(General)

She enjoyed the sun, letting it light up her face. If all went well, it would probably be the last time the sun graced her face without being accompanied by a pestering burn or over sensitivity. She looked to Serana, who sat in a dark corner, nose in a book. She had many questions for the vampire but their relationship, despite 2 and a half months of cohabitation, was rocky.
"Good morning, Arch Mage."
Lilith lifted her hand in acknowledgment, still not fully use to the respect she received. Brynjolf's mercenary friends, the ones currently working for him to keep Goldenglow Estate safe, were of different stock than the people she usually encountered in Skyrim. It was a pleasant reminder that for all the block heads, the ones that refused to admit that there was no master race, that believed their race was superior simply because it existed, there were more out there who acknowledged the need for diversity. And that was what she hoped she protected. Her hand still lifted, the sun took the chance to glint off her ring, her wedding band. It dimmed her mood and she dropped her hand, curling it in her lap. The ring reminded her of Farkas. If she closed her eyes, she could almost imagine he was behind her, watching over her , ready to jump to her rescue. Only, he would never be again. Amarenthine had seen to that. Lilith would never forget that day. The crusty sheets of the inn, the whimpers of Windhelm's refugees as they relived nightmares of imprisonment, or the face of the courier that approached her, letter in hand. Above all else, she'd never forget finding Farkas, his body half buried in snow and human again. He'd run from Riften, to aid their battle and had found Amarenthine instead. It enraged her all over again. However she was not a creature of revenge, not like Amarenthine. No doubt, though, her half sister would continue to be a threat and Lilith would get her chance to avenge Farkas. An odor that spread through the house drew her from her dark thoughts and she looked worriedly down the stairs. With most of the College still a smoking pile of rubble, Lilith had had to move her mages elsewhere. And Brynjolf had politely offered her Goldenglow. Between the isolation and surrounding water, it was perfect. Still, there'd been enough destruction in Skyrim as of late. Perhaps they could keep Riften on its feet?

Serana eyed Lilith rather than the explosion. She was not a teacher, of who were fairly capable, and Brynjolf had given her assurances that the mercenaries that patrolled were all keeping an eye on Ancano. It was important he not get too close to Serana. She'd only just managed to keep her vampirism a secret thus far. No longer of course. Her father was a growing threat, evidence of his influence everywhere. Lilith seemed convinced Amarenthine was pulling the strings though. Serana was doubtful but not enough to turn down help. She went back to her book, pretending to read when her mind was a million different places. First to Brynjolf, their gracious host. He was running the show in the Thieves Guild, scraping back together what he could, investigating Mercer's disappearance and coordinating with the Dark Brotherhood's very own Listener, Hekth,to ensure that Mercer and Astrid, when found, would be dealt with. They may have been writing each other on an almost daily basis but neither one was bringing up the one thing that they both clearly wanted to. Syra. Even Serana wanted to know where her former blood sister had gone, though the blood bond had long since faded. By some miracle, Syra had gone against prophecy and slayed Alduin. Only for her and every dragon in Skyrim to simply vanish as if they'd never returned in the first place. Serana grimaced, the reek in the air becoming more unpleasant. She wanted nothing more than to firmly teach the wretches what she knew but knew better. Ancano watched the students in lesson and if she or Lilith joined them, they'd warrant more of his attention. He'd tried and failed to follow Brynjolf but the man was slippery and had evaded his Thalmor tale. It helped that Riften did not kindly welcome Ancano either. She wondered if he'd try following her and Lilith tonight and how far he'd get before he realized the danger they were walking towards. A part of her was excited to return home, the viper's nest it may be. The other part flashed to Dyre. He'd been buried when the roof collapsed in the Palace of Kings. His body had been smashed and any one of them could have killed him. Lilith had insisted they bring him instead to Hekth. And despite being his mother, she was a contrast of emotions , glee and sorrow in her face at being presented her broken son. He had come to Harkon, her father, warped and Harkon had indulged him. She hoped that perhaps it had been one oversight, that maybe things could be like before. Or perhaps better in that the dark times stayed behind them rather than shattering their family again. Only time would tell. Her first priority was getting Lilith to the castle. Her gaze trailed out the shuttered window, the one she'd sealed tightly closed when she'd walked in. Through the slants, she could see Miraak. Without Alduin, he was purposeless. And the dragons were all gone. He was a man with nothing, save for the armor on his back. He'd stayed with them only because Lilith had insisted. He hadn't defeated Alduin but he could redeem himself. If he worked with them. Serana had doubts she could sneak him in under her father's nose however. Lilith was willing to become a vampire to serve the cause. Miraak was not. And while Lilith radiated the arcane and presented herself in such a way that one would assume she was innocent, Miraak could not. He was too mysterious but also had an air of danger. And that air would instantly identify him as a threat to her father. Too bad. He would have made good back up.

She clutched the paper in her hands, staring out from the mast. She barely heard the men below her. They usually were louder but seemed to sense something was wrong. Once again, she unfolded the paper, staring down at the face that stared back at her. Syra, captured on the yellowing paper that spelled out her guilt years ago. For being an assassin. And while she could have thrown the woman every which way and into the next week, something about her had stayed Falin's hand, her magic. And of course, no good deed went unpunished. Falin's hand crushed the paper now, her annoyance leaking out of her in noticeable waves her magic tearing its way down the mast and shoving into the water ahead, rousing the waves. She hadn't had a plan starting out. How did one track the Dark Brotherhood? How was it possible to find assassins when they didn't want to be found? Her best lead, her only lead, had been Syra. And the former assassin turned hero had chosen to flee. Falin jumped a bit when her First Mate landed beside her, crouching. He smirked but stayed silent as he pointed ahead.
"We've got company," Thaille announced.
Given that they'd sent word ahead, she wasn't surprised by the waiting dockhands, gritty and weathered by working the docks. Falin knew what a dock worker looked like. The work was hard and the men and few women who were cut for it usually were muscled, their bodies toned and tanned from the sun and heavy lifting. That is if they were Man. The Mer were just as toned but not always as tanned. And they were few and far between. However, she knew what Thaille meant. The woman he was indicating stood apart from the prepping dockhands. She was lithe, body wrapped in hide armor, a hood secured over her head. She was watching the Queen's Ruby, gaze filled with purpose. And not the purpose that hinted at pirating. She didn't covet the ship but she clearly had some interest in it. Or at least, someone on board.

Astrid hid her smile well but knew she didn't keep the pleasure off her face. The woman with blood red hair was watching her, pacing atop her mast, clearly eager to approach but mindful all the same. Astrid could respect a cautious woman. She'd looked over her shoulder ever since Delvin had left her in Falkreath. Mostly because she'd run away from the Sanctuary, rather than towards it. And no doubt her treachery had been discovered. She'd gotten the summons to Windhelm and had chosen instead to hide. Now though, well, what borrowed time she had she'd spend making certain it paid off. She could do nothing against the psycho Priestess but damn if she couldn't stop Syra from hunting her down. Or the rest of the Brotherhood.
"Your staring is becoming unnerving."
She met those green eyes, wondering how she hadn't sensed the woman's approach and realizing she'd been mentally plotting a course to freedom that would take her around those who sought her out.
"Nice ship," she remarked.
Probably not the best thing she could have said, given how those eyes narrowed. Astrid responded with a smile.
"I believe we can be of use to each other," she admitted.
She didn't have time for games. Not when her own life was on the line.
"Do tell."
"I know who you are and why you're here, Falin," Astrid insisted.
Falin crossed her arms, the picture of casual. Only Astrid could feel her magic well up, the slight push against her own body evidence enough.
"I'm here to establish another trade route. Around the rebellion," Falin said.
The girl wasn't lying, not completely. Astrid's contact had informed her of the official reason Falin had been sent to Skyrim. But the girl had her own reasons. And she seemed to sense Astrid knew them, her magic pushing against Astrid more insistently. She hurried on, having heard rumors of what the woman before her could do. And had done.
"I know where you can find an assassin," she blurted out, tone low to avoid drawing attention to herself.
Something she'd failed at by being so out of place on the dock. Better a few dock hands though, who couldn't be bothered to much acknowledge her, then an innkeeper or other busybody that thrived on gossip and strange people. The less anyone mentioned her, the better chance she had of avoiding the throng of people gunning to find her. Falin's brow furrowed at her words, the woman studying her intently, as if she could read Astrid's mind. Her green eyes darkened slightly and Astrid felt as if she was being crushed.
"Talk fast," Falin urged.
"In exchange for what I tell you, I want safe passage," Astrid hurriedly said.
"The Queen's Ruby isn't leaving port," Falin replied.
"Oh like you don't have the power to launch any ship docked here," Astrid quipped.
She felt claustrophobic.
"I do indeed," Falin admitted. "But I don't know you well enough to do so for you."
The pressure vanished and Astrid collapsed to the dock, gasping, enjoying the space again. Falin kneeled over her and Astrid tensed.
"I'm a merchant's daughter. If a deal seems shady, chances are it is. And the person bringing me the deal is as well," she said, voice low and even.
For someone so rumored to be crazy and wild, she was showing immense clarity and focus here.
"Let that be a warning to you," Falin advised. "Now get away from my ship and stay away from me."
Astrid did not have to be told twice, scrambling away like a mad woman. She looked over her shoulder, surprised that Falin wasn't watching her retreat and had instead turned to look out towards Morthal and its swamp. However, as she slowed a bit, something slammed into her from behind, an unseen force. Falin no doubt. Astrid ran that much harder.
"Harsh, captain," Thaille remarked, joining Falin as she stared at the marsh.
"Talk to the harbor master," Falin instructed. "She boards no ship at this dock."
"Aye, aye captain."

He was beginning to hate the Cistern, understanding Rossara's need for freedom. He'd spent so much time in it he felt as though the world was closing in on him. It was a relief to be done, to know the books were balanced. Even if that balance spelled trouble for the Guild. They were broke. Thieves without a dime to any of their names, let alone the Guild's name. He'd laugh if it didn't mean that some of the greatest thieves in Skyrim were pulling risky jobs without a means in or out in case the situation went harry. What made it worse was that he honestly didn't care too much. He passed through the archway that had been Riften's main gate, the heavy doors still not replaced. Pure luck that the Hold hadn't been ransacked. The dragons were gone but Skyrim was still dangerous. He must have been lost in thought, surprised when someone kicked the sole of his shoe, upsetting his balance. Surprised, he turned around, glaring at Vex. She didn't seem to care that he was mad, crossing her arms, meeting his challenge.
"Well, Guild Leader?" she challenged him, chin lifting.
And he'd probably have argued with her had he not seen the faintest flicker in her eyes, something making him pause. She had something to tell him and was testing him. Probably to see where his head was. Which meant it had to deal with Syra. Brynjolf crossed his arms in response. Rossara had all but cut ties. He had some faint idea she was still in Skyrim and if not, well, she'd crossed the border then. He didn't suspect her to be back but he'd gotten a letter, courtesy of a falcon. She'd dropped hints about dragons but that was weeks ago, an obscure reference that sounded more as though the dragon was more focused on leaving rather than coming back. He hadn't replied to that message and so Rossara had chosen to write to Vex.
"Out with it," Brynjolf ordered.
Had he mentioned his lack of patience? He was exhausted, emotionally and physically, not enough reason for Vex to forgive him for being an ass it seemed. She was studying his face and he knew that if she saw something she didn't like, she would walk away. He relaxed his face, trying to play off his impatient tone. It worked enough that Vex uncrossed her arms.
"Rossara's been coming across dragon remains," Vex explained. "She's been tracking them, mapping as best she can. And they lead well into Cyrodil."
She lowered her voice.
"Ross got close enough once and once alone. Caught a dragon fighting a warrior-"
"Syra was too scrawny to be mistaken for a warrior," Brynjolf argued, already prepared to discredit whatever story Rossara had come across.
"Only for said warrior to change into a dragon and fly away."
Vex's eyes drilled into him, as if she expected him to do something with that information. He ran a hand over his face.
"Vex," he sighed.
"Its Syra!" she insisted.
"Vex, you can't be sure."
"Because there are so many other people able to transform into dragons."
Vex smacked his arm.
"Brynjolf!"
He groaned loudly and in frustration, glaring at her.
"Vex, she chose to leave!" he snapped. "If that's Syra, cutting her way through Tamriel, slaying dragons, she chose to leave. Which means there was never anything really there."
Vex went red in the face. She didn't appreciate his tone, his words or his temper and he didn't care.
"If she wants to come back or if you want to run after her, go ahead.. But I refuse," Brynjolf declared.
Vex glared at him, eyes beady. She desperately wanted to hit him, he could tell. She looked at him like that a lot, hating the wallowing mess he'd become. After a moment, she sighed and turned away from him, her retreating back his focus. At least until she was well out of ear shot.
"Did you hear everything or just the fun parts?" he demanded, tone cold.
"Enough," was Miraak's response.
The man stepped away from his hiding place, taking a stance at Brynjolf's side. His face was grim. The man had very little joy left. He'd hauled ass to the Throat of the World with them, the home of one of two dragons that could reveal Syra's fate and location at the time, only to be informed by the Greybeards that Syra was gone, Alduin was dead and Miraak...well, he was not welcome. They'd seen him and known immediately that for Miraak to be free, Steinar had to be dead. They also knew the legacy he'd burned into the world, the forgotten tale of Miraak. He was not a man of peace, they'd claimed. And thus he had no place in their fold. Brynjolf had wanted to point out the man had no place in theirs either but he'd had more pressing concerns. Syra, at the time. He'd worried that she was dead somewhere, her body rotting. He'd lived with that image for days before the rumors poured in. Contacts spanning Tamriel speaking of dragons. And a woman with them. No one saw her face, no one could describe her past a woman with dragons. He'd thought it was Amarenthine at first only for the rumors to transform and become her transforming into a dragon. Bright side, Syra was alive. The downside being that she'd left of her own free will and stayed away for the same reason.
"I could go after her," Miraak offered and Brynjolf smirked.
"Don't act like you're doing me any favors," he spat.
Miraak studied him in his peripheral.
"Very well," the man agreed. "I won't act. You have turned your home over to mages. It is probably the fullest it will ever be and you have proven to be a very charismatic man who prefers crowds probably as a means to steal a few coin purses. However, these few months you have preferred sullen isolation over the company of people. You push away well meaning friends who offer you leads to the woman you love, you don't chase her yourself and you thus far have done nothing to move on."
Brynjolf glared hard, not liking the implications or the analysis being thrust at him. Miraak seemed unbothered however, continuing on.
"I knew Syra a very short time but knew Nithrogr much longer. Whatever her reasons for leaving, they were not on a whim. Her inability to keep in touch says to me that she is someplace a simple courier cannot go as the rumors surrounding Syra always come when she is battle or heading elsewhere. There are someplaces we mortals cannot go. But Syra is not completely mortal and therefore the rules are different."
Miraak tilted his head, as if all this was just coming to him.
"I suspect that her reasons for leaving are in line with the fact that she is not completely mortal. A dragon's nature is to dominate. Perhaps defeating Alduin awoke more of the dragon in her."
He shrugged.
"In which case, leaving was perhaps the best choice she made."
"No," Brynjolf declared. "It wasn't."

The dark surrounded her, whispering across her skin, the faintest touch to them. Even still, she willed her skin to jagged edges. Edges that hadn't existed, once upon a time. The dark recoiled, not bleeding but the injured party despite that. Gods did not bleed.
"Amarenthine," greeted Hermaeus Mora.
He materialized and she began to wonder when it was the gods had all become so theatrical. Was it to show each other up? To marvel and wonder with their power, drawing as much attention to themselves as was possible? She was already growing tired of this but knew that the best course of action was submission. So she bowed, strands of her brown hair rippling down her shoulders.
"Master, I have failed," she confessed.
There was bitterness and regret in her tone and it, at least, was genuine. She'd been so certain. So sure that everything would work out. Her debt to Mora would be paid by Syra and Miraak being trapped forever in his realm to study and observe at his leisure, Lilith would be dead or else trapped eternally in a crystal. Her attempts to salvage the mess before Mora turned his attention back to her had failed. Hence why she bowed before him now.
"Most disappointing," he intoned, almost lazily.
Amarenthine gritted her teeth, biting the inside of her cheek. Instead, she stared down at her hands, gloved now. Since she did not have to play Priestess any longer, she'd rid herself of the gaudy robes that dared call themselves armor, returning to the leather armor she so often wore. She glared at the gloves, forcing her hand not to curl into a fist, schooling her features to avoid showing how she was seething inside. A mix of hatred for Lilith and hatred for the floating mass before her. No doubt, he knew her hatred for him. There was little about her he didn't know and she was powerless to prevent that. Jyggalag's daughter or no, she was not on the same level as a full god. And he knew it.
"It is your luck that I have remedied this problem," Mora continued, his voice near monotone.
Still, his words held promise and she lifted her head, confused but at the same time, excited by the possibility.
"Please, let me redeem myself!"
She was not so excited as to forget herself at least. She could see the satisfaction in Mora's eye, smugly lording it over her that he'd known her plan would fail. No doubt, this backup of his was going to be a wallop.
"Seek out Molag Bal. He has extended a hand," Mora instructed. "And given what he has offered, we cannot afford to turn him away as an ally."

Her gaze went East, searching the water, as if it would part and give her all the answers to her questions. The breeze slapped her face, tossed her hair, and she was numb to its abuses. There was salt in the air, as expected. What really had her attention was her heartbeat. It raced in her chest, excitement, fear, anxiety. The same as when she was released into Skyrim. It was so odd that the very same emotions, stronger now as they were not ghost whisperings of real emotions, found themselves in her company once again. The only thing absent was the dread. There was no taunting, no cooing that her release was temporary. Coldharbour was a memory, a bad dream, one vanishing slowly as she realized that she was really and truly free. Of course, she knew she'd have to work to keep it that way. Some part of her could feel eyes turning towards her, brought on by her defiance of destiny. She had slayed the World Eater in place of the Last Dragonborn. Her, the dragonborn lost to shadows and mysteries. The wind cut off as a hulking presence stretched over her, scaled wings blocking it and she glanced up, observing the underside of Odahviing's jaw.
"Thanks," Syra managed, brushing her hair behind her ears.
She stood up, stretching. Months later and her body still gave the occasional indication that she wasn't quite healed yet. However, her mission was too important. For the second time since coming to Skyrim, she'd found purpose. First in defeating Dyre and facing Alduin and now in finding out every secret it was that Alduin had hidden away, hoping one could explain Nithrogr.
"Ready to go?" she asked the dragon hovering above her.
He looked down at her, his gaze open.
"Kolos hi bo zu'u fent," was his answer and she smiled, nodding, glad that she had won his loyalty.
"Are they ready?" she asked and the dragon nodded as well.
Syra nodded again, gaze returning to the sea, her hand resting on the sword at her hip. Steinar's blade, of course. She clutched the hilt a moment, as though she intended to draw it when really she was focusing, finding her strength in the very sword she'd slayed Alduin with. It did its work and she released the sword, leaping from the cliff she'd stood on, enjoying the rush of wind, the crashing of the waves as they churned their displeasure at being interrupted by land. And right before she hit said waves, her body shifted, long, reptilian and scaled, slicing upward and soaring East.

The appearance of dragons was a shock. Well hidden by the rock formations on the coast, their rise into the air had come as a shock. They watched as the sky seemed to darken with their wings, the sound of them moving near deafening. And just as soon as they appeared they were in the distance. The dragons had left Tamriel.

A/N: Last chapter being what it is and what not, I want to mostly thank everyone who read my story and reviewed as well as favorited and followed. I can't tell you how excited I'd get seeing that someone liked TLD or favorited it or getting the notification in my inobox. I'm a bit sad that I've already finished it but relieved all the same as it means I can share more with y'all. Please keep an eye out for Falin's story, which I'll be starting soon and will upload asap.