Chapter 21: The Fallen
20 Frostfall, 4E202
"What's the Tower?" I hear her ask Leon from beyond the door.
"It is…" He pauses, likely gathering his thoughts. "It is where many of our House are sent after the madness takes them. They are kept from society and cared for by a group of priests and healers, all very much in secret. It is where Amara and I would go to visit our kin… on occasion."
"I see…" Another pause. "You both would've ended up there?"
"Yes. The inevitability of it would give Amara nightmares when she was small. What she must have seen yesterday… I understand it very well."
"Isn't there something we can do?"
He laughs, though it is small and sad. "I remember how she would creep into my room late at night, blanket in hand, and sleep at the foot of my bed. I learned quickly never to question her behavior, though now I do wonder whatever became of that blanket. She carried it everywhere. I would say we try to find it, but I wager she has it hidden somewhere already."
"I'd call that cute in any other situation." Silence falls between them again, briefly, before she clears her throat. "Hey, uh… I know this is a little late in coming, but I owe you an apology for attacking you in Falkreath. I hope you're not… uh…"
"Ah, no. Thank you, but I am not upset. Rest assured that, as a mage, I am more familiar with your situation than most. However," he says with sudden sternness in his tone, "I must, in fairness, warn you that my sister, no matter her past or present deeds, is more precious to me than any other in this world. We have faced many trials together, Lydia, which has given me ample cause to grow fond of you, but should my sister ever come to harm by your claw, I will end you."
She huffs. "I've seen you in plenty of fights. Believe me: I know how to pick my battles, and you're definitely one of the rare few people I'd never want to face in a duel."
"Mm, and you are formidable in your own right. But it is good that we understand one another."
My bathwater is growing cool. I could heat it up with magic, of course, but I find myself suddenly unwilling to linger. If I stay still for too long, the world begins to seem hazy, dreamlike. I pinch my arm for the umpteenth time. It hurts. Surely in dreams one would be unable to feel pain. To be alive, to be present, is to feel pain.
I towel myself dry and get dressed. I can feel my clothes on my body—my heavy body—and I can feel the dripping of my hair on my shoulders, the small rivulets of water trailing down my neck, my back. I feel the pull on my scalp as I attempt to dry it, to bring it into some sort of order. Can a dream, a delusion, be so vivid, so detailed?
I want to deny it, all of it. I want to take a clean, uninhibited breath, and look upon the events of yesterday with lucid confidence.
When I took the soul of the World-Eater, when his and mine began to merge, he saw all my darkest fears. I want to tell myself: it was a ruse, a trick. I want to insist: the world of here and now is real, and my mind is clean, and all that I feel and touch in this little room is too detailed to be some madwoman's megalomanic delusion. I want to grit my teeth and know, truly know, that my spirit is stalwart, and not so easily fooled.
I pinch my arm again. It hurts.
Their conversation tapers off when I open the door. They have not left my side since yesterday, not even briefly, and I cannot decide whether to be grateful or terrified.
"Hey." Lydia rises and takes my hands with a gentle, cautious affection. Do I really look so delicate to her?
I kiss her knuckles. Common wisdom holds that the truly mad are often the ones who think themselves quite sane. I admit, I have never thought myself to be perfectly sane, family curse or no: behold how I find myself glad to kiss the hands of a werewolf, to look at her face and know her to be mine, and I hers. Could this ensure my presence here, then? Could this guarantee the sturdiness of my own two feet on this ancient stone floor?
For my benefit, she wears no armor just now. She is soft and warm and unsure of herself. Perhaps my behavior frightens her. I hope it has, in a way. I hope I have not simply imagined it.
Leon watches me steadily. "Mara mea…"
"I know," I finish the thought for him. "We must talk."
"Can't it wait? I mean, shouldn't it?" Lydia says from over the top of my head.
Leon stands. "The dragons will not wait. Alduin will not wait. Mara, we… You have been rattled. This I understand, better than any other, and it is because of this that I will speak plainly: Regardless of what you may or may not have begun to question, you must see this through to the end."
"Don't put it like that!" Lydia exclaims. "It'll just make it worse."
Leon's attention remains focused on me alone. "You and I both know the pervasiveness of fear. Denial will not convince you to turn away from it, nor will reassurances. Time and action will, perhaps, but you must choose it. I cannot alter whatever might have bored its way into your mind, but I think… if you defeat Alduin, you will find a measure of peace."
"You're saying we should send her to her death. If she follows Alduin to Sovngarde—if he's really gone there—she'll have to go alone. I… can't let that happen." Lydia is shaking.
"Do you think I wish it this way?" His hands are balled into fists. It is a rare thing to see him truly angry, but I can see it as it begins to simmer in him. "If I could, I would trade my place for hers. I would—"
"Leon. Lydia." I pull away and stand on my own, facing them. "It is my decision to make, not yours to argue." I take a steadying breath. "Yes, what I saw yesterday has left me… scattered. No, I cannot stop the questions as they arise. Some part of me insists upon wondering if my present honesty is a result of trust in you both, or if it is because I am in fact talking to myself, and just myself. As of right now, it is a feeling which I cannot appease."
"By the gods, Amara, please don't say that." She attempts to move close to me again, but I hold her by the shoulders.
"Leon is right," I tell her simply. I feel her muscles twitching beneath my palms. "On all counts, he is right."
"So you will try to follow him?" Leon asks when Lydia dips her head, twitchy and at a loss for words.
"I think so, yes," I say softly while I watch my lover suffer the weight of my words. "I… dare not leave myself idle. Not now."
"But what about the baby? What about…" She trails off.
I pull back from her again and lay a hand over my belly. "That… remains to be seen."
"And there are a few other matters," Leon adds grimly, his arms crossed. "That we are now tasked with capturing a dragon is ridiculous on its own, but that we must use the palace of Whiterun to do so is… mad. Moreover," he looks to Lydia, "I understand it that you are thought to be dead."
Lydia's stare is all but bolted to the floor. "Won't stop me from following you there."
I shrug. "It will be easy enough to say that she was captured and held prisoner, and that we found her and killed the bandits responsible."
"Werewolf bandits?" Leon challenges. "We both read the official reports."
"Yes, and it was a horrible experience and she would rather not discuss it," I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. "Do not forget that the jarl's main concern will be my request to use his palace as a dragon trap."
"And if someone should sense her?"
"Whiterun is crawling with werewolves," Lydia answers him. "All the mages know, by now, that they ought to keep quiet."
"Then…" Leon rubs his eyes, weary. "There is one final matter. Mara mea, are you sure you think yourself fit to descend the 7000 steps?"
"I have little choice… but," I muse aloud as the idea strikes me. If indeed I am dreaming, then I see little reason why I should not attempt it. "Perhaps we might be able to fly. I must go speak with Paarthurnax."
"Wait," Lydia takes hold of my arm suddenly. "Wait. I have a question."
I cover her hand with my own. "Ask."
"That… Skull of Corruption you told us about. You said it made you live out all your fears. But you got past it. What's so different about this time?"
"It is…" I grow thoughtful, but still move to press my lips to her cheek. "At the time, when I fed it my fears, I was… already mad."
21 Frostfall, 4E202
Arngeir is utterly scandalized and does nothing at all to hide it. I admit, he beholds quite the uncanny sight: his lord and master, the mighty Paarthurnax, is crouched low for the convenience of the Dovahkiin and her companions and her dog. He has agreed to fly us as close to Ivarstead as is reasonable.
Duran is struggling wildly, terrified of the dragon and terrified of Lydia, whom I have tasked with holding him still as possible, much to her displeasure.
"Dovahkiin I beg you, one last time, to go by foot. This is just… inappropriate!" Arngeir is upset, perhaps more so than he would have been under normal circumstances. He has spent the past day in seclusion, mourning his lost compatriots. Even I will admit that the deaths of Master Einarth and Master Borri have left High Hrothgar feeling much emptier than before.
"Mm, no, I agree with Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax's voice booms over Duran's constant barking. "I owe her ahmik, a service, for all she has done in my name." He rises from his crouch.
I grasp one of the spikes on his back and hold for dear life. Some part of me is thrilled at the idea of flying, but another larger part is all too aware of my body's precarious position. I look behind me: Lydia grasps a spike with one hand, and my struggling dog with her other arm. I pray to all the gods that he not try to jump from her arms. Behind her, Leon has braced himself, nervous but curious.
"Prepare yourself, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax warns, just before he leaps up and into the air.
Nothing in the world could have prepared me for the sensation, not even all the knowledge I have absorbed from dragon souls: the way my blood rushes from my head to my feet and then back again, the way the wind slaps my cheeks and whips my hair, and how strange it feels simply to breathe. Never before in my life have I moved so fast, not even when using the Whirlwind Sprint.
And all of it is wondrous.
Some part of me, some part both familiar and strange, feels the wind and the sky and begins to rejoice. Very quickly, then, I realize that it is the wingless dragon who cries out at the heavens Akatosh thought fit to deny her. How incredible, I ponder. If indeed I am dreaming, then may I never wake.
I look behind me again: Duran is still struggling, but it seems Lydia's grip is still firmer. She herself appears to be shouting something to me, but I cannot hear her over the sound of the wind. I can see, however, that she looks somewhat ill. Behind her, Leon is looking all about himself with a terrified sort of fascination.
I cannot help but to feel disappointed when, too soon, Paarthurnax comes to a graceful landing on a grassy field some distance from Ivarstead. The flight had been fast—very fast—covering in a quarter of an hour what would have taken us days. As my feet touch the ground, I am thrilled, disappointed, and awed.
Duran springs from Lydia's arm just as she herself topples onto the grass, groaning, Leon easing himself down beside her. She holds her hand over her mouth and puts up a valiant fight against what seems to be a strong case of motion sickness.
Paarthurnax rears back to his full height. "You will be victorious, Dovahkiin. It is written in the stars."
I watch him fly away, already mourning the sky.
27 Frostfall, 4E202
We kill a dragon just outside of Whiterun. The land has grown disturbingly desolate: the nearby farms look to have been all but abandoned for the safety of the city walls. In such a landscape, the small band of city guards who come running seem a peculiar sight.
Lydia sheathes her sword and brushes her hair from her face, then comes to stand close to me. I took care to wear a heavy and billowing cloak today: it hides my belly surprisingly well and will help me to avoid too many bothersome—and unwanted—questions.
One of the guards, presumably the commanding officer, steps forward: "Is that you… Dragonborn?"
"Yes. It is urgent that I speak with the jarl. I ask that one of you run to Dragonsreach now to announce me."
The guard turns to one of his fellows and gestures, and the man takes off at an impressive sprint.
"Lydia…?" Another guard steps forward, taking off his helmet. His face is painted with astonishment. "They… They said you were dead."
"No, uh…" She tries not to let her body language betray her. "Long story. But no, not dead."
I cut into the conversation before she can find some way to incriminate herself: "I have journeyed long and encountered several dragons on my way here. My business is pressing and I require rest. You may provide escort to Dragonsreach, should you wish, but we must keep moving."
"O-Of course, ma'am," says the lead guard, also removing his helmet. "Erik, Karl, take the Dragonborn's horses to the stables. Report to Dragonsreach when you're finished."
The man who takes my horse pulls off his helmet and gives me a wide smile as I dismount. His face seems… vaguely familiar. "You know, when we met in Rorikstead, you never mentioned you were the Dragonborn. No one would believe me when I told them you'd helped me buy my first set of armor."
I do a double-take. "The young man from the inn," I finally recall.
"You remember me! I bet no one'll believe this either. But it's thanks to you that I got enough experience to join the guard. And…" he leans in a little closer, "You should know I don't care what anyone says. I know you're doing everything you can to save Skyrim, no matter where you go or what you do."
"Oh, ah…" I intone, unsure how to give a proper response. "Well… thank you."
He pauses a moment, fumbling with the reigns still clutched in his hands. "Uh… I'm sure you're busy, ma'am, but uh…" he blushes, "if you'd like, I'd feel honored to buy you a round or two. It's the least I could do—"
His eyes suddenly widen, fixated on something just behind me, and he takes two small steps backward.
"The Dragonborn has somewhere to be," says an icy voice from over my shoulder. I turn to face my jealous, bristling werewolf, and lay a hand on her arm to appease her. Provided a small spark of magic, I daresay the glare on her face could shatter the poor boy like glass.
"Y-Yes, ma'am. Sorry ma'am." He salutes us and hurries away with my horse, leading it to the furthest possible stable from Lydia and myself.
Lydia stares after him until I give her a small shake. "Come now, he is only a boy."
"A boy with intentions," she says with a scowl.
I cannot help myself: I laugh. It feels so good to do. "He is handsome for his age, though my last time with a man was so long ago that I fear I would not know where to begin."
"Wait… what?" She follows me as I begin to walk toward the city gates. "You're just teasing me, right? … Amara?" I laugh again and take her hand into mine. "It's not funny!"
I pull her close beside me. "The matter itself, no. You, however…"
"How am I funny?" She lowers her voice. "I could've killed him."
I quirk a brow. "Will you make a habit of threatening every man who attempts to speak with me?"
"Or woman—hey!" She exclaims when I give her a little shove.
"If you could see yourself through my eyes," I say softly, just as we are passing through the city gates, "you would never feel such an impulse. You must realize that, when I say I love you, I mean that I will never express this feeling again, not to anyone else. Those words… from me… are yours now."
She falls silent. When finally I glance over at her, I see her blush as it extends from the tips of her ears to the base of her neck. After another moment, she releases a long exhale. "By the gods, just… the way you talk. How do you do that?"
I merely smile… and then realize that our entire escort has taken to blatant staring. This leads me to wonder if Lydia and I are much of an oddity: it is well-known, even by a foreigner like myself, that many thanes and housecarls tend to enter into sexual liaisons of various forms. I must wonder, however, if deeper relationships are uncommon.
"I can't believe we're about to walk back into Dragonsreach together… after… everything," she continues after a few breaths.
I squeeze her arm. "How do you feel?"
"I'm…" Her gloved hand covers my own. "I'm… okay. It's how I wanna be. It's how I'm gonna be. You?"
I walk as if in a dream, my hand cradled in the arm of the woman who has colored me to the depths of my spirit, smiling, going willingly to my doom so that I might save her. This is the woman whom I have wronged, lost, and found again. If I dream, let me never wake. "I am ready."
Our walk to Dragonsreach continues on in silence after this, but the silence is comfortable. Both of us can feel the significance of this moment, the events and hardships and compromises that have led us back to these massive wooden doors. The last time we passed through them, we were but Listener and guard, thane and housecarl.
The throne room is empty but for a few interested attendants. It would seem that the jarl has cleared it for my arrival. Though seated in his throne, I can see his tension. I imagine he has been incredibly troubled in recent months.
"Dragonborn," he says in a clipped tone, "I admit I was surprised to hear that you were at my gates."
"I have come to request your aid for a very urgent matter," I reply without ceremony. I expected that he would greet me in this manner, given my supposed disappearance and the current state of his hold.
His fingers drum on the armrest of his seat. "You come to me requesting aid. I have no aid to give, not after an army of dragons have burned my hold and slaughtered my people."
I ignore his bait. He wants me to explain my absence and apologize. Grovel, perhaps. I would sooner laugh in his face. "You can indeed. I need to use your palace to capture a dragon."
He just stares at me, silently, for what feels like a full minute. Then he begins to laugh. It is low at first, quiet, and then escalates by degrees. "I have heard you are a madwoman. How reassuring to see it confirmed."
I scowl. "I am quite serious."
His hands ball into fists. "What do you make of me, eh? After you ignored all our cries for help, you think you can come here and convince me to risk burning Whiterun to the ground? The people are already deprived of food. You'd deprive them of shelter, too?"
"You blame me," I sneer, "for all your misfortunes. Do so if it makes you think you are a competent ruler. But if you do not cooperate with me, you will lose much more than your hold."
"You threaten me in my own palace—"
"Alduin has returned, you blasted fool! It was he who destroyed Helgen and it is he who is responsible for the return of the dragons. If you do not help me then all the world may blame you for its ultimate demise!"
His jaw drops in astonishment. "Alduin…? The World-Eater himself? But… how are we supposed to fight him? Doesn't his return mean it's the end times?"
"It will if you should continue to refuse me."
He shoots up and out of his seat, tense and angry, and begins to pace. "They're just too many. No one can kill them but you! Where were you all this time? Why should I trust you?"
"At the Greybeards' bidding, I was delving ancient ruins that haunt my darkest dreams still, searching for a way to pull Alduin down from the sky."
He glares at me. "And did you?"
I return his glare. "Yes."
"My jarl, are you really considering this?" Irileth, his housecarl, asserts. "You want to trust them after they've left us to burn and betrayed your court?"
"Betrayed your court?" I challenge.
"Yes." She points to someone behind me, to Lydia. "You should be dead."
"What?" Balgruuf stops and finally notices her. "What… are you doing here? The Imperials said you were killed."
"I wasn't," she replies stiffly. I imagine this must be very… uncomfortable for her.
His eyes narrow. "Then where were you? You know well that faking your own death is a grievous crime in my hold."
"Really, Balgruuf?" I shout and step between them. "She was captured and held prisoner! You want to interrogate her on the horrors she endured instead of helping me to save all creation? Is this how you would safeguard your people?"
"Captured—?"
"Will you help me or not?" I cut him off, frustrated and unwilling to let him focus on Lydia.
His face falls into his hands. I can see that he is equally frustrated, stressed and poorly-rested. "Give me some time. A few days."
"Are you not listening—"
"I am listening, Dragonborn. I need you to give me a few days' time to think."
"I'd suggest more than a few." Irileth, haughty and unbearable, eyes me up and down. "You cannot hide it from everyone, Dragonborn. It should be any day now."
My nails are digging into my palms, so tight are my fists.
"By the gods, what else is it now?" Balgruuf all but falls back into his seat.
"She is with child."
He scrutinizes me. "You are with child? Now? Of all times? Now?"
"I am. And before you make further accusations against my character, I would invite you to ask Danica Pure-Spring about what has happened to me." I feel Lydia's presence, just behind me, protective and attentive.
"I just might." His fingers resume their drumming. "I will send word when I'm ready to discuss this again. Where will you be staying?"
"The Bannered Mare." I turn on my heel, eager to leave. But over my shoulder, I add: "I urge you not to delay."
"We will see," I hear him grumble, more to himself than to me. "We will see."
29 Frostfall, 4E202
Danica Pure-Spring leans over me, her hands lightly touching my belly. "I'm surprised to say Irileth was right. It will be any day now. How are you feeling?"
"Heavy," I answer honestly. "Immobile."
"Believe it or not, those are good signs. It means the baby is ready for birth." She cleans her hands with a hot towel and takes a chair to sit across from me. Lydia leans against a nearby wall and watches us.
"Yes, well…" I rest a hand over my belly. "I find it hard to believe, given all that my body has endured. Do you… Do you think that all my trials might have affected her negatively, in some way?"
Danica folds her hands. "I cannot say. You seem healthy enough, despite all you have endured. But that is not something I could predict."
"I see." I meet eyes with Lydia.
"She is strong," Danica says gently, drawing my attention back to her. "Her mothers are strong, and so will she be. And she is Kynareth's blessing, so please, give yourself some peace."
I nod, complacent, a little hungry, and a little sleepy. Whiterun has not suffered quite as badly as the other holds in terms of the food supply, though while there is enough to keep the people from true starvation, there is not enough to leave any single person feeling well-fed.
"Shall I leave you to rest?" Danica asks as she rises from her seat. "I think the jarl will take some time yet. That is what I gathered, at least, from my conversation with him this morning. I suggest you use it to prepare yourself for all that lies ahead. Let your body relax and restore itself." She moves toward the door. "And may I speak with you, Lydia? Just for a moment?"
Lydia looks to me. "Go on," I tell her as I rise from my own chair and move to the bed. "I will not go anywhere."
I doze off almost as soon as they exit the room, and only come awake again when I feel Lydia's warmth at my back and her fingers in my hair. How could she be anything but real? How?
"You don't need to wake up. It's fine." Her lips brush against the back of my neck.
I do not want to. "What did she want?" I say sleepily.
"Eh, parenting stuff. Werewolf stuff. You're-not-actually-dead-stuff. Last one's been happening a lot."
"Does this surprise you?"
"No, I guess not. But I get so tongue-tied when people ask me about it."
"Because they imprisoned you and it was horrible. You cannot speak of what you endured." I pull her arm over my shoulders.
"I'm just not a smooth talker like you. Can't do it."
"Mm," I pat her hand lightly, "you have other talents."
"Do I?"
I yawn. "In spades."
"I just… wish I could talk like you, though. No one but you's ever made me blush with words alone."
"Mm, and no one but you has ever made me want to speak like that."
She falls silent for a moment, then: "But there's so much that I still don't know about you."
I peek at her from over my shoulder. "What do you want to know?"
"Hmm," she hums and kisses my ear. "What were you like as a kid?"
"Quiet, reclusive…" I pause to think. "Always reading. What about you?"
"Bitter," is her quiet response. "Always hungry. A lot of kids there were."
"How did you find yourself in the Whiterun Guard?"
"I thought I was the one asking questions."
"Not anymore."
She kisses me again. "I was fifteen. Ran away from Honorhall with just the clothes on my back. I wandered the road for days until one of those Khajiit caravans found me. I'd eaten a bad plant and was sick. They nursed me back to health and let me follow them to Whiterun. I wandered the streets there for a few days before Klimmek tried to arrest me, but I punched him so hard it nearly broke his jaw. He was so impressed, he told Caius I was seventeen and convinced him to put me through training." She laughs to herself. "He was so pissed when he found out my real age, years later."
"I…" I want to beg your forgiveness. I want to change all that I have done to you. I want to atone. "I will take care of you now. You will never be hungry or cold or wanting ever again, not if I can help it."
"Just come back," she replies quietly.
3 Sun's Dusk, 4E202
It happens just as Lydia, Leon and I exit the inn to answer the summons of Jarl Balgruuf.
I had awoken feeling strange. The jarl's summons had been curt, just bordering on the impolite, and had left me scowling before I had even the chance to finish my morning ablutions. The man had proven insufferable, and I felt different. Strange.
But all becomes clear in a matter of seconds, out in the daylit open, on one of the main streets of Whiterun: sudden discomfort of an… extreme sort, and a clear liquid running down my legs.
I stop, doubled over. Lydia stops. Leon stops. Even Duran stops.
Then, suddenly, all my surroundings seem to break into some sort of chaos.
In the next instant, I find myself being carried, bridal-style in Lydia's arms, as she makes a mad rush toward the Temple of Kynareth, Leon close behind her.
"Lydia, put me down!" I hiss. "Human women cannot do what you are doing right now—"
"Fuck 'em," she leaps up the steps to the Wind District. "Seriously, Amara, love, fuck them all." She kicks open the Temple doors—or more accurately, nearly kicks them off their hinges—and shouts for Danica.
And then, just as quickly, I find myself in a private room, surrounded by a small army of chattering Nord women, stripped to my shift, my hair tied tight behind me, seated on some sort of cushion with some sort of pungent tea in my hand. Lydia is already in the process of pulling off her armor and Leon and Duran are well on their way to being pushed out of the room. I give my brother a half-hearted wave, confused and surrounded by unfamiliar hands.
Many of them are speaking a dialect I know to be native to Whiterun, though I am otherwise unfamiliar with it. An old crone taps on my teacup. "Trinke."
I sniff the tea again, unable to decide if I find it unpleasant. "Drink?" I attempt for clarification.
"We all know the common language, sisters! No need to torture the poor girl any more than is necessary," Danica chides her fellows with a laugh. "Now, Amara, have you ever witnessed a birth?"
"Ngh—no," I say with a painful grunt.
She quirks a brow. "Do you… know what will happen?"
"Well of course." I can already feel my cheeks growing red. "I have… read about it."
"Drink the tea."
I finally sip at it. It is bitter and sour all at once, and tastes like sick. I thrust the cup back at her. "No. No, it is foul."
Danica leans in close to whisper in my ear. "It is Nordic custom. It is very rude not to drink it."
I narrow my eyes at her. "Is it a drug?"
"No, just a mixture of herbs."
I double over again, able to feel the burning sensation all the way to my knees. "Then what the hell does it do?"
"Honestly?" She smiles. "Nothing."
"Then why should I—"
"Please?" Lydia is by my side as soon as two of the old women allow her to be, and my face is pressed to her neck before I can stop myself. "The custom's old… really old. Some say it's older than the Nords themselves. The herbs are thought to be lucky."
I pull away from her with a glare sharp enough to cut stone, and then, with a firm grip on her shoulder, I hold my breath and down the cup in one single, revolting series of gulps. I must struggle, thereafter, just to keep it down.
"There," I growl through gritted teeth, "I am both in labor and nauseated. I will not be sorry if that foul brew comes back up."
"Eh, it is known to happen." Danica shrugs just before her hands light up with magic. "Your body is preparing itself. For now, we must be patient."
"How patient?" I double over again as a fresh wave of pain spikes in my abdomen.
"Until the pain becomes constant. It is a matter of hours for some, a whole day for others, but these things cannot be forced."
"A curse upon Fortuna," I grunt as I try to keep breathing through my nose. Danica and her fellows, at least, have moved somewhat away from me, all of them settling somewhere in the room to keep watch and wait.
Lydia brushes a stray wisp of hair from my brow. "It'll be fine. I'll stay right here and we can talk to pass the time. I've never seen a live birth either, you know. Are you really in much pain right now?"
I give her a terrible, withering look.
She backs away a little at that and raises her hands in deference. "Stupid question… Sorry."
"Just talk, if you must. No questions."
"Okay… okay, uh, well… you look different with your hair like that. I've seen you braid it plenty of times, but I've never seen it tied back so tight before. It's different."
I raise a brow.
"Good different, of course," she corrects hastily. "I mean, there's no way you need me to tell you how beautiful you are. You know that already. Hell, all of Skyrim knows it. You should see the way you turn heads when you walk down a street."
"Now you are just pandering."
"Not even a little bit. I'm just speaking my mind."
"Then please do speak of something else. Right now I feel very far from beautiful."
"Okay…" Her eyes dart about the room as she searches for a topic. She lowers her voice: "It's interesting that the baby's coming around the time of the full moons. The thought just came to me. I wonder if it's significant."
"Oh wonderful," I snarl loudly in Latine, hoping that only Lydia will understand. "Perhaps she will transform on her way out, as well."
"Nah," she begins, but then stammers: "W-Well I mean, probably not."
"The moons do not seem to affect you very much."
"I get more energetic. It's harder to sleep. Some people have forced transformations, but I don't. I get the urge to hunt, though… and, uh," she clears her throat, "let's just say you'dve noticed the effects of the moons a whole lot more if you weren't with child."
"You have a fascinating sense of timing, Lydia. You tell me such things, now, at the very moment when sex is probably the furthest thing from my mind." I breathe hard when the pain returns just a little sooner than expected.
"Sorry, I'm just nervous. You know I tend to ramble when I'm nervous. I feel like I should be doing something, but I don't know what—"
"Just," I put two fingers over her lips, "sit here, be quiet, and hold my hand."
The task of waiting is, I think, the most difficult part of all this. I do not know what to feel, if indeed I should be feeling anything at all. I am nervous, of course, but that is to be expected. Should I feel excitement? Joy? Should I do my best to relish this moment, all its pain and struggle, for the mere reason that I might die soon thereafter?
I have tried so hard not to dwell on the thought. I could go and die and leave behind a child who bears my name yet has never known me. Are you content? I silently ask all the gods, Has your puppet performed to your satisfaction?
But the pain of this moment is good, too, in its own way. No delusion can simulate mortal agony quite like this. It cannot be possible. No, to be in pain is to be alive and present, and right now, above all things, I feel very much alive. My skin is hot and will very soon begin to sweat. My breath is hard and my throat feels dry. All my senses are alive with the incredible white-hot pain that burns only hotter as the slow minutes and hours drip by.
It is a wonderful, horrible, torturous tether to the world. No mind, not even one which is broken, could delude its physical vessel into tearing itself asunder like this. I want to weep and pray and convince myself that this suffering proves my lucidity above all else, proves that I am awake.
All my spirit marvels at my body's suffering, revels in it, clings to every miserable passing hour. I would give anything for it to stop. I have known pain before: magical burns, battle wounds, the pains of the heart… But this is more than simple pain. This is my own mortality screaming in both my ears, forcing me to live every second of my body's agony without reprieve, without mercy.
To be alive is to feel pain. All mortals enter the world in a flow of pain. The dead are wished a peaceful sleep because, in sleep, there can be no pain. I bless my agony. I beg it to stop.
They are holding me by my elbows. Someone has shoved a leather bit in my mouth and someone else is assisting my body as it simultaneously constricts and forces itself wide open.
In this way, I watch myself give life. Once the Listener, once a taker of life, now I have watched myself create it. Is it my penance, then, to return some of what I have taken? Was it intended that I tear myself in half, only then to look on in awe as a new life takes in its first breath? Was I meant to weep and crumble and surrender myself, finally, fully, to protect all life for its own sake?
Tiny, so small and so fragile is the life I have created. The women tend to us both, but my attention stays with her. I watch as my blood is wiped from her skin, as she is goaded into squalling, as she is clothed, swaddled, and finally laid in my arms. I have never held a baby before this, never in all my days. She is whole, despite all that we have endured together. She is perfect.
Flooded though I am with exhaustion, I dare not look away. Gingerly, timidly, I brush one of her cheeks with a finger. Her skin seems so… bright. "Salve," I whisper, though my voice is hoarse and choked with emotion.
Lydia is at my shoulder, close, a hand held out and afraid to touch her. "She's…"
"I know." My voice is so quiet, reverent. I lightly brush the wisps of fiery hair that adorn her head.
"Amara," a soft voice intervenes. It is Danica, who sits now at my feet. "I must tend to you somewhat more. Will you allow Lydia to hold the baby?"
Delicate and mutually nervous, and with some reluctance on my part, I lay our daughter in Lydia's arms. She looks so afraid, not daring to move, haunted still by her past crimes. I comfort her with a hand on her knee.
"Amara," Danica calls again. "I want you to know what it is that I will do."
I tear my attention away from Lydia and our daughter. "Repair the damage?"
"No, more than just that," she says with a small shake of her head. "I am going to restore you fully. Normally I would never do this, as it is always better for the body to heal itself, but you… do not have the time."
I look down. My belly is still swollen, of course, and all the rest of me is exhausted and still throbbing with pain. "My body will be as it was?"
"Yes. I do not wish to do this, but you will need all your strength and mobility. Do you not agree?" Her whole manner is grave, unwilling to remind me of my looming task.
I brush a hand over the empty swell. "I… do, yes."
"Then please be still," Danica says softly, rubbing white magic between her palms.
I watch, jarred, as her magic reduces in two minutes what took months for my body to build. Vitality floods my muscles and bones, the pain ebbs and disappears, and my abdomen flattens completely. It looks as if nothing had ever occupied it.
Danica stops, beads of sweat tumbling down her face, and looks me over. "Such sudden change is not good for the spirit… please forgive me." She breathes as if she has just been running.
Indeed it is… very strange. I sit up with no effort at all, a little disoriented by the unfamiliar lightness of my frame and its easy, flexible strength. Then I stand, dizzy but perfectly mobile, and am almost shocked by the sight of my own feet. I feel compact, yet empty.
"I can see why," I say absentmindedly, my attention returning to my daughter, as someone hands me a clean robe. Astonishment strikes again when I have no trouble tying its strings about my waist.
I sink back down to the floor, wanting only to be close to them, and rest my head against Lydia's shoulder. "Are you okay?" She asks as she kisses the crown of my head.
"Yes… I think so. I will need some time to reflect." I brush my fingers over the baby's hair again.
Leon bursts suddenly into the room and hurries over to us, crouching down to see the little bundle in Lydia's arms. "I heard the squalling and still they kept me away." But then he grins wide, quickly enamored, and laughs softly. "Oh Mara mea, I have not the words."
"Would you like to hold her?" I return his smile.
"May I?" Eager but gentle, he coos to the baby as Lydia carefully passes her to him. "Oh ocelle, you steal my heart. And now perhaps my dear sister will stop being so secretive and tell me what your name is." He looks up at me with a raised brow as he finishes speaking.
I lay my hand in Lydia's. "Corinna Leone Aestus."
His expression grows tight, and he looks down again, closing his eyes. "Corinna," he repeats, his thumb lightly stroking her face. "Somewhere in Aetherius, she is smiling. I know it to be so." He steadies himself with a breath. "So she will carry our name?"
"If you are not opposed," I reply.
"No, it gladdens me. It is a new beginning, on all accounts. It would be foolish to deny something so significant for the sake of some archaic law. This, and…" he breaks into another grin, "ah, look at her! Even those few wisps of hair are unmistakable."
"But do you feel her magic? Does it feel… curious to you?" I say this because I need him to affirm something that begins to baffle me as I watch her. Her skin has an unusual brightness to it, and yet, the brightness is not physical. She looks bright, and yet produces no actual light. Nothing out of the ordinary.
"Hmm." He studies her. "It is potent, but yes, I can feel a difference. But what exactly, I cannot say." He scrutinizes her further. "It is… odd… I feel as if I can see her magic, and yet my eyes deny it. Am I mistaken?"
"You see it too, then." It is more of a statement than a question. "Like an aura visible from only the corner of the eye."
"Much like this, yes. I sense nothing harmful, however. Do you?"
"No. It is so faint that I still wonder if I have simply imagined it." I hold out my arms and take her back from him, almost… relieved to feel her weight against my breast. "It must have something to do with her, ah, unique origins."
"There's nothing wrong with her, though, is there?" Lydia asks from over my shoulder.
"Not that I can see." I brush my lips against Corinna's brow. "Magic is a strange and diverse force, especially in our House. Given the extraordinary circumstances of her conception, it seems only logical that her magic will have been affected."
"Alright." She kisses my ear. "She looks like you."
I smile. "She looks like my House, though her nose reminds me of yours."
"I'm not sure we're looking at the same nose." She pauses for a moment. "We're parents now."
"We are." I rock Corinna as she begins to fuss.
"Do we… know how to be parents? Dangerous ruins and life-or-death battles with dragons don't exactly leave people much time to prepare for this kind of thing."
"I… have no idea how to be a mother," I admit. "But I will learn."
"We both will," she says gently, her lips to my cheek.
5 Sun's Dusk, 4E202
My body still feels strange, but I admit, I like that I can wear my own clothes once more. In a way, I feel like myself again. I feel agile and strong.
Though of course, I am not entirely like my old self, not with the added weight of my baby slung securely against my bosom. I know nothing of being a mother, true, but I am determined to do the best that I can. I have spent the past two days in the throes of loving fascination, studying every movement, every sound. I am learning how best to keep her warm, well-fed, clean and content.
Two days. Two days to give her all that I can give. Two days that only I will remember. Two days before I must return to Balgruuf's court and face my fate.
So I keep her pressed close against my body, even here, even now. Let him think me rude or uncouth and watch me bitterly. "I have come to a decision."
"And it is?"
"I will allow you to use my palace. If the Greybeards called you, then they must believe you to have some higher purpose. Mind you, I don't like any of this. I don't want to put Whiterun in your hands. But if you're right, if Alduin has returned, then Whiterun will perish alongside the whole world." He stands. "The trap is built into the Great Porch. I have already had the chains oiled."
I put my arms around Corinna. Of course it would be on the Great Porch. I have not set foot there since the botched assassination. "Very well, then."
Except for the massive wood-and-metal trap hanging from the ceiling, it looks much the same as I remember. I look to Lydia, but her expression is blank. I wonder if she is trying not to remember what happened here, or rather, is trying to be at peace with it.
Balgruuf points to the far end of the Porch: "When the dragon lands, you have to lure it a bit inward before it can be trapped. And… how do you plan on getting a dragon to come here?"
"I was given the name of one of Alduin's high-ranking servants. If I call it, he will see it as a challenge, and will be unable to resist." Turning to Lydia, I bid her to untie Corinna's sling from my shoulders. "You must take her inside and protect her. She cannot be here when the dragon comes."
"I won't leave you," she insists while I press my lips to my daughter's brow.
"She cannot be here," I repeat.
"Shall I take her?" Leon intervenes. "I do not wish to leave either but, yes, one of us must."
I share a long look with him, then gently lay Corinna in his arms. "Thank you."
"She will be safe, Mara mea. You will find I am a very attentive uncle." He dips his head a little. "Please be careful."
I kiss his cheek. "I will."
He waits for Lydia to say her own farewell to Corinna, and then leaves us. As the doors close behind him, I force myself not to wonder if this farewell was my last.
"Tell your men to stand at the ready," I say to Balgruuf as I brush past him, moving toward the end of the Porch, Lydia behind me.
The day is cold, but the sky is clear. I waste no time, I Shout: "OD AH VIING!" Hear my challenge and come to me, if you dare.
A full minute passes in silence before a roar booms and cracks over the distant mountains. Hear my call, you beast. You cannot resist. Then I see him, off in the distance, flying toward me at incredible speed. "Dovahkiin!"
"Hi kos dii, Odahviing!" I Shout back at him, daring him onward. "My Thu'um will crush you!" The great red dragon roars again, infuriated by my taunting, just as I want him to be. He swoops down, breathing fire, but I use magic to neutralize it. "Come! Face me!"
He turns in the air and speeds back toward me, taking in a breath for another fiery blast, but I do not give him the opportunity.
"JOOR ZAH FRUL!"
He screams in the way that Alduin did, overwhelmed by the anger and grief and powerlessness of my Words. I leap backward as the overwhelming force of them renders his wings useless, and pulls him from the sky.
He crashes on the stone floor of the Great Porch, screaming. "What have you done? What is this perversion of the Thu'um?"
"It is how I make you taste defeat, dragon," I growl as I continue stepping backward. "Can you still be so mighty if bound to the earth?"
"Mighty enough to snap you between my jaws, mortal." He follows me, baited.
"Now!" Balgruuf's voice resounds through the whole space.
The trap springs and the wood-and-metal collar falls from the ceiling, trapping the dragon by the neck. I admit, I am a little surprised that it actually… worked.
He struggles furiously, but his prison is secure. "Nid!"
I approach him, wary but prepared. "I will assume that I have your attention."
He growls. "Zu'u bonaar. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this… humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"
"I know where he is. Sovngarde. No, you will tell me by what means he goes there, and then you will help me follow him."
"Rinik vazah. An apt phrase. Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for 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."
"That is not an answer to my question. Mind you, I am not obligated to ask nicely."
"Unslaad krosis. I digress. 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 marshalled there. Zu'u lost ofan hin laan… now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?"
I cross my arms. "I never said I would release you."
"Ah. Well. Hmm… krosis. There is one… detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention."
"Omission is a risky strategy."
"And yet, you wait to hear it: 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."
"It would seem, then, that we are at an impasse. I have no reason to trust you."
One of his massive eyes trains on me. "And you have no reason not to."
"You can't really be considering it," Balgruuf says and he makes his cautious approach. "After all it took to catch him, we can't just… let him go!"
"Skuldafn…" I muse aloud, ignoring him. The name is unfamiliar to me. I do not recall ever seeing it on a map.
"You will not reach it, Dovahkiin, not without my wings."
I feel a hand on my shoulder, and look up to see Lydia gazing at me with such… intensity. Her expression—indeed, the language of her whole body—bursts with some sort of silent, unspeakable plea. Even if she does not know for what she asks… I believe I do: "I give you one night," I say to Odahviing from over my shoulder. "One night to consider how you have answered me. Do remember, dragon, that I do not need this trap in order to kill you."
The dragon says nothing in return, but Balgruuf continues his noisome protest as I make toward the doors of Dragonsreach. "Why don't you just kill him and find another way? It's too risky to release him—"
"I said: one night," I speak over him, my hand securely on the small of Lydia's back. "He is defeated and will make no trouble. Let him mourn the sky and decide where his allegiances ought to lie. If in the morning I sense trickery, then he will die."
I do not wait for him to answer.
I watch over her and try to memorize her sleeping face. The sun had long dipped below the horizon before I could finally force myself to lay her down and watch her instead. Someone in the city was kind enough to lend us a small bed for her.
I feel a tugging at my sleeve. "Will you tell her of me?" I ask without looking.
"Amara…"
"Will you?"
Those same fingers now move to brush the skin of my wrist. "Of course I will."
"Tell her that I… am sorry."
Rough hands take hold of my upper arms, spinning me about, pulling me against Lydia's body. Loving arms hold me tight, so tight, finally able to do this for the first time in months. "I won't need to. I won't."
This is the first that I can press my breasts against hers and caress her back, press my mouth to her throat, slip a thigh between her own, entice her. This is the first, and the last, that I might give her myself. "And you… you must know." I undo the strings of her trousers and slip a hand inside. Her knees buckle. "With you, I am whole. Now… please try to be quiet."
"B-Bed," she gasps, her lips on my ear.
I push her backward, never pulling my hand away, until the bed touches the backs of her knees and she lets herself fall. I move one finger in a slow circle and love how she lets me reduce her to such feminine sighs, her fingers in her own hair. I can be on top of her now. I can hover low and kiss her neck and pleasure her. "You will remember this night," I whisper against her skin.
"I've wanted you—mm—so bad. Wanted you… like…" And then she is pressing me, hard, against her thigh. I rock against her, wanton, happy to show her all that she wants to see. Her hands reach for the ties of my robe, but I push them away with a smirk. She protests when I remove my hand from her trousers, but stops and very quickly grows transfixed as I untie my clothes for her, slowly, artfully, and let the fabric slide down my shoulders and arms.
I grab her by the shirt and pull, making her sit up. "Kiss me."
We crash together, a tangle of arms and legs and too many things to say and not enough time. I will my body to tell her. I pull her shirt open and cup her breasts and love the way she moans against my mouth, her fingers caressing my backside and thighs.
I want her to touch, taste. I want her to see. I thread my fingers into her hair when her lips move downward and sigh with pleasure as she trails kisses down my neck. I writhe against her, unable to stop myself, my building desire spurred onward by her teasing touch on my inner thighs. But she likes this. She likes to watch as I come undone.
It is as if I cannot draw close enough, cannot press hard enough. Her skin is hot and her mouth is hotter, moving back upward to nip at my ear while her hand finally moves to cup my sex. I gasp as quietly as I am able and roll into her, clenching and aching for friction. "Amara…" she breathes my name, unable to resist my body's encouragement.
"Show me what you have wanted," I purr against her ear. I rock against her palm and graze my nails over her upper back. "Show me."
Her breath hitches and she begins to squirm beneath me, her own needs growing all too insistent, but she kisses my neck once more before leaning back to rest on an elbow. One of her legs bends upward to brace the hand she still has pressed between my thighs, and I, on my knees and trembling with anticipation, know all too well what she wants.
I bend to kiss her and she enters me, swift and skilled, and I arch upward with the wonderful shock of pleasure, moaning softly for her. Her green eyes have grown bright, their subtle luminescence burning through me in the best of ways, indicating such a potent combination of adoration and animal lust that I cannot help but to lose myself to her. I grind down on her curling fingers, my hands clutching at her shoulders, and ride her with abandon.
Watch this, is the silent, carnal command of my hips, my sighs, the curve of my back. Remember this.
Her upward thrusts meet my downward rolling in such an exquisite rhythm, and even still I am made to shiver when a low growl rumbles in her chest at the sound of her name on my lips. My head tilts back as the desire—the need—to move faster, harder, grows irresistible.
In response, she twists her hand so that her thumb presses directly against Dibella's pearl, and I stiffen with pleasure, my breath catching, reveling in the uninhibited and naked desperation with which I move. See me. I would show such vulnerability to no one else. She is the first, the last.
"You're beautiful…" Her voice is low, soft and laden with desire, and she sits up again so that she is pressed flush against me. She kisses my shoulder and never ceases her movements, groaning when I pull her hair. "And mine. Mine to touch. Mine to hold. No matter where you go, what you do." She thrusts harder and my hips buck, my loins clenching, cresting, throbbing with release. I cry out, delirious with it. "You're mine. The dragons can't have you. Aetherius can't have you. The gods can't have you. You belong to me."
I wilt against her, quivering from aftershocks as well as from her words. I reach down and still her hand, if only so that I can recover and listen to her. "And you," I whisper. "My… my amans. My partner. I want you for myself alone." She lays me on my back, and her lips quickly find mine. "You, too, are beautiful to me. All of you. I want no other, never another."
"Amara…" My hands trail down her body, seeking her pleasure. I smirk when I realize that her trousers, though untied, still adorn her legs. "Mm. I wasn't… done yet."
"Nor I," I purr and press my brow to hers. "Roll over."
She obliges, and I unclothe her with deliberate care, my eyes roaming her exposed skin. Then I bend to kiss her stomach and she sighs softly, reaching for my hair, gently pulling me near to her face. "Come here."
I cannot help but to smile, privately, against her shoulder. Except for the incident in Dawnstar, I have only ever touched her in this way: in a warm, face-to-face embrace, my body covering and shielding hers from above. I have tried to initiate other positions, of course, but she always rearranges us back to this in the end, always as if in silent request that I protect her in her moment of vulnerability. Not even the Beast blood has affected this intimate secret of hers.
This moment is more overwhelming than I could have anticipated. After all that has happened, all my transgressions and lies, all our struggles, all the fear, anger, desperation, and sacrifice, to hold and touch her again, like this, leaves me near to breathless, my throat tight with all that I still want to say to her.
We do not have the time, not now, not in these precious hours I have perhaps recklessly stolen from the rest of creation. A mere two words are all that can escape me: "Thank you." Warm, close, she surrenders beneath my touch, beneath my words. She pulls my brow to rest against her own and my hair falls around us like a fiery curtain, as if to hide her expression from all eyes but mine.
Her head tilts back and she gasps when I push inside, her body accepting me readily, clenching and shaking as I make small movements with my fingers and press my lips to the side of her face, her neck. I watch and listen with intense care, willing myself to memorize every whimper and breath, every eager thrust of her heat against my hand and the way she grinds herself against my palm. I kiss beneath her chin, down her throat and collar, careful to touch our bodies together wherever possible, humming my pleasure against her skin when she presses a thigh between my legs and throws her arms back, her spine arching, having found her stride.
I press our breasts together and move with her, desperate to memorize how this feels, how she feels, and how her body responds as I bring her close. And then her mouth is against my ear, all part of a struggle to keep quiet, as her legs attempt to close around my hand, her spine stiffens, and she constricts all around my fingers in tight, throbbing release. She whispers her pleasure to me, shuddering.
What words could apply here? Our physical bodies cannot press any closer than this, no matter that I still try. Remember me. Even as we grow quiet and I pull my fingers from her, I dare not move otherwise.
She clutches me with as much strength as she dares, now unable to resist her own rise of emotion, and no longer wishes that I be able to see her face. It hangs in the air, all around us, that heartfelt plea she cannot bring herself to say:
Come back.
Author's Note:
Hello everyone. Just a heads-up: This is NOT the last chapter. Yukari Yakumo, I took your advice to heart and decided to devote more time to Amara's relationships and mental state, thus necessitating more chapters.
… Moreover, it was fun to do! I like writing banter between Amara and Lydia, and I think all of us probably needed it. :P
Commentary:
1. I've had a reason for writing Amara's family curse into this story. It wasn't there for the mere purpose of drama. It was there because I wanted Amara to have a fundamental weakness, something she's paralyzingly afraid of, at the end of this story. Why? Because I wanted Alduin to take advantage of it. It's ridiculous that, upon defeating Alduin, the Dragonborn doesn't absorb his soul. Seriously. Why the hell did we even need a Dragonborn, then? The Tongues would have managed just fine, considering THEY'RE the ones who invented Dragonrend in the first place. So Amara absorbs Alduin in my story, but he's different from other dragons. He can see Amara's fears, and thus tries to use them against her. That's why we've been dealing with Aestus madness all this time.
2. If Amara's little speech to Lydia about how "those words belong to [her] now" seems somehow familiar to you, then I have good news: you're just as much a shameless Whovian as I am. I kinda sorta "borrowed" a quote from Clara to Danny, and reworked it a little. I couldn't help myself.
3. I killed Ulfric Stormcloak way back in chapters 8/9 because the Season Unending quest didn't fit into the timeline I wanted. That's why, when Amara goes to Balgruuf about the trap, he doesn't mention the civil war.
4. I forgot to mention this in my previous Author's Note: The name Corinna didn't just come out of the blue for me. As I've probably made abundantly clear, I am something of an armchair Classicist and enjoy the study of Latin. Corinna is the name of Ovid's girlfriend in the Amores, and is first mentioned in Book 1, Poem 5. Interestingly enough, it was almost what I named my Dragonborn, but I opted for Amara when I realized that Corinna means 'maiden' in its original Greek… quite frankly, it just didn't fit. Oh, and another thing I can finally say is that Amores 1.5 is also semi-responsible for their House name: the first word of the poem is aestus.
5. Lydia's lycanthropy was part of this story's plan since… ever, basically. The idea to replace Sinding with Lydia in the Ill Met by Moonlight quest came a little later, when I realized she would need to commit her own heinous crime before she and Amara could ever find some way to reconcile. Her actions are supposed to scare and haunt her, and Corinna is part of Lydia's penance, in this way. Corinna's ultimate purpose, in Lydia's case, is to remind her of her humanity, her responsibility and guilt, and to keep her from going feral without Amara to ground her.
6. You may be wondering why I took the time to talk about Corinna's magic. Just to be clear: she's an infant, and right now, she's not about to do something Mary-Sue-like. Nor will she in the future. Or ever. Do I have a reason for mentioning it? Yes. I won't say too much now, but in brief, let's just say that her magic isn't important in THIS particular story…
7. I had intended something a little different for that sex scene. Something a little… rougher. But then… Korrasami happened. I watched one of my queer OTPs become serious, 100% approved canon on a children's TV show. It was beautiful. I have been over the moon ever since and, well, I poured some of my feels into this chapter. (If you don't understand what I'm talking about, please just go and watch Avatar: The Legend of Korra. Just do it.) Anyway that's why I got a bit… mushy. :P
Well, that was a lot of commentary. It warms my heart that you're still reading. ;) Please send a review my way if you've got a minute. I really do take all your feedback seriously!
Best,
AE