Opening Notes; This is how it began. Enjoy the reveal of how I see this family coming together, their rise in Morrowind, and their eventual fall that led to Dranos leaving for Cyrodiil, years before the Oblivion Crisis began.
Pull up the music for Elder Scrolls; Oblivion, kick back, and relax.
Dranos Morgonnis.
I know what my people have done to the other races, how we believed we were superior to the rest. It was that superiority complex that saw to our downfall. We are dunmer, it runs in our blood. We are proud, arrogant, and believe we are the ones to decide the fate of the rest of the peoples of Nirn. More fools are we for thinking we are better than everyone else. Our power and supposed wisdom is nothing compared to the might of the Aedra, of which I have personally witnessed during the culmination of the Oblivion Crisis. But I get ahead of myself.
As most dunmer can claim, the Morgonnis family began in Morrowind. We weren't high up in the societal ladder of the Great Houses that ruled our homeland, but neither were we near the bottom. We were comfortably situated amongst many, our family was strong, and we were well off. Like many before us, and many after, we became greedy, and sought higher status. I was born into the Morgonnis line well after our decline began, so I was raised on stories of our past glories. I knew of our long dead heroes, of how we had found our way to Morrowind in days past, and how we utterly crushed the dwemer, but I could have cared less. What use was our past if that was all we clunged to? What use were stories when we lost our home to our neighbors?
Whatever the case, you'd think we'd have learned our lesson when the Tribunal made their foolish decision to stand against Azura, the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn, who cursed our arrogance and our pride by changing our skin ash gray and our eyes red as the pits of Oblivion. But no, even as we elevated ourselves in every way that we thought mattered, we subjugated the Argonians of Black Marsh, and the Khajiit of Elsweyr. Was it any surprise then that they eventually took their revenge upon us at the height of the Oblivion Crisis? I was long gone by then, having found my way to Cyrodiil, and I only learned about the sudden assault by the Argonians after it was far too late to do anything about it, not that I would have if I were there. I had grown tired of the petty politics of Morrowind, of clinging to our lost might. They had brought their doom upon themselves.
As for me, the final straw that broke my back was when I was 'introduced' to a dunmer man from another Great House. It was my parents' hope that I'd settle down, and bring them some measure of their former power, having used every bit of political clout they had left to grasp at the last vestige of their past glory. The falling out could have been compared to the future explosion of Red Mountain, of Vvardenfell's...well, fall. In my rage, I burned down our home and killed our entire House in one night, and fled before the guards could catch me. Even then, I was a prodigy with Destruction magic, even among the dunmer, and I had a natural understanding when it came to swordplay. By the time I stopped running, I found myself in Cyrodiil, having faked my death along the way, though I scarce remember it.
I brought the destruction of my own House, and despite our differences, I was grief stricken. But as all things, I was able to put it behind me, or so I thought. I was barely a century old, and I was still young by dunmer standards. I was a fool, and as such, I got myself mixed up with the wrong kind of people. I was free, but poor, deadly, but alone. As such, I was easy prey when I found the seedy underbelly that the Imperials pretend doesn't exist. It's no surprise then that I was caught and thrown into the dungeons for thievery rather than the cold blooded murder of my entire family. The irony was lost on me at the time.
Then….I met him. Emperor Uriel Septim the VII, chosen by Akatosh, the Dragon God of Time, as he and his Blades tried to escape the Mythic Dawn, followers of the undisputably evil Mehrunes Dagon. What I took for a chance meeting at that time was indeed put into play by the Divines, in their own way. I didn't believe him at the time, and I said as much, but he didn't seem surprised. He didn't seem to care either, and let me free to find my own way, but I think he knew where my path would take me long before I did. It would take me to his last surviving, albeit bastard, son, Martin, the man I would come to love.
The rest is as you've no doubt heard. I became a hero, Martin became a martyr, and I bore a daughter a year after the Crisis ended. I had no idea what I had brought into my family's blood, and I wouldn't know until I was reunited with my granddaughter in the last place I would have imagined. Giselle Morgonnis, Dovahkiin, Dragonborn, the slayer of Alduin the World-Eater, Harbinger to the Companions, Ulfric's Bane, the list goes on. I prefer to know her only as this, my granddaughter, and that is more than enough for me.
While that is far from my only adventure, my only addition to the rich and bloody history of Tamriel, it is the most important part. As for the rumors of my involvement with Sheogorath and his arch rival, Jyggalag, I had nothing to do with it. I passed by the door true enough, but I didn't go inside, having tasted true madness once already. I was not eager for a second. As for the Knights of Alesia and their holy quest, I...couldn't bring myself to go on the pilgrimage. I had lost Martin, and while my faith in the Nine was there, I...it was too fresh of a wound, and I didn't want anything to do with them at the time. By the time I did muster up the strength to care, someone else had taken up the mantle, and put down the bastard that had tried to return to the mortal plane by some depraved ritual of his making, turning himself into a living god in the process if not for the hero's interference.
From murderer to hero, to the destroyer of my own family, to being the brief lover to a bastard Emperor who would become a god in his own right, I have experienced the lows and highs of life beyond the norm of any Tamriel citizen. But I do not cling to my past glories, I continue to forge my own path, even though I am well past the twilight years of my life.
My time might be over, but I gladly stand aside for my family, so that they might bring this new world into an age of unbridled wonder and eventual peace, if the Lannisters don't make the same mistake as so many enemies before them have. You do not stand before a Morgonnis, you get out of their way, or risk total destruction. And this new world will Heed Our Voice, for House Dovahkiin, my granddaughter's House, won by the strength of her own arm and indomitable will, is here to stay.
Giselle Morgonnis
Never in all my years would I have ever imagined that I'd be leading an entire city of people from across Skyrim, in another world that has recently become one no thanks to Azura's subtle manipulations. I might have to consider outlawing her worship after this debacle. But that's a thought for another time, you came here for my story, and you'll get it, although you've heard part of it already from my grandmother.
Like my grandmother, I was raised on tales of the Heroine of Kvatch, the Sealer of the Oblivion Gates, and unbeknownst to most at the time, the Listener to the Dark Brotherhood, among other such titles. Despite what the Dominion tried to get people to believe to the contrary, all the proof my parents needed were to look towards what remained of the Temple of the One, where Martin's statue still stands. We knew the truth, and we would never forget his brave sacrifice. Great things were expected from us, but they'd be sorely disappointed. Two hundred years came and went, and my mother had been content to settle down. She never felt the urge to travel, to explore deep dungeons, or to slay monsters by the dozens. She chose the domestic life over one of uncertainty and bloodshed, and she found a like minded dunmer man in the Imperial capital. She wasn't without her loud, boisterous moments, especially when the Thalmor swept across the Empire, but for the most part, she was content to live quietly, running a bar and inn in the Imperial Capital. But like everything, the peace didn't last. Rather, what passed for peace during this time came to a crushing end.
I was a survivor of a Thalmor plot, the last, or so I thought at the time, of my line. My parents were faithful Imperial citizens, they worshipped the Nine, as well as Azura, but for all their pious belief and the fact my grandmother was a hero of unparalleled ability, who had gone missing years earlier presumed dead, it only made them a target. All the Thalmor needed was an excuse, which they got when a nearby mine collapsed, killing several people, of which a few were Thalmor. They struck back, executing my father for treasonous sabotage, a trumped up charge, but no one was brave enough to challenge it. Then….my mother's bar and inn was burned down in a mysterious fire. The funny thing is, a Thalmor Justicar Overlord happened to stay the night before. Coincidence? Not a chance.
Grief stricken and full of hate, I ran from the capital the first chance I had. I learned how to fight, to survive, and I became an unscrupulous sellsword. I would often coerce half my fee from my employers, get shit faced the same night, and wake up with a raging hangover, often with someone in my bed before I set out on whatever job I was asked to do. I was good, gods was I good, but I was arrogant, cocky, and full of rage. I went through life like this for many years, until I slipped up, and I got myself pregnant.
I honestly considered purging the child from my body before it could slow me down once I realized what had happened when I came down with the typical symptoms all young mothers experience. But when I went to the nearest apothecary, to purchase a bottle of what we in the sellsword company call Child-Be-Gone, basically abortion in a bottle, I was hit with….something borderline Divine. An impulse to reconsider my choice so strong that it brought me to my knees. I thought I was going to throw up at the time, but this sensation was different than my morning sickness had been that same morning. Whatever it was, something I'm still not sure about truth be told, I didn't buy the potion, and carried the child to term.
From there….the story gets less complicated, yet I was still consumed by my grief and rage, and now I had a baby to worry about. I had a fair amount of coin to my name, but I burned through it for food and drink, mostly non alcoholic. It was a very hard year for me. By the time I gave birth, I was as poor as most of the unnoticed but not forgotten beggars that populate every city across Tamriel. So, I did the only thing I could do, the only responsible thing, and left her on the stairs of a Temple of Mara. Despite the fact I hadn't wanted her to begin with, again I found it hard to leave her behind, but where I was going was no place for a newborn. I didn't know it at the time, but I was being called to Skyrim.
After doing the first responsible thing I had done in years, I made my journey northwest, taking on jobs where I needed to rather where I wanted to. I drank less, so the nightmares returned, and I didn't open my legs for every pretty maiden or attractive young man, although I still slipped into old habits every now and again.
By the time I reached Skyrim's borders, having heard of the brewing civil war long before, I was all but sober, and I was freezing to my bones. Having never experienced such cold before, I lost my way, and blundered into the trap meant for Ulfric Stormcloak. It was the first of many such mishaps that I'd experience before I found my destiny, or rather, he found me.
Walking to the chopping block ahead of Ulfric, the Rebel King, the Usurper, the man who shattered High King Torygg with his Voice alone, I was ready to die. I thought I had found the peace in death I hadn't been able to find in life, but Alduin, the Bane of Kings, interrupted the execution before the axe could fall and end my cursed existence. The rest as they say, is history. But if you think I immediately took up arms against the World-Eater, you're sorely mistaken.
I wandered Skyrim for a whole year first. I assassinated an Emperor after becoming the Listener to the Dark Brotherhood, became a Nightingale for the Thieves Guild about the same time, and then, I found my way to the Companions. By then Jarl Balgruuf had developed a hatred for my existence since I had made it a point to weasel every coin I could from him anytime he asked me to go dungeon delving, putting my neck on the line against draugr, and worse. But it was my time with the Companions that started me towards a better path, and there was Delphine, one of the last Blades in existence.
I will never forget the Harbinger, no matter how many years go by, no matter the hardships that lay yet undiscovered. My parents had been dead for decades, yet this man, this old and battle scarred Nord, became a surrogate father. He saw my pain, and told me what I needed to hear to help me begin to heal. Kodlak Whitemane….may he find the peace he rightfully deserves in Sovngarde. He was taken from this world too soon by the Silver Hand, a band of merciless werewolf hunters. While not every Companion takes on the Beast Blood, they didn't care, and cut down anyone that got in their way. So it was naturally fitting that just when I began to find true peace and comfort with such a powerful group of warriors, I lead the charge against the Hand, slaughtering them as they had slaughtered my surrogate father and many of his long time friends.
The Dark Brotherhood might consider itself a family, it is a twisted parody of true companionship, trust, and love. The Companions were the closest to a family I had had in years, and the Silver Hand had dared to take that away from me. I made them pay in fire, steel, and blood with Aela the Huntress, the Twins, and more. When my vengeance had been spent, I would have become lost and adrift once more, except I had to see Kodlak's spirit cleansed of Hircine's curse. I owed him that much, and it was just as well, because when I helped him find his peace, and I chose to purge myself of the same blood I had willingly taken to become one with the Inner Circle of Companions, he offered me one last heartfelt lecture before he went on to Sovngarde. At least, I thought it'd be the last time I saw him. Are you sensing a pattern here yet?
Delphine was another matter altogether. She was no friend of mine for months since our first meeting, a chance encounter in Jarl Balgruuf's house. She was leaving, I was going in to drop off a rock to the court wizard, and to ask him what in Oblivion I had discovered on a wall inside that same dungeon after fighting off a Draugr Deathlord. It was the first of many such Word Walls I'd discover along my journey as the newly awakened Dragonborn. It wasn't long after this that I fought and killed my first dragon, but I won't bore you with the details.
Delphine, another friend I have lost since this journey began. She was hard, unforgiving, but she had been hunted by Thalmor for years. I almost ended up pushing her off a cliff when she none too subtly forced me to follow her to a dragon burial mound. But after our rocky start, we began to see eye to eye, and not a moment too soon because we saw Alduin raise a dead dragon, back to life. It is something I still have nightmares about on the rare occassion.
The vampires began to stir in the far northwest, and Miraak, the First Dragonborn, had started to awaken in the far northeast. Two threats, on top of the rising threat of dragon attacks, as well as Alduin's plan to devour the world, and at the heart of it all, the civil war between the Empire's Legion and Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebellion. I don't know how I did it, only that I stopped them all in the two years that followed after I started to give a damn about Skyrim, and the lands beyond. I adopted a daughter, became a Thane to almost every Jarl, assassinated an Emperor, stopped a man from stealing from a Daedric Prince, annihilated the vampires from Volkihar Castle, fell in love with one, and so much more.
I had come to Skyrim, wanting to die by another's blade, only to become a hero to the world. I started as a sellsword, only to become the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn, the ultimate dragon slayer. But despite what the Blades might have wanted from me at the time, what they no doubt still want from me, I chose another path, my own. I know what it is to live with rage and pain for years unending, and I know that bringing more into the world helps no one. War begets war, no matter if it's across a land, or inside a person's soul. Azura might have manipulated us into tearing down the barrier between our two worlds, but she ultimately did us a favor. I might not agree with it, but I will do what I must with what I've been given, not what I desire. I am Dovahkiin, but I am also Giselle Morgonnis, and I will do what I must to ensure peace reigns.
Miaran Morgonnis
Family….what does that mean when you had none of your own? Not even a name to call yours, save for what someone happened to throw your way in passing? My name wasn't given to me by my birth mother, it was one the priestesses and priests in Mara had given to me when they found me on their doorstep. I didn't stay there long, a simple farming family having taken it upon themselves to 'be charitable,' but by then I knew what I was. A castoff, unwanted. Was it any wonder I had an attitude growing up?
Despite their good act of giving an orphan dunmer a new home, I wasn't treated much better than a scullery maid when they finally managed to have a child of their own. I became unwanted yet again, so I ran the first chance I had when it became too much to bear. They were happy to be rid of me by that point, but I can't say I made it easy on them. I might have set the barn on fire on my way out. Dunmers and Destruction magic pretty much go hand in hand, so what do you expect?
I was a fucking idiot. At least while I was cooking the meals, scrubbing the floors, and doing the housework in general, I had a warm bed, warm meals, and a roof over my head. The first week on the road was hard, even in the temperate climate of the Imperial capital and its surrounding countryside. I had never hunted before, never scavenged for safe mushrooms and plants to eat, and I about got myself chewed up by a damn bear when I stumbled into its cave when it started raining my second night out.
I got lucky though. I came across a group of traveling mercenaries, and they taught me what I needed to survive. I stayed with them for a time, taking what I wanted from them, and then I left in the middle of the night with their coin purses in hand. They weren't happy about it, but they had taught me too well. I was able to disappear, and left no trace of my passage. Fucking idiots.
I was able to live on my own for a while, not exactly a bandit, though. I didn't steal from the poor, having been there myself, but I didn't give them much of a glance either. I never attacked the guards that still patrolled the roads, even with a growing Thalmor presence, but I didn't go out of my way to make their jobs easy either. I stole food when I was hungry, I snatched coin purses if I could, and lived more or less as I damn well pleased.
Then I returned to the capital, and while I had seen posters about the Arena many times before, something about the new contenders I heard about drew me to the center of carnage and bloodshed, surrounded by hundreds of screaming fans. I thought I had lived before, but I had never experienced anything like I did when I signed on for that first match. By the Daedra and Divines alike, that thrill was unlike any I had ever experienced before. I could kill animals and people alike and no one could say anything about it. It was a good way to make money, and to keep myself sharp. Not to mention the rewards that came with being famous. Let's just say the….after parties that were held away from the Arena among the survivors, of which I was one for twenty consecutive matches, were very enjoyable. Lots of eating and drinking and fucking. It was a...hazy time in my life. I'm pretty sure that I lost my virginity to a rather alluring Imperial woman, or maybe it was a man? It was dark and I was drunk, I could have fucked the entire guard force and not remember it all. Unlikely, but it could have happened for all I know.
Just when I thought things couldn't get better, I was summoned to Skyrim, the ass end of Tamriel. Summoned like some back alley whore to attend court with High Queen Elisif the Fair. Fair my ass, but whatever. When you're surrounded by men with muscles the size of ham legs, you don't argue, especially when one of them had a staff and was looking ready to roast you on the spot if you gave him an excuse. I was young, stupid, but not that stupid. I didn't fight, but I didn't go quietly either. I made my displeasure known the whole trip to the frozen wastes.
I met the High Queen bitch herself and the former General Tullius. Then I was conscripted in his corp, under the command of his former Legate, Rikke. The old man had gotten it into his head he could run the country better than Elisif, but someone had other ideas. Elisif herself had someone put him in his place, like all high born wastes of space do often enough, except this servant of hers was not your average guard or soldier. She was called the Dragonborn, and according to the rumor mill in the castle, she asked for mercy for Tullius's attempted takeover. Ellisif granted it, but not without stripping him of his rank. I became his problem shortly after I arrived. Tullius, the bastard might be old and he might like the sound of his own voice….but he's a good man.
Dragonborn, Dovahkiin, two names I had heard as far as Cyrodiil, but at the time I could have gave two shits. The only thing I cared about was figuring out why in fuck's sake I had been dragged from Cyrodiil only to freeze my ass off out here. It didn't make sense to me in the slightest, yet here I was, taking orders from a woman that had a stick so far up her ass I was impressed she could bend over, and I told her as such. She didn't take it so well.
I thought I was good with my axes, boy was I mistaken. Rikke was a trained soldier, she had fought in the civil war that had rocked Skyrim to its core, and what was I? A thief and an Arena Champion, I might have taken life, but Rikke had ordered men to their deaths, and killed far more than anyone I had come across. She beat me easily, humiliated me in front of the rest of the trainees. I was not happy. But just as I started to entertain thoughts of revenge, the strangest thing happened. Tullius himself asked for me, by name.
I had seen the portal by then, Azura's Lunar Gate, or whatever the fuck it was called, and I had seen groups of people go through and not return. I had seen what was on the other side, I knew there was land beyond the silver white gate, but I didn't know why anyone would go there save the fact their heroine was there, their Dovahkiin. Even so, I got my answer when Tullius, having taken me under his wing with the intention of making me his Legate, something I was still reeling over, decided to follow the next group through with Elisif's blessing. I never would have imagined what I'd find on the other side….the truth of who and what I was.
I don't know what had possessed old man Tullius to visit a temple, I had never been a fan of such places, but he dragged me along. It was there that I learned I had family….in the last place I would have expected to find it. In one fell swoop, I found my great grandmother, my fucking mother, and let's not forget what I carried in my blood no thanks to her. I was as she is, a Dragonborn, a slayer of the winged reptiles. I was too full of hatred for the bitch to want anything to do with the Septim blood that was revealed upon our first meeting, when tendrils of orange and blue wisps of some strange magic passed between us. It felt….familiar, yet foreign at the same time, but I hardly noticed at the time. The woman that had left me to die had a sudden attack of conscience, and I was supposed to fall in line?
Not a flying fucking chance in Oblivion. Except I couldn't stay away from Dranos, my great grandmother, and events unfolded too quickly from there when a mercenary from across the Narrow Sea drugged me and held me hostage. The rest you can see anytime you look at the night sky now, because Azura's Star shattered when my mother's blood was spilled upon it. In one fell swoop, I nearly lost her, Monahven, her home, was almost buried under a tidal wave, and the first thing I do is run up to a dragon and call it by name only to lead it back towards the damn thing.
It has only been a few days since I broke that wave with my Voice alone, and already I've begun to see the world in a new light….as well as the woman that left me behind. I don't know what to believe anymore, who I am, what I intend to do, I only know this. I might not be happy about what I am, but I can't change that. It's a part of me as is everything I've done before. Even now, I can feel my newly awakened dragon soul, raging at me to unleash my untapped power upon anyone foolish enough to take me on again, but I've started to learn to control it. It's….been liberating, in a way, to finally know what I am and where I came from, and to have a true family to call my own. I might not be on the best of terms with her, but she is still my mother, and seeing her almost die….and the ensuing chaos that followed, it did more than awaken my hidden strength.
I am Miaran Morgonnis, the Dragonborn's Daughter, and while I might not like my mother for what she did, I am beginning to understand why she did it. I have a long road ahead of me, but it's just beginning, and I am no longer….alone. I am no longer….unwanted. I am no longer an outcast. I am a Morgonnis, and I am a Dovahkiin. I might not know what that means yet, but I plan to go to High Hrothgar….as soon as I can steal enough coin to book passage back to Skyrim.
Lucia Morgonnis
Some have said I've lived a charmed life, but I know better. What others pass off as mere chance, I believe is far more. Despite...recent hardships that have seen me far from Monahven, I am certain in the knowledge I will see her again before this is over. I know I will, for I have faith in the Nine Divines, the gods of Nirn, my home land. They were the ones that put me and Giselle together in the first place, and I know how she is. She won't give up on me, and I won't give up on her.
But I get ahead of myself, as Nymeria is quick to remind me anytime we sit down for our meals in House Martell's palatial estate after a long day of study and sparring. My story begins when the civil war took my parents from me, my real parents. I was shuffled off to my aunt and uncle, who didn't want another mouth to feed, so they tossed me out the first chance they had. I did what little I could, begging for coin by day, and trying to stay warm and dry by night. Freezing to death in Whiterun was a very real possibility, and it wasn't unheard of to find the body of a dead beggar that hadn't been so fortunate when winter came down on the land.
Then I saw her, or rather, she all but ran me over the first time I saw the woman that would eventually become my mother. She didn't give me a second glance the first time she came to Whiterun, but I had gotten used to people ignoring me at that point. I brushed it off, picked myself off the ground, and went back to the market square, hoping that maybe one of the vendors would be kind. When she came out of the Jarl's house, I made it a point to stand aside, and put the entire affair out of my mind.
Something began to happen though. The next time I saw her, Giselle glanced in my direction. The following time she came to Winterhold, she tossed me an apple, fresh from the tree. It took the better part of a year, but one day, she did more than toss me a bit of food or a few coins for a warm bed. She stopped to talk with me, to me, a street urchin, dirty and cold and skinny from being underfed. She told me who she was, but I had figured it out by then, having begun to hear stories of the newly awakened Dragonborn, it was all the other kids in Whiterun could talk about. Not to mention their parents, who went on and on about the glory and honor she was gaining with every adventure she went on. I was scared of her by this point, but she wasn't anything like the stories made her out to be. There's some truth about the saying that you shouldn't meet your heroes, they are never as you'd expect.
Giselle was kind now, and she apologized for almost running me down the first time she'd been in the city. I heard she had a lot of apologies to make during those days. But the point remained, she was talking to me, and then, offered me a home, once she had the money for a proper house within Winterhold. I would have fallen over in shock, partially from hunger, but mostly from how truly grateful and excited I was at what she had just offered me, if not for her catching me by the arm before I hit the snow. She laughed then, warmly, kindly, and patted me on the head before giving me half of the contents of her purse then and there, with a promise that the next time we talked, we'd be the same house together. I could scarcely believe my luck at the time and could only thank her again before she walked away. But a small part of me told me that it was all empty talk, and that she was just being nice. So many people have claimed they wanted to help me before, but they never did.
But as promised, the next time I saw her, she had earned the right to buy a house within Winterhold, and had the deed and the key to prove it. I didn't know what to think, only that I couldn't stop babbling in excitement and joy at my sudden turn of good fortune. The little voice in the back of my head was still there, but I hardly heard it as I followed Giselle to her new home. It wasn't much, but I couldn't have cared less. It was a home, it had a fire, a hearth, and enough room for me and her and her loyal bodyguard, Lydia. Lydia was all smiles, as was Giselle as they made themselves and me at home. I had a family again, that was all I cared about at the time.
But no sooner had I started getting used to the idea of calling her mother, Giselle had to leave. She promised to return, but my real parents had said the same thing when they left to fight against Ulfric, who was still leading his Stormcloaks at the time. I was deathly afraid she wouldn't come back, just like my parents, but eventually she got me to calm down. She held me, ran her fingers through my hair, which had since started to look like actual hair and not a skeever's nest of tangles and knots, and sang to me. I don't remember what the song was about now, only that it worked, and I eventually let her go. At least Lydia was there to keep me company.
As promised, Giselle returned, and kept coming back anytime she left. Eventually, I got it in my head that she would always return, and she had never let me down yet. In that time though, I started meeting her new friends, which became my friends. Kodlak Whitemane and his Companions, which took it upon themselves to start teaching me how to take care of myself anytime Giselle wasn't around, a man from Redguard that had a strange sense of humor, a half burned argonian, and many more. But one day, a new person came home with Giselle. A vampire.
I was friends with werewolves, assassins, although I didn't know it at the time, and even a couple mages from the College of Winterhold, but I had never seen a vampire before. She was around more than the others, so I got used to her, though her eyes did scare me. And then I saw the vampire and mommy kissing. It was….weird, but she made Giselle happy, and she was kind, and she accepted me without a thought. Serana Volkihar, the vampire that had a heart, even though it hadn't beat for centuries according to her. I honestly don't know how I might have turned out if not for her helping my mother find peace when she needed it. Kodlak had died, and she had started to become scary again, until she came back from fulfilling one last request by the Harbinger. And then she came back with Serana at her side not long afterward.
Not too long after that, Giselle left not just me, but Serana as well after capturing a dragon. A dragon, in Whiterun! I had never seen one so close before, but I watched it fly off with my mother on its red, spike covered back. Serana told me later that day Giselle had ridden off to defeat the black dragon everyone had been talking about, Alduin, and end his tyranny once and for all. Despite how she tried to hide her concern, Serana's pale face got paler, and I was afraid for Giselle once again. Afraid that this would be the last time I saw her.
But once again, our fears were proven false. She returned, as she had always returned, beaten, battered, but alive, and the entire world would know her name. The dragons knew her power, knew her indomitable will, and they feared and respected her like no other. But I didn't care about that. All I cared about was the fact she had come home, and she was there to stay this time.
Or so we all thought…. When an Imperial Moth Priest came, everything changed once more. We set sail for a land no one had ever returned from, but like everything else, Giselle promised that we'd find our way. We did, but not without loss. Elenwen hounded us across the ocean, but my mother blasted apart the Thalmor's ship, and we passed through the Lunar Gate. We found Westeros, and we set down roots, despite the hardships that found us.
When we went to King's Landing though….everything began to fall apart. I became a ward to an old soldier and the Hand of the King, by the name of Jon Arryn. He is...was a good man, but when trouble started that put him in a difficult position, he chose his people, as he should have, but the cost was sending me away. Giselle's letter came a day later, the raven having found us at sea, and I could see that she hadn't been able to write the letter herself. It was in Serana's hand, which meant Giselle was too overcome with sorrow at losing me to write it herself. I was to go to Dorne, with her friend, Prince Oberyn, until things settled down between the King and her.
Despite what had happened, I know she'll come for me. I might not be her blood, we might not be of the same race, but that hadn't stopped her before. She took down the dragon that threatened the world, stopped a mad vampire from blocking out the sun, and took down the very first Dragonborn. A fat king and his cold wife will be easy by comparison. Even so….that little voice in the back of my head has returned, making me wonder if this time, she's gotten in over her head. The fact the sky is no longer what it was tells me something bad happened in Monahven, but what it might be I can't begin to imagine. But I won't give up on her, because she never gave up on me. Not until I see proof that she won't be coming back. I just need to have faith, that's all.