A/N: Sorry that it's taken me so long to update, I had some personal issues that robbed me of my inspiration. It's back though, so quit your crying ;) Also I just want to thank every single one of you who's reviewed this damn thing. Every little bit helps :) Oh also, as an afterthought, I was wondering if anyone would want to do some Gabriella or Daanik art. I'd use it for the story's cover. If anyone's interested, review, or PM me or something. Enjoy!

CHAPTER 14

Daanik's POV

The sky glows a feral red, as the last rays of sun illuminate a dreadful scene. Smoke rises above a black plain. Fire crackles, and the stench of burning flesh forces it's way into my nostrils. It settles on me, like a greasy, blood-smeared cloak. Carrion birds screech, and flap excitedly, anxiously awaiting their feast. I look up, trying to see the end, but none is in sight. Corpses, enough to fill cities, stretch as far as the eye can see. Young men, women, the elderly, all dead or left to die in the dirt.

My feet drag as I tread numbly through the field, seeing everything but believing nothing. I see hills in the distance, and drag myself towards them, in the hope that I'll be able to see further with the added height. I place my foot down, and hear a crunch, as something breaks beneath my boot. I look down, recoiling at the sight before me, as something akin to a choking sound escapes from my throat. A slim, pale hand, newly bloody and obviously feminine, is waving limply from under a pile of bodies. As I watch, it's movements slow, and then stop, completely. I rush over, trying to dig the woman out. I grab the torso of a massive orc, and heave with all my might. His body shifts, and I lay him down on his back, leaving his slashed abdomen open to the air. A terrible stench hits me like a punch, and I retch over my shoulder, dry-heaving until nothing comes out.

I wipe my mouth with my wrist, and turn my attention to the woman before me. Her skin is milky white, her hair, golden as the sun. But I came too late. Her body is limp, and unmoving. Her glassy eyes stare at me accusingly, as if to say, "you could have helped." I shudder, and turn away, Continuing to trudge towards the hills. I squint, trying to make them out. Now that I'm closer, I can make out more detail. They seem misshapen, somehow. I start to walk faster, my boot squelching in the muddy grass. But it isn't mud! My mind screams, but I ignore it. My stomach twists, and the closer I get to the hills, the worse it feels, as I slowly come to a terrible realization. I stop in my tracks, and heave again. I taste bile. I want to clench my eyes shut, but I look up, in fascinated horror.

Before me stands a veritable mountain of corpses, nearly twenty feet high. Limp bodies lay there, rotting, piled up like so many pieces of garbage. Sightless eyes stare up at the sky, faces twisted in their finally expressions. I see an elf, a bosmer woman, with her features twisted in rage, her teeth bared. I imagine her fighting tooth and nail until her last breath, standing alone against her enemies, until she is overwhelmed by sheer numbers. I look at the face of a young man, a nord. His eyes are closed, and his expression is serene. I can almost hear his last words, barely a whisper. "On this day, I go to Sovngarde…".

I see a Breton, with his face twisted in fear, as if his last moments had been spent on his knees, begging for his life to be spared. His eyes widening in terror as the blade descends to meet his chest.

The crows descend.

I stagger away from the pile of corpses with revulsion, my heart pounding against my ribs. My head snaps up, as I hear a sound. A deep, echoing thud that reverberates across the field like a physical force. It sounds again, and again, an ancient, doom-driven rhythm. Unbidden, my feet begin to move along with the beat of the drum, no longer dragging, but stamping, like a soldier's. As the pounding reaches an almost deafening crescendo, the sky splits apart, and a voice, filled with terrible power roars a broken word:

"DOVAHKIIN!"

The sky darkens, and my eyes open, only to find myself face-to-face with Amaril. His liquid golden eyes are wide and afraid, and filled with a terrible knowing. He utters a single word, in an alien voice. It reverberates in my skull like a death-gong, with the weight of an irrefutable truth.

"Soon."

With a muffled gasp, my eyes truly open. I sit bolt-upright, the covers falling off my sweat-drenched body, leaving a chill in their place. I rub my face, convincing myself that I am truly awake this time. I look around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings, and readying myself for another nightmare. Then I remember last night, how Gabriella and I had arrived in Winterhold. She had proven how well she could hold her mead, and I had had to carry her up to this room after all of two mugs. A small smile tugs at the corners of my lips as I remember how the rest of the night had proceeded. I turn to look down at the ivory-haired dunmer. She shifts a bit in her sleep, but seems otherwise unaffected by my waking. She breathes a heavy sigh, and she frowns lightly, as she tugs at the misplaced blankets.

I breathe a kiss on her forehead, and carefully stand up. I pull on my armor, without so much as a creak of the leather. I buckle my boots, and slide my daggers into their respective sheathes; one on my left hip, and the other concealed within my right boot. Finally, I don my hood, and pull it down as far as it will go.

I make my way to the door, then double back, pulling a piece of parchment and a thin length of charcoal from my pack. Quickly, I scribble: Went to take care of some business. Be back before breakfast. In fact, I'll bring you breakfast. Stay safe, love. I tuck the materials back into my pack, and turn back around towards the door. I tread carefully down the hall, and take the stairs two at a time. I notice Dagur still sitting at the bar, and head over to him.

"What time is it?" I ask, my voice still raspy from sleep.

"'Bout three, I'd say." He squints, thinking. "Yea, that's 'bout right."

I nod. "Thank you."

I head towards the exit of the tavern, and Dagur calls after me, "Oi, next time, keep it down, eh?"

I chuckle, and push open the door. An icy wind bites deep into my face, and I vainly attempt to pull my hood lower. After a minute, though, I'm grateful for the chill. It clears my head. I step down the few wooden stairs leading towards the road, and stride across the snowy ground, the crystals crunching beneath my feet. I only have to walk for a couple of meters before I'm out of Winterhold entirely. I sigh at the desolate city. It must be terrible, to be Jarl of this place. To rule over a court of five people, half of them family…I feel sympathy towards Korir, and his plight. Doomed to watch over a kingdom of five, all the while fearing the mages just outside his borders, knowing beyond a doubt that they could decimate his city with a snap of their fingers. I briefly debate killing the poor man, just to put him out of his misery, but dismiss the idea. It would feel like killing one of the last members of a nearly extinct species. I chuckle at my exceedingly un-funny joke, and continue to walk.

Once I'm a few miles outside of the city, I check my map, making sure that I'm on the correct path. I chew on my bottom lip, trying to get my bearings in the midst of Winterhold's ever present snowstorm. After a minute, I decide to penetrate into the forest to my left, and hope for the best. A few paces into the trees, a brave wolf lunges for my throat. I barely pause, the dagger on my hip almost leaping to my hand. I swipe the blade across the beast's throat, and it yelps, falling to the ground in a furry heap. I clean my dagger in the snow, and continue on my way.

After a few more encounters with assorted beasts of the wild, including a particularly angry saber cat, a dilapidated cabin comes into view. I grit my teeth, reminded of Hern's shack. I cast a glance down at my left palm, where the only visible scar of my ordeal remains. I wince, remembering the knife twisting. Babette had been able to heal all my other wounds completely, but had had only enough strength to knit the bones in my hand back together. The flesh healed on it's own, leaving a disc-shaped mark.

Squeezing my fist shut, I calm myself with the knowledge that Hern was a vampire, whereas this man is most definitely not. Why someone would wish the death of a poor beggar, I'll never know. I stride towards the building, not even bothering with the effort of sneaking. This far from the city, and in the midst of such a storm, no one would hear him. Not to mention that if he's actually awake at this hour, he won't be able to see me until it's far too late.

I nudge the door open with my foot, unable to abandon all sense of caution. I cast a searching glance around the room, and notice only a fire pit, a pot with a few soggy leeks in it, a small bed, and the dirty man sleeping in it. I tread over to him, carefully stepping over his, ahem, kitchen. I press my hand over his mouth, and his eyes open wide. Before he has a chance to struggle, my blade finds his throat, and blood runs down his neck. His body goes slack, and I release him. I clean my blade on his already filthy tunic, leaving a fresh stain against a backdrop older ones.

I step out of the hut, and inhale deeply, then exhale. I watch as my breath forms a cloud of mist, and then make my way back towards the city. I let my thoughts wander, as I admire the environment. The snow has stopped falling, leaving my vision clear, and making sightseeing an option. The first rays of light climb tentatively up and over the horizon, barely hinting at the resplendent sun yet to come. A dragon roars in the distance, and I look up, searching for it. I glimpse a flash of scales miles away, as the great beast circles the peak of a mountain. I lower my hood, enjoying the feeling of the cold on my skin. A breeze stirs my hair, and the pines around me, dusting my body in snow. I grin at the feeling, and wipe the crystals from my face.

Suddenly, an unpleasant thought manages to worm it's way into my mind, ruining my mood. I think of the bloody scene in my dream, and grow uneasy. I dream often, but I almost never have nightmares. In fact, I've had two, that I can remember, in as many years. And this one hadn't been like the others. While most of my nightmares involved some half-remembered childhood memory, followed by the bandit attack, this one had been completely different. It had been strange, and confusing. And what had Amaril meant, when he had said "soon"? Such carnage was almost beyond the limits of Alduin himself, and the black dragon was dead. So who or what would be powerful, and cruel, enough to cause such a slaughter? Surely he didn't mean Alduin's return. Arngier said it may be possible for him to return at the end of time, but not so soon. There wouldn't be a prophecy, a means to defeat him, if he was going to simply come back just months later. No, Amaril's warning had been referring to something else.

I stop my train of thought for a moment, to remind myself of exactly what I'm doing. Daanik Sun-Strider, you're accepting a dream, and the word of a figment of your imagination, as fact. Just…just keep that in mind. I wonder for a moment if that's Amaril talking, or me, then drive that particular question firmly out of my mind, refusing to deal with it's complications.

I ponder my dream until the city comes into sight. Frustrated, I force the thought to the back of my mind, annoyed at my lack of progress. Sighing, I continue on my way. The sun is just peeking over the horizon as I step into the city, bathing the world in a soft, golden light. It casts strange shadows across the ground, making my surroundings seem unreal, somehow, as if a leaf could be as sturdy as Solitude's walls, yet as fragile as paper-thin glass. I marvel at the sight, before hurrying back to the inn. I hope Gabriella isn't awake yet.

Once I reach the inn, I talk to Dagur, and buy two mugs of tea, two sweetrolls, some baked potatoes, several strips of fried bacon, scrambled eggs, and toasted bread with butter. I pay the man, and precariously carry the over-laden tray up the stairs. I nudge the door open with my foot, just as Gabriella sits back down on the bed. She's wearing one of my shirts, the hem falling down to her knees, because of our height difference. The sight makes me smile. She looks up as I enter, and grins at me, or rather, at what I'm carrying.

"I just woke up, and saw your note." She says, not taking her eyes off the sweetrolls.

"Oh yea?" I ask, deliberately not moving from the door, keeping the food just out of reach.

"Mhm." She says, her stomach growling. Neither of us say anything. I look at her, eyebrows raised, amused. My lips twitch.

"Well, bring that damn tray over!" She yells, and I burst out laughing. Despite my motions, the wooden platter remains stable.

I stride over to the bed, and place the tray on her lap. I sit down next to her, bemusedly watching as she decimates a sweetroll.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I got everything." I say. I roll my eyes, as she starts on the second pastry. "Now I know what to get in the future." I mutter. She stops eating, and leans over, pressing her lips to mine.

"Thank you very, very much." She whispers, smiling against my lips. I kiss her back, and feel her shiver. I grab one of the mugs of hot tea, and press it into her hand.

"Here, take this. It's warm, it'll help." She sips it gratefully, and continues to eat. I rescue a few strips of bacon, a potato, and a piece of toast from her clutches before she can devour them, and nibble on them myself. And yet, she still finishes before I do.

"How can someone as small as you eat more than someone like me." I grumble under my breath, as I reach for the now empty tray. She laughs, and punches my arm. I chuckle as well, and take the tray back down to Dagur.

"Done already?" He exclaims, and I roll my eyes. He laughs, and wipes the tray down, shaking his head.

And idea strikes me, and I can't help but ask the gruff man about it. "Hey, you wouldn't happen to have any bathing amenities, would you?" I ask, hoping against hope that the inn might be better equipped than it looked.

Dagur grins, and nods. "Finest bathouse in the Pale, actually. The Frozen Hearth is built with a pump and filtration system, with enchanted piping underneath, allowing for constantly flowing, heated water." He recites, and then sighs. "Sad to say we're not unique nor famous enough to attract visitors, so the baths remain mostly unused. But they still work well. Just turn the wheel closest to whatever tub you choose, and the water will start flowing."

I nod, and ask what the price would be. Dagur shakes his head, saying, "No, friend, you've given me more business today than I usually get in a week. Consider it a thank you, and a reminder to remember the old place if you're ever in Winterhold." He winks, and I laugh, thanking him.

Dagur points down a flight of stairs behind the bar, and I all but run down them, excited at the prospect of finally being able to wash off the filth of travel. The waterfall in the sanctuary is nice, but freezing cold. Gabriella had tried to heat it with fire magic once, but the result had been boiling heat for about five seconds, immediately replaced by icy cold water as the falls continued to flow.

I jump down the last of the stairs, and take a look around the room. It's about as long as the main room of the tavern itself, but wider, with wooden floors and walls. There are three circular basins at the end of the room, each around four feet wide, and five feet deep. They're made of polished stone, and have holes along their sides, and one in the bottom. Gods, there's even a seat carved into the side. This is perfect!

I locate the old, metal wheel near the tub on the far right. It's a bit rusty, but turns just fine. I hear the faint sound of water rushing beneath my feet, and sure enough, the water begins to gush out of the nozzles on the side of the tub, in a circular pattern. I unbuckle my armor as quickly as I can, stripping down to nothing, and laying it none too carefully on top of a barrel in the corner. I tread over to the basin, and reach down to feel the water's temperature, and grin at the exquisite warmth. I lower myself into it's depths, and sigh, as the tension flows from my body, carried away by the pleasant current.

I close my eyes, and enjoy the warmth. My muscles relax from a tension that I didn't know existed, and I'm tempted to slip into unconsciousness.

You did only sleep for less than three hours. Amaril points out.

But Gabriella might worry. I interject. I didn't tell her where I went.

Nah, mate, she'll just ask Dagur where you went off to. Come on, give us both a break.

I sigh again, knowing that I shouldn't let myself sleep. That I have responsibilities, and that I shouldn't have gotten in this damn tub in the first place. So I promise myself that I won't drift off.

But I do anyway.

A/N: Don't forget to leave a review. A long, detailed one ;) Oh, also, I may end this in a couple chapters. There WILL be a sequel, I'm just not sure how long I'm gonna keep going with this story particularly. Anyway, it'll be a few chapters yet though.