes shifted left. Provetus Avenicci was returning from the main hall, and Elisif was walking right beside him. Many of the men followed the Dragonborn's gaze, and looked back at him.

'If you can,' said the Assassin, this time definitely serious, 'leave us alone for a moment.'

Azrael looked at her as she approached. Her usual merry, teasing smirk had turned into an ironic and sad grin. The smile hadn't faded off her face, that was good, but it was different. The Assassin gazed one last time at the men behind as they turned, dispersed and backed away, and then looked at her.

My woman, he said to himself, almost not believing himself. My lover. Strange… You understand the price of something only as that something is slipping away. A reminder for another time. He kept looking at her even as she reached him and stood in front of him. Even with her being shorter than him by a head at least, she seemed fierce all the same. Even if it's the last time together, it's been good. We've had a marvelous time together.

'So…' she began, 'you're leaving.'

'I am. Off to save the world or… something.'

His cynical heedlessness and deadpan humor immediately revived her, having two opposite and yet dreadfully similar effects. First, at the thought of losing him too, she felt hot tears coming to her eyes and sobs creeping up her throat. But second, she felt even more tears coming up her eyes. Out of nowhere, she found herself shaking with laughter. That was the effective and contiguous way Azrael the Assassin lived his life. Life's a laugh and death's an awful joke.

That was the way a murderer sees life, and maybe also the way a sovereign sees life. After all, the two sides of Fate live in osmosis and constantly influence each other. Maybe that's their biggest point in common.

'Come back, will you?'

'I'll try, you can be sure as Oblivion of that.'

'I can't bare this place without you. You need to come back intact.'

'Write Alduin and ask it to go easy on me.'

'Do you know his address?'

'I do, for a change. Sovngarde, don't know the street nor the number, though.'

'Can you be my messenger, then?'

'I presume,' he said, shrugging. Jarl Balgruuf was listening and found that humorous exchange pathetic, but that was only envy on his part. The Assassin didn't care about it. 'What should I tell our dear World Eater on account of Elisif the Fair?'

'Give him Oblivion, Azrael. Free this world from its threat. After all we've done to keep it from falling asunder it would be quite a waste to let it end.'

'Precisely what I intend to do. Vah Su'um Ven' he said, laughing. 'Farewell.'

The woman grabbed his chin and pressed her lips against his.

'Come back to me.'

Without exchanging one more word, the Assassin left the Jarl where she stood. Both had a wicked grin on their lips as they left one another. Azrael walked towards his sibling.

The Red Dragon moved its head around. 'Saraan uth, I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can? Zok brit uth! I warn you, once you've flown the skies of Keizaal, your envy of the dov will only increase.'

'To Skuldafn we go.'

Azrael leapt nimbly on the Dragon's back. The broken barb served as an exceptionally good sitting spot for him.

'Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok!' screamed the Dragon.

'Wah Fin Lok! To the Skies!' echoed the Dovahkiin.

The Red Dragon took off. Elisif looked at Azrael waving one last time at her, exclusively at her, while people behind her murmured and screamed their sendoffs.

'You're either the greatest person I've ever met or the biggest fool, my brother in blood,' mumbled Irileth.

'May Kynareth guard you while you pass through her realm!' cried Balgruuf.

The Ender had taken wings and soared. Nobody ever saw Azrael again, not the same person they had bidden farewell to. The one driven by doom and acting as the Left, Bloodied Hand of Fate.