Author note: I'm so sorry this chapter took an age to finish. I've been enraptured by my other story "Hero by Mistake", and, well, I'm a grad student. Sigh! But here it is, the next chapter. After this I will be writing a series of epilogues, so, nearly done now.
Special thanks to Timeywimeyspaceywacey and KiraMackey for their opinions on this chapter.
Chapter 21 – The Fall
[Chapter Soundtrack: Ellie Goulding "Figure 8", Imagine Dragons "Nothing Left to Say", Jason Walker "Kiss Me", Barcelona "Get Up", Skylar Grey "Coming Home – Part II"]
The Thalmor soldiers kept coming through what Fjornir guessed must have been some sort of portal. Infantry, archers and battlemages came by the dozen, the latter two groups taking positions on the hills surrounding the Skyrim side of the gate. Men and women on both sides of the battle fell. Fjornir's Drain Magicka Shout proved most useful, however, in taking down the elves. The casualties on the Thalmor's side outnumbered Fjornir's three to one, but every few minutes more elves came through the portal, fresh and ready to fight whereas Fjornir and his army grew more tired as the morning passed.
No one noticed when the Dragon Child disappeared.
Nehenarah's eyes were squeezed shut. The bright white light stung her eyes, and through closed eyelids she saw the dark pink-red of blood and flesh illuminated by her surroundings. She heard noises she couldn't define and anxiously waited for the bright light to fade.
"Hello!?" she shouted. "Father? Brynjar!?" She was on her hands and knees, she realized, and suddenly felt grass tickle her fingers, and then the world fell silent. The light began to fade, signaled by seeing black rather than pink-red, and slowly lifting her eyelids, looking down, she adjusted to her surroundings. Grass. Green grass, and no snow.
It was only then that Nehenarah realized she no longer heard the din of battle. No sound but her own heartbeat invaded her ears.
Her neck jerked up and she looked forward. Nothing. Nothing as far as she could see but green grass and the occasional clump of flowers and solitary tree. In the far distance she saw mountains. When she looked up, she saw that the sky was a solid blue dome without the hint of a cloud. There was no sun.
"What the…?" She stood, testing her footing to make sure her body wasn't broken. She looked to the sky again to make sure the sun just wasn't hidden behind anything, but her eyes were not deceiving her. Though no sun lit the land, the unending meadow and outlines of mountains were illuminated as if it were high noon.
When she started for the nearest tree, she felt the same burst of heat at her back she had felt on the battlefield. When she turned, she nearly fell backwards at the sight. A looming, fiery golden dragon appeared out of nowhere.
"Akatosh?" she whispered.
"Geh," the Ghost Man's familiar voice answered in Nehenarah's mind.
"What happened?" She took a step toward the dragon, and then another. "Where am I? There's no sun…."
Smoke puffed from the dragon's nostrils as Akatosh laughed. The laughter continued for longer than Nehenarah thought necessary, but soon the dragon began to shimmer and glow bright yellow, and became nearly translucent. The fiery gold glow began to shift, and soon took the form of a familiar figure. A familiar figure with bronze skin, long auburn dreadlocks, bright gold-yellow eyes, and wearing scant leather armor.
Nehenarah's eyes went wide. "Linnras!?" she yelled, though not from surprise or shock. She had believed her mentor and companion to have been Akatosh for some time. Rather, she yelled because she was angry.
Linnras continued to laugh as Nehenarah pounded the earth beneath her feet, stomping towards the god-man. With raised fists, she pummeled the laughing god-man.
"You fucker!" Another fist, another, and again she struck the man's chest and shoulders. The young woman beating her tiny fists against Akatosh's most recent human avatar only managed to tickle him, increasing his laughter to a near howl.
"Stop, stop, I can't," Linnras Tyraevi pleaded, "it tickles."
"What the fuck!" she began to kick his bare shins. "Where am I!? What happened to my father!? The ARMY!?"
Linnras's laughter dimmed to a chuckle and he managed to successfully grab a hold of Nehenarah's wrists and his own breath. Her feet, however, remained free to kick.
"GANOG!" Linnras's, or rather Akatosh's voice thundered from the avatar's chest, shaking the earth beneath Nehenarah's feet. He had had enough.
She froze, fur-booted foot mid-air, and stared at the god-man, eyes indeed wide with shock that time. She planted her foot back down onto the grass and then stood tall in front of Linnras as if awaiting orders. The god-man loosed his grip on her wrists and let them drop to the young woman's sides.
Linnras cleared his throat. "I apologize if I scared you," he said in a normal, human tone.
"Scared me!?" Nehenarah repeated, mouth open in preparation for her tirade. "You… lied. You left. And now…. Now, you… bring me…." Words were not her strong point at that moment. "WHERE THE FUCK ARE WE!?" she asked again in a pitch just short of a squeal.
"Dovahpraan," Linnras said with a smile.
Nehenarah blinked, silent for a moment. "Dragon Rest?"
"Yup."
"What in Oblivion is Dragon Rest?"
"Where dragon's rest. Well, where their souls rest. Not Oblivion, but a realm in Aetherius."
Nehenarah blinked again. "I'm dead!?"
"Ha! No, no," Linnras shook his head, turning from Nehenarah and setting off on a slow stroll across the meadow to nowhere. The young woman followed. "I pulled you from battle. You weren't safe there."
"Odahviing would have come for me if I were in any danger," she declared.
"Yes, he would have. But I told him not to."
Nehenarah jogged up to meet Linnras's side. "You what?"
"Od Ah Viing was needed south of the gate. You are needed alive, and alive here you will stay."
"If I'm not dead then how did I get here?"
"I collected you."
"You mean you snatched me up…."
"Yes."
"To keep me alive?"
"Yes."
"For how long?"
"What?"
"How long must I stay here?"
Linnras finally stopped walking and turned to the insatiable Dragon Child. "Until there is no longer a threat of death for you on Nirn."
"And… how long will that be?"
The god-man frowned. "That will be determined by your father's actions." He turned to walk again.
The meadow was unending, and no matter where or how far they walked, the distant mountains never appeared any closer. After a few moments of blissful silence, Nehenarah opened her mouth again. "Why did you lie to me?"
"I never lied to you," Linnras asserted.
"Yes you did. You never told me you were Akatosh. Seems like something someone should tell a girl."
"Woman."
"Relatively young human female."
Linnras laughed, and kept walking. "I never lied. You never asked if I was a god."
"You said you were from Akavir. I asked my father about what that was. He said the humans died out there a long time ago."
"They did, sort of. Their culture died." Linnras confirmed.
"Then how can you be from Akavir!?"
"This body is from Akavir."
Nehenarah stopped walking, and Linnras noticed. He stopped, turned, and walked back to her.
"What?" he asked.
"You stole a body?" she said in a hushed voice.
Linnras chuckled. "I assumed the form a long-dead Akaviri man. Don't worry, Ba Niren wasn't using it anymore. But that's not what I meant by being from Akavir."
"What did you mean?"
"When I first created beings in my image, dragons, their souls lived here." He raised his arms to indicate where they were now. "When I decided to give them a physical form, a body, so that they might enjoy life, they first emerged on Akavir and were able to shift between dragon and human form. Or, well, I say human, but I mean human-like. Scaly humans, kind of like Argonians but golden instead of green. The environment on Akavir was… less than desirable, for various reasons, and so they took flight and found their home in the northern lands such as Skyrim and Atmora. But, upon leaving Akavir, they could no longer assume human form. They never returned, however. Though mortal, my dragons were seen as gods on Nirn, and so they remained in the northern, mountainous lands, quite content, for a while, anyway."
"Sssooo…," Nehenarah continued to walk along with Linnras in the unending meadow, "this body is mortal but… you're… Akatosh…?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Why what?" Linnras stopped walking again and turned to Nehenarah.
"Why all of this? The body and me and the training!? I never… I barely got to do anything in this war! And we…," Nehenarah looked at the god-man in horror and her voice became a muted whisper, "we had sex. A LOT."
Linnras laughed. "I told you, we couldn't help it."
"You're a god! You can… do anything! I don't believe you. You just wanted…," her jaw dropped open, "you just wanted to fuck a human! And then you disappeared and everyone but me forgot about you!"
"Oh, that worked, did it?" he smiled.
"STOP SMILING!" Nehenarah screamed. She suddenly felt dizzy, and collapsed to her knees onto the flower-speckled grass. Linnras walked over where she had fallen, and sat on his heels. Holding her forehead in her palm, Nehenarah asked, calmer, "Just tell me why. Why me? What did I have anything to do with this war? Why did you train me…. I spoke with and commanded dragons that could not speak my human tongue, yes, but…. All those Shouts…. All that time I could have been with Brynjarr but I was kept on the top of a mountain, mostly with you." She glared at the god-man.
"You needed to grow up," Linnras said, settling onto the grass on his haunches. "Fast. And if I hadn't intervened you would have eventually gotten knocked-up by Brynjarr, because eventually you would have convinced him you didn't have to wait, and then you'd have been puking all over Odahviing's back while he flew you around the world."
"You said you knew I wouldn't get pregnant."
"Yes, with me…."
Nehenarah glared at Linnras. "Why not you?"
"Because I'm a god, remember?"
Nehenarah hugged her body with her arms and sat in silence, staring at a flower for a good long while. When she finally spoke, she asked, "When will I get pregnant?"
"Ah-ah, rignivahiikke …," he said, moving his head side to side.
"SO SPOIL ME," she shouted. "Just tell me. Will it be with Brynjarr?" And then Nehenarah jumped. "Is he alright!? Is Father alright!?"
"Calm down, Dovahkiir, they're both doing exactly what they're meant to be doing."
"What does that mean!?"
"Don't worry, you'll see them soon enough."
The sun was at its zenith when the influx of elves waned. Dragons could be heard to the south, beyond the gate, continuing to bombard the Thalmor forces before they could reach the human army.
Two of the battlemages were able to retrieve spent arrows with telekinesis, giving Aela and her archers a nearly endless supply of ammunition. The mages then used Grand Healing spells to rejuvenate as best they could the remaining forces, who despite the mages' efforts grew more and more tired as the day passed.
Brynjarr remained close by Fjornir at all times, as did Farkas, who felt protective over both his Harbinger and his protégé. Farkas caught glimpses of Brynjarr in action and was greatly impressed by the young man's form that not too long ago wasn't anything to write home about.
Both armies were eventually equally matched, and soon the Thalmor numbers began to drop steadily. Still, hundreds of the elves remained, and their armor was hard to breach, even without their Stoneflesh spell. But the army of massive Nords and fierce Redguards aimed high, learning early on that the quickest way to end an elf was to bash its head in or cut it off, helmet and all. The Thalmor's necks and eyes remained their only truly vulnerable spots from afar, however, but Aela's archers aimed small.
Nehenarah picked a flower and plucked its petals one my one. "I still feel it, you know."
"The pull? Yeah, you would. Here, your inner dragon takes over some of your instincts…."
Pluck. Drop. Pluck. Drop. "Since when do dragons have sexual instincts?"
Linnras laughed. "I should have assumed the form of an old woman, offered to be your nursemaid."
"But you didn't."
"Nope, I didn't."
Pluck. Pinch. Hold. "What did you say the name was of the man whose body you stole?"
"Borrowed."
"Did you ask his permission?"
"He wasn't around to ask."
Nehenarah glared at Linnras. She was good at glaring.
"Ba Niren," he answered. "Some low-ranked soldier, but did well in battle. Until he died."
"Then why did you call yourself Linnras Tyraevi?"
"I'm surprised no one figured that one out. I thought I was being quite clever." He flashed a beaming grin.
Nehenarah waited impatiently, giving Linnras another stare of doom.
"It's four words from the old Nord tongue, spoken before your current language, back when they still lived on Atmora."
Nehenarah glared at Linnras and slow-plucked the last petal off of the flower, then flicked the remaining center and stem at the god-man.
"Linnr-as. L-I-N-N-R, A-S. It just means 'dragon god'." The god-man watched Nehenarah as she reacted, but her expression did not change from one of annoyance. He cleared his throat. "Wow, I thought that was pretty clever. Tyr-aevi, T-Y-R, A-E-V-I, 'god time'." He watched Nehenarah's still-unchanging expression. "Well, hey, I tried. Not all ideas are winners."
When Nehenarah finished glaring, she asked, "Can I just call you Akatosh, then?"
"You can, although technically speaking I'm not exactly Akatosh."
"What do you mean? You were… a dragon. A fiery dragon."
"Yes, and that's just another embodiment I sometimes take. You like?"
Nehenarah huffed. "If you're not Akatosh then what in… what are you?"
"Oh, I am Akatosh. Or at least, part of him. You didn't think that the God of Time would be such a simple divinity as to only be able to be in one place at one time, did you?"
Nehenarah squirmed in her grassy seat. "Where… when else are you?"
"Oh, Nehenarah…," the god-man chuckled, his long dreadlocks creating gentle waves of auburn as he shook his head.
The sun was still in the second quadrant when the last of the elves fell. Fjornir turned to observe the remnants of his army – still standing strong, with relatively few fallen. All of his Companion friends and all of the battlemages were still alive. With the much-needed break between battles, the Redguard, Stormcloak and Nord armies quickly tended to their fallen comrades.
Fjornir did not notice the dragon coming in to land behind him. The ground shook, and Fjornir turned. It was not Odahviing who stood before him, but Paarthurnax. Though the old dragon had spoken to Fjornir of the possible need for his interference in this war, Fjornir did not expect to see his old friend, not here, and not now. The white-grey dragon tilted his head and spoke one word to the Dragonborn: "Zahrahmiik."
Fjornir looked to the gate where no Thalmor stood alive, and then back to the ancient dragon. "Are you sure?" He stared, hoping he misheard the word.
Paarthurnax tilted his head the other way and responded. "Geh."
Fjornir felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Brynjarr bloodied, but alive and smiling. It wasn't his blood that decorated his armor.
"Another friend?" Brynjarr asked, indicating Paarthurnax.
The Dragonborn did not even bother feigning a smile. "Yes. A friend." Fjornir turned to Paarthurnax who remained waiting, ever-patient, for Fjornir to ready himself to fly with him. The Dragonborn then turned back to Brynjarr and embraced the young man, blood and all.
"Woah. What's this for?" Brynjarr laughed through his question.
Fjornir neglected to answer. Instead, he reached around his neck to grab a hold of a leather thong. As he pulled on it and lifted it above his head, Brynjarr saw a large dragonscale, pierced at one end to allow wearing it as a pendant. In a swift movement, Fjornir placed the leather thong around Brynjarr's neck and pressed the dragonscale against the young man's cuirass.
Fjornir cleared his throat. "Give this to Eirin," he said with his hand still upon the hard scale. "Keep my daughter safe. Move everyone out of the mountains. Go, now. North!" Without giving Brynjarr time to question Fjornir's orders, the Dragonborn kissed Brynjarr on his forehead and turned to Paarthurnax. The dragon Shouted FEY BO ZOR and enshrouded Fjornir with a silvery aura before the man climbed onto Paarthurnax's neck.
Brynjarr watched as Fjornir flew on the white-grey dragon off to the south without giving him even the slightest of glances. Farkas approached his protégé and asked, "Where's he goin'?" Farkas looked around once more and then added, "And where's your girl gone off to?"
Brynjarr turned to his friend and mentor with a terrified look on his face, unable to speak.
"What do you mean everywhere?" Nehenarah's face scrunched with her question.
"Everywhere, everywhen. A part of me is here now, with you, in Dovahpraan. A part of me is with your father. Well, in your father…. Any dragon, or dragon-souled person is part of me, or rather I am a part of them. When your father 'killed' Alduin, my first creation, he only killed him now, not everywhen. Alduin's soul merely returned to Aurbis and will form again in another timeline. His soul is too powerful for a true mortal's body to take unto itself, unlike the other dragons whose souls are now bound to Fjornir's. Did your father tell you about his time in Solstheim? Conquering my first Dragonborn?"
Nehenarah shook her head.
"Well, long story short, my first Dragonborn managed to break the boundaries of time with the help of a Daedra Lord, among other things…. This caused a few… disruptions… with the timely order of things. In any case, along came your father who put an end to this abomination – as I said, not all ideas are winners…. When your father killed my first Dragonborn, he absorbed all of the dragon souls that were within him. Many, many souls. Your father is… very powerful, now. So powerful, it could be argued that he embodies the power of a god."
Fjornir stood on the highest peak on the Throat of the World. Paarthurnax had left him there after a brief visit to Whiterun, to the Great Porch of Dragonsreach.
The ancient dragon then returned to where he had found the Dragonborn, and called to the dragon army. They were to push south as far as they could the elven army, away from the gate between Skyrim and Cyrodiil.
Zahrahmiik. Sacrifice. Fjornir had made the decision quite a while ago. Fjornir knew that if worst came to worst, he could do this for Skyrim, and for Tamriel, and Paarthurnax couldn't disagree that it was for the greater good.
With the help of the ancient dragon, Fjornir developed a new Shout that would move the very ground beneath him at his will. The Shout worked well with rocks and boulders, but Fjornir wasn't intending to kick a few stones around.
In speaking with Paarthurnax, Fjornir realized that he held within him the power of not just one dragon soul, but many. All of the souls of the dragons he'd slain, or those that Miraak the First Dragonborn had slain, were melded with his own soul. All except Alduin's. The thought, Fjornir put forth to Paarthurnax, was that a Dragonborn would be able to use the power of all of these souls at once, if needed, to do something… miraculous. Paarthurnax knew what Fjornir was thinking of – Martin Septim. Fjornir knew of the last Septim heir who sacrificed himself to become the avatar of Akatosh in order to defeat Mehrunes Dagon and close the gates to Oblivion. Fjornir wasn't planning to defeat a Daedra Lord; he was, however, planning to save Skyrim, and with it the world.
Skyrim was no longer kingless or bleeding, Alduin was slain, and the rift created by those who sent Alduin forward in time was closed. The North was defending itself – the last tower would not fall. The Throat of the World, the looming mountain in the center of Skyrim, acted as a pillar of sorts for the entire country, as did other such legendary structures throughout the world. It is said that the destruction of all of these structures, these towers, would lead to the end of Mundus, the end of mortal existence. It is also said that by exterminating humankind, the extremist Thalmor would be able to return to the immortality they so craved. In Fjornir's mind, and Paarthurnax agreed, protecting Skyrim would ensure that many human beings would be left alive, defended, and would further hinder the Thalmor's goal of destroying Nirn.
As Paarthurnax saw it, Fjornir's hypothesis was sound, but only putting their theory to the test would prove them right. As Fjornir gazed down at the town of Whiterun, he thought of his wife, Eirin. Before depositing Fjornir on top of the mountain, Paarthurnax had agreed to bring the Dragonborn to the city in order to say goodbye to his wife. His pregnant wife.
Eirin said she knew, in some way, that something like this was going to happen. She felt it in her bones, she had said. Tears were shed and screams were shared, but they both knew that Fjornir had to try.
All for the greater good.
"If I don't come back," Fjornir said to her while holding her tight on the Great Porch, "name the child Buriis."
"Buriis?" Eirin asked.
Fjornir smiled, and kissed Eirin's salted cheeks before pressing his forehead to hers. "It means 'hope'."
Hope. Fjornir prayed that he was right, that what he was about to do would save the world. Slaying Alduin was never enough, apparently. Alduin was just a stepping stone to Fjornir's real purpose – he understood that now.
The Dragonborn climbed down to the snow-covered flat area just beneath the tallest peak. He walked over to the Word Wall that had been carved into the mountain and engraved by Paarthurnax himself. "Het mah Herfodr, Shul-Kriid, sahrot konahrik do Lumnaar do Krent Hahnu." The ancient dragon remembered the Sun-Slayer fondly, and mourned his death.
Shielded from most of the wind by the Word Wall, Fjornir sat, and prepared. He repeated the words to himself, silently. Gol Qeth Kren. Gol Qeth Kren. Earth Bone Break. He closed his eyes to sense what he had for so long repressed – the souls of the dragons within him. They were there, all thirty-some of them, obedient but angry. He wondered if they would do as he hoped, as he would command them to do, upon their summons.
He could only try.
He imagined beneath him the rock of the mountain reaching down with arms of stone down to the other mountains surrounding the country. To the south and east, these mountain ranges were his targets. The Jerall and Velothi ranges. He would leave alone the hills of the north and already nearly impassible range of the west.
And then he felt them, the earth's bones. The rock. The mountain. His friends the Skaal taught him how to connect with the forces of nature while he was in Solstheim. He felt the vibration of life that the mountain held, and everything connected to it.
It was time.
After internally summoning every dragon soul within him, wrangled by the will of his own, he took one final, deep breath, and with it exhaled, "GOL QETH KREN."
The deafening explosion was heard throughout the country, but Whiterun was hit first. The ground shook and children cried, but the townsfolk were prepared. Fjornir had warned the Jarl that this could happen. Eirin hugged her children tight as they stood out in the open fields to the west of the city, away from possible falling stone or timber. Everyone looked to the mountaintop, and when they saw the golden orb of energy condense and then dissipate, they knew Fjornir had succeeded. The faint rumbling continued for nearly an hour, and even when it stopped, the people remained outside the city walls for a long while, just to be sure the danger was over.
The dragon guardians that stood outside the walls of Whiterun had already fled south by then, having been signaled by Paarthurnax to do so, but Jarl Guvar of Whiterun knew this meant that the immediate danger to his town had passed.
Dezserahhe and Iilahaan knew, but little Kenlaas sitting on Eirin's lap couldn't understand why his mother was crying.
With Fjornir's last breath, the power of every dragon soul contained within him, including his own, was transferred into the Shout. Earth Bone Break. The energy traveled through the rocky shell of Nirn to the south and the east, as Fjornir had silently commanded. Within minutes, the target mountain ranges began to quake. The people of the Rift, Falkreath and Eastmarch Holds did not know what was happening, but knew of earthquakes and only several unfortunate people were injured in the event.
Ulfric and Ralof felt the quake in their palace, and looked to each other for answers that neither of them had.
Linnras jerked his head up, looking above Nehenarah. "Ah, there he is, right on time."
"What?" Nehenarah asked while turning around to see who Linnras was talking about. A large figure was hunched over on all fours, just as she had been upon coming into this realm. Long, dark brown-red hair fell over the man's shoulders and stroked the grass. Nehenarah recognized the dragonbone armor. "Father!" she squealed, jumping up and running to the fallen Dragonborn.
"'Narah?" she heard the man grunt as she approached.
"Pa…," she cried, falling to the ground in front of the Dragonborn. Her arms wrapped around the man's neck, not waiting for him to recover from his journey.
That's when the dragons came. One, three, ten, more. Nehenarah lost count as dozens of dragons crashed through the too-perfect blue sky and immediately took to soaring across the blue dome. Their roars were not terrifying, but triumphant. Green, brown, red, black, purple, orange and white-blue, all colors dotted the skies. "Stin! Stin!" they were calling. They were free.
"Nehenarah," Fjornir quietly called to his daughter, his hand gently grasping her shoulder.
The young woman dropped her gaze from the sky to look into her father's grey-green eyes. They looked different to her, somehow. He looked different.
The ground vibrated as it condensed upon itself. The country of Skyrim was shifting to the south and east, and as a result the mountains grew taller, fiercer, and impenetrable. Gates to Cyrodiil collapsed and were lost to the freshly shorn crags. The process claimed the lives of several mountain-dwelling people and groups. There was no time to warn them. Mountain goats, however, sensing imminent danger, had fled to the lower valleys in time.
The elven warriors were gathering south of the gate to Skyrim where the portal had been placed. Auxiliary forces were coming in from the Summerset Isles and arriving in groups numbering between ten and twenty at a time through the circle of stones. They were met by dragonfire and streams of ice, and a quaking ground. The squadron leaders began to feel panic as they watched the gate collapse and the mountains rise in front of their eyes. Many of them had lived a thousand years and yet had never seen a mountain move but a fingernail's length.
The Thalmor knew defeat when it was presented to them. The portal into Skyrim was likely demolished with the rise of the Jerall Mountains, and the dragons attacking them in Cyrodiil were relentless.
Cramming themselves into the circle of stone, the portal was reopened and group by group they transported themselves back to the Summerset Isles. Several soldiers arrived home on fire or frozen, some dead. Hundreds of the elves frantically tried to return through the portal, most of them in vain.
The only remaining southern passage into Skyrim was now through Hammerfell, and it was guarded by a Thalmor-built stone wall and fortified gate. The passage between Skyrim and High Rock remained, and as always the northern coast was accessible by sea.
The immediate Thalmor threat to Skyrim was removed, however, but only time would tell how long the country and its people would remain safe.
"Where am I?" Fjornir asked his daughter as he stood.
"We're in… a place called Dragon Rest. It's where the souls of dragons go."
"Souls…," Fjornir looked as if a dragon's tail thwacked him on the chest. "You're dead!?"
"Me? No, no, I…," Nehenarah looked around for Linnras, but the god-man had disappeared. "I was taken here by Akatosh, to stay safe while the battle was being fought." She then studied her father, whose light had seemed to have vanished from his eyes. "But you…." She stepped up close to look at the Dragonborn. "Oh, Father…." She crashed into the man, her hand clamping onto her wrist around the back of Fjornir's neck. "How did you die?" she asked through her tears.
Fjornir sat back down on the grass, and Nehenarah awkwardly climbed onto her father's lap, her arms once again claiming purchase around her father's neck. Fjornir cradled his daughter as he told her of his final sacrifice, the releasing of all the bound dragon souls within him, along with his own in order to move the very ground itself through time, speeding up the process that would have occurred naturally on its own over the course of millennia.
"You sped up time? Is everyone dead!?" she shrieked.
"No, 'Narah, no. The Shout only affected the land itself, the rock, specifically. Even the grass above it remains the same age as before."
"So… is everyone safe? Brynjarr? Ma and the kids?"
"Last I saw them, they were all fine," Fjornir smiled.
"You saw Ma? Does she know…?" Nehenarah's voice caught on her final question.
Fjornir nodded. "She knows. What she doesn't know, what we didn't know, is that you are safe. I imagine Akatosh will be sending you back to Nirn soon." He looked around the sunless sky. "Right!?" he shouted.
He received no answer.
"He will, Pa, I know he will." Her lips then began to quiver as she fought back tears. "What will happen now? To you…."
Fjornir shrugged. "I'm in dragon heaven. Maybe I'll become one." He smiled.
Nehenarah shook her head. "Lin—Akatosh said that anyone with a dragon soul is part of him. Or, him, them. Part of me, you. You're not a dragon, you're a human, like me. I think… I think Akatosh brought you here for me. To say goodb—" her sobs took over, and her body began to shake. Fjornir held Nehenarah tight in his strong arms, letting her cry.
"Maybe, maybe." Fjornir stroked his daughter's hair. "Maybe I'll end up in Sovngarde. Maybe even the Hall of Valor…."
Nehenarah sniffled. "With Shor?"
"Yep. And Ysgramor. Guess I'll have to wait and see."
The two shared more tears, and Fjornir planted a tender kiss on his daughter's forehead.
The sound of the nearby Jerall Mountains growing before their eyes was deafening. The army of men and women stared in awe at the forces of nature cut them off from Cyrodiil, from the majority of the Thalmor force. Dragons began to soar above the unfamiliar peaks. Farkas, Aela and Ria had fled during the chaos, leaving Brynjarr more frightened than ever. He and his peers clung together.
When the movement of rock ceased, the silence was near-painful. For a moment, nothing but the breath of the soldiers could be heard. And then a gut-wrenching howl pierced the mortal ears of the army. And then another, and a third, followed by round after round of mournful howling. The men and women searched around them for signs of wolves, but found none.
"There!" shouted Agata. Her keen eyesight was unmatched, and she spotted the dark figures on the craggy rockface of the newborn mountainside.
"Werewolves!?" Brynjarr couldn't believe his eyes. The figures were far away, but one could easily see that the howling was coming from three dark, bipedal creatures.
"It's them," Agata mused, "it's her." She listened as her lover and her lover's closest friends mourned. From what Brynjarr had told the rest of the army, they were likely mourning the loss of their Harbinger, Fjornir.
As the sun began to enter the fourth quadrant, the army decided it best to camp for the night. The commanders of the Redguard army took over general command, but only in order to find sufficient camping ground and dictate who should gather firewood or hunt for their supper. That night they would celebrate together as one people, victorious, but in the morning the Redguards would return to Hammerfell with the hopes of finding their homeland intact. The Breton battlemages remained at the camp only long enough to see to the wounded and help with burying the dead that weren't already claimed by the mountain. They slipped away into the night as the celebration feast carried on.
Brynjarr was restless, however. He ate, but only because his friends forced him to. Agata assured him that Nehenarah was fine, that a dragon must have come and taken her before the battle escalated. Brynjarr tended to one of the bonfires that night, adding new wood as needed, knowing that he would never be able to sleep. Vilkas joined him, however exhausted, and the two Companions sat in silence as they chewed on freshly-roasted venison.
Above them, a dragon swerved, and began a descent not far from the bonfire. Brynjarr stood, and began to talk towards where the dragon had landed.
"Where are you going?" Vilkas asked in a tone that suggested it was more of an order to stay than a question. Brynjarr didn't answer his superior. "Hey, kid. Wait!" Vilkas hopped up from the rock he was sitting on and jogged after the young Companion.
"It's her," was all Brynjarr said.
"You don't know that," said Vilkas.
"I do." The young blond man marched in the direction of the shadowed dragon, losing visibility the further from the bonfire he walked. Resting soldiers watched him and Vilkas with confusion, but stayed out of their business.
In the distance, a yellow light began to glow. It moved from side to side in a steady rhythm. Another light formed, and together they joined in on illuminating Nehenarah's face. Brynjarr saw her clearly and ran to her, furious and terrified and relieved all at once. Before Nehenarah could greet the young man, he took Nehenarah's cheeks into his palms and kissed her with all of the passion he'd withheld from her over the years.
Paarthurnax snorted, lifted his wings, and took flight back to the Throat of the World. Vilkas relaxed, and watched the two young lovebirds lose themselves in one another's arms.
But only for a moment.
"Come on, you two." Vilkas urged them back towards the camp. "Don't wanna get eaten by a sabre cat after all that trouble."