Chapter 43: The World_Eater's Eyrie


Lumen was thirteen when she first tried to fly.

She was not stupid. Of course she knew that elves could not fly, but that did not stop her from climbing to the roof of Malrian's mansion and throwing herself off the edge. A part of her heart that was still childish had hoped the winds might see fit to carry her off. It was worth risking her life if it meant she might be free, and if she truly could not fly, well- there was freedom in death, too.

Instead of freedom, her little stunt earned her a broken arm, a sprained ankle, and an extra helping of petty torments. Malrian was no fool. He had seen her failed suicide attempt for what it truly was, and he would not allow her to escape him, even in death. Her foolishness had cost her what little privacy she was afforded.

She never thought to fly again, but then Odahviing changed everything.

The nature of dragons is not easy to understand, even for the Dragonborn. Chaos is the easiest definition to grasp at when one only sees them as fire-breathing lizards; razing villages and killing livestock. Lumen is guilty of this train of thought, even though she knows they are not the mindless purveyors of destruction that the Blades accuse them of being. Sometimes it is hard for her to see them differently when she's so used to tooth and claw coming her way.

Paarthurnax is unique among dragons; choosing peace to discord. He would rather sit on his mountain, teaching mortals and watching the ever-flowing streams of time wash over the world.

Then there is Odahviing, who is tired of waiting. He has not cast in his lot with Alduin or the Dragonborn. Instead, he is content to aid the battle just so he can know the outcome, even at the cost of his pride.

Lumen cannot call the dragons evil, as so many do. Up so high, she can understand why they see man and mer as mere pests. From up here, people look like ants swarming a body of something still alive, still beautiful, and would she not swat them away if she could? Would she not choose the world over man? There was a time when she would have. A time before her family. Love is a selfish thing, and her family has made her even more selfish. She wants more time with them and she's willing to let the still living body be overrun if it means she can save those closest to her heart.

There is little time to wonder if her choice is right or wrong as the dragon makes his dizzying descent, she clings to him as he falls through the sky. The air whips through her hair, and it takes all her strength just to hold on. Odahviing lands roughly, the force of a sudden stop nearly throwing Lumen and Arnbjorn from his back.

"I don't think I like landing very much," Lumen gasps as Arnbjorn helps her down from the dragon's neck. Her legs are unsteady and her heart is fluttering against her ribs like a bird trapped in a cage. The only thing keeping her from a full-blown panic attack is the solid ground beneath her feet.

"This is as far as I can take you," Odahviing says, uncaring or unaware of Lumen's current state. "Krif voth ahkrin. I will look for your return, or Alduin's." With that, the dragon takes off into the starry night.

"Well isn't he just a ray of sunshine on a dark, cloudy day?" she grumbles. Her bad mood fueled by the fact that she is tired and more than a little overwhelmed. Skuldafn looms all around them, brimming with the undead and dragons, and Sithis only knows what else. There is a flood of magic streaming to the heavens from the uppermost portion of the structure. The portal, most likely.

"Keep it together, tidbit," Arnbjorn says, resting his hand against her back. "We have a monumental task ahead of us. There are plenty of dragons here, but the draugr are going to be the worst of it. I can hear them scuffling around. There are so many, I can't even make an estimate."

"Are you scared?" she asks, glancing up at him.

"I am not scared, but neither am I foolish enough to greet danger with open arms." He goes quiet for a moment, his eyes falling on the gout of magic pouring from the top of the ruin. "I am worried, however. You seem so certain that you are going to die, I don't want you to do anything careless or stupid. There's no sense in throwing your life away."

"Do you think I'm not?" She gestures lazily at the ruin before them. "On the off-chance that I survive this place, I still have to fight Alduin. Who knows how strong he's become since the last time. Do you really think he won't kill me? He almost killed Cicero!"

"Cicero almost got himself killed because he was too focused on keeping you safe to worry about his own safety," Arnbjorn says, folding his arms across his broad chest and leveling her with a stern glare. "And for what it's worth, I do believe you're going to survive this place, and I do believe you're going to defeat Alduin. Do you really think I'm going to just stand aside and let you die?"

"Well, no, but you may not have a choice."

Arnbjorn blows out a frustrated breath. "Now you're just being contrary for the sake of it," he grumbles. "Don't focus on assumptions of what might happen. Just focus on staying alive, failing that, focus on the people who need you. The Dark Brotherhood needs a Listener. Cicero needs you, and I-" he clears his throat. "Well- That clown is a menace when you're not around to keep him in line."

"What were you going to say?" she asks, preferring to tease him rather than argue with him. "Do you need me too?"

"I need you around to mind the mentally limited members of our family."

"Is that all?" she presses.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, looking a little defeated. "If you want a heartfelt confession from me, then you'll just have to stay alive long enough to get us home. Because I am not making declarations of any sort in a place that's overrun with dragons and draugr."

Lumen snorts. "That's manipulative."

"Yeah, well, you're annoying."

They both grin at each other, the tension between them dissipating like smoke in the breeze. Although the nice moment ends quickly when a thunderous roar echoes across the mountainside.

"Ah, wonderful," she sighs. "I was wondering when the dragons would show up."

The resonating sound of the dragon's call triggers something deep within her. Something primal and predatory, something that will not let her just roll over and die, something that Alduin should fear. Her fear is a wavering thing. One moment she is eager to fight him again and the next she is shaking in her boots. It would be nice if her mind could just settle on one feeling, rather than running the gamut. But at the moment her anxieties over facing him seem stupid and trivial. She is dovah. The dragon's blood flows within her veins like liquid fire. She is the Night Mother's daughter, and she will not let some fire-breathing beast tear her from her mother's side!

"All your whining must have caught his attention," Arnbjorn laughs. "I'm surprised it took him so long to notice us."

She turns her gaze to Arnbjorn, and while her feelings for him are a little more convoluted than her feelings for Cicero, they are no less intense. The timbre of his voice triggers a memory, made more intense by her overly excited state. It is a fight just to breathe; to stay in the present rather than lose herself in a fantasy. There is something strange about Skuldafn. Maybe it's something in the air, or just some dragon thing that she is too mortal and too temporary to ever understand. Sight, sound, smell, and even distant memories are so vivid and real. They are so real, in fact, that she wonders how much of Skuldafn she is really seeing, and how much of it is a hallucination.

"Gods," she gasps. "This place is fucking with my head. What is wrong with me? It's like all my senses are being overwhelmed."

"I'd wager a guess that being so near so many dragons is having an effect on you," he says, sounding a little concerned. "They are technically your spiritual kin, right?"

"They are more my kin than other elves are, that's for sure," she says, trying to calm herself. "Are you all right? It's not messing with you?"

"I'm fine," he says, shrugging. "How can I help you?"

"Distract me," she says roughly. "Ask me stupid questions. Tell me a story. Something. Anything."

"All right," he says. "Let's talk about what you said to Cicero before you took off on a dragon."

"Oh, that was- well, you know, it's all so messy, this business of having feelings," she says lightly. "We should really speak of something else."

"Do you love him?" he asks, obviously amused by her embarrassed reaction.

"Like an addict loves an addiction," she says to herself. "In the only way I know how."

A sly grin appears on his lips. "Good," he says. "Then you need to focus on that whenever you feel like you're slipping, or losing sight of yourself. Because Cicero needs you to return so you can say it again, when you can't run away."

"Why would you say that?" she asks, her voice meek.

"Because it is cruel to say it and just leave, and it will be even more cruel if you happen to die. Can you imagine? He hears the one thing he's been aching to hear since he first laid eyes on you, and you just run away, never to return?"

"I wanted him to know," she says quietly. "What if I get trapped in Sovngarde and I can't leave? There's a way in, sure, but there may not be a way out!" It hurts to even imagine it; the absence of Cicero and only the presence of time.

Arnbjorn claps her on the shoulder, gently shaking her out of the deep, depressive spell that threatens to overwhelm her just as thoroughly as her earlier memories did. "Come on, let's go kill something," he says, trying to sound cheerful. "It'll help. It always does."

She does like the sound of that, but her melancholy is tenacious and not so easily beaten by a good suggestion. "I've cursed you, haven't I? I brought you here with me. If I am trapped, then you're trapped too."

"I can think of worse people to be stuck with," he grumbles, walking ahead of her and reaching for his axe. "Now, come on. Stop whining and start fighting. I think that dragon has grown tired of waiting."


Lumen's swift departure on the back of a dragon left the Whiterun guards in awe, and Cicero utterly heartbroken. The Imperial has been standing at the balustrade for the past half-hour, staring at the spot in the sky where Odahviing finally vanished when he made it far enough away. Balgruuf decides to leave him be, and leaves with his housecarl and guards, with the exception of one Nord female in steel armor. The woman seems content to stand a respectable distance away from Cicero and Luka; close enough to guard, but not close enough to eavesdrop.

Luka has no idea what to do for him. Would he want comforting? Would he want to be left alone? He doesn't think he could stand it if Cicero sent him away, but all the same, he can understand the need for solitude.

"Cicero?"

"She's gone," he says miserably. "Sweet Lumen is gone."

Luka decides he's had enough of standing to the side and worrying, and he wraps his arms around Cicero. "She'll come home," he says firmly. "You know she will."

"Sometimes assassins leave and they do not come home," he whines. "Garnag left. Pontius left. They left and they did not come home! They told Cicero they would!"

"Lumen is different," Luka says, rubbing Cicero's back and wishing he knew what to do. He has no idea who Garnag or Pontius are, but he can only assume they were part of the Cyrodiil sanctuary. He doesn't know what happened there, but he's heard enough to know that asking Cicero about it is a really bad idea.

"I know," he says, his voice muffled by Luka's robes. "She's the Listener. She's the Dragonborn. But Cicero cannot stop worrying. He wants her home."

"So do I, but we have to trust her." Luka wraps his arm around Cicero's shoulders, guiding him across the great porch. "Let's go to the tavern and get a hot meal and something strong to drink. I think that will help you feel a little better."

"Poor Cicero is not hungry," he says, but he doesn't resist being steered away from the balcony.

"You haven't eaten in hours," Luka argues. "Besides, Miss Lumen told me to take care of you and that's just what I plan to do."

The Nord in steel armor steps forward when they approach. "Excuse me," she says. "I am Lydia, the Dragoborn's forgotten housecarl. Jarl Balgruuf has asked me to see to your needs while you are in the city, although I expect it will go as well as it did when I was tasked to see to the Dragonborn."

Luka is not deaf to the irritation buried deep within her words. For a housecarl to be left behind is a severe insult. But to Lumen, to be gifted with a servant is an insult as well. It does not matter that the housecarl chose to enter her service willingly. A good slave is always willing, even when they do not choose to be, and Lumen would never accept another person as a gift. Perhaps if Lydia would be more understanding if she knew Lumen's history, but that is not Luka's story to tell.

"All we need is a quiet place to rest," Luka says, hoping that the task of finding them room and board will soothe the disgraced housecarl's wounded ego.

"Follow me, then," she says, still sounding a bit put out. "I'll show you to the guest quarters."

"We are staying here?" Cicero asks. "In the palace?"

"You do not have to," Lydia says patiently. "But you are the Dragonborn's companions and so you are both honored guests."

"It would be insulting if we turned down the jarl's hospitality," Luka murmurs to Cicero. " And it might be difficult to find a room at the inn this late in the evening."

"But Cicero must go home so Lumen can find him!"

"She won't be home for a few days now. Maybe even weeks. We can take a night to rest." Weariness is settling over Luka like the weight of a heavy cloak. When Lumen told him to take care of Cicero, he did not quite understand what a monumental task it would be. The Keeper is determined to wear himself thin.

Lydia leads the two assassins to their room in the guest wing. Within, they find two large, comfortable looking beds, and a washing table with pitchers of warm, scented water.

"Make yourselves comfortable," she says. "I'll run to the kitchens and see what they have on the spit. Do you have any special requests?"

"Some of your strongest mead would be much appreciated," Luka says. "We have some worries to drown."

A hush falls over them when Lydia leaves the room. The palace is not as silent as the Sanctuary; there is a murmur coming from the great hall and the floorboards creak from the milling of the servants. There is the occasional bark from a nearby dog, accompanied by a joyful shout from one of the jarl's many children. It is as peaceful as it can possibly get, but poor Cicero looks anything but. Lines of worry are etched across his face, his brow furrowed, mouth downturned, and his head bowed. Luka cannot help but feel like an interloper in the midst of his grief. He wants neither silence nor company- only Lumen.

Cicero flops gracelessly into a nearby chair, removing his hat and running his fingers through his hair. "Cicero is sorry," he says, his voice barely audible in the quiet room. "Cicero is afraid he is not good company right now."

"I wouldn't expect you to be," Luka says, offering Cicero a gentle smile. "I suspect you will feel better when you are finally home. We'll head out early tomorrow, that way we can reach Dawnstar by nightfall."

"Cicero would like that," he admits. "It has been so long since we have been home. Cicero misses his siblings and poor Mother surely needs tending by now."

They fall silent again, but this time the silence is more comfortable than before. It is momentarily broken when Lydia brings them plates of roasted chicken, vegetables, and a pitcher of mead. She leaves the two assassins to their meal, and after some coaxing, Luka finally convinces Cicero to eat.

"How did you get interested in necromancy?" Cicero asks, while studying a bone of a chicken leg, which has been mostly picked clean.

"What brought this on?" Luka laughs, a little taken aback by his question.

He drops the bone on his plate, his voice a little softer when he says, "Cicero would just like to hear you talk. You do not have to tell him if it is unpleasant for you."

"No, it's fine," he says quickly. "No one has ever asked before. It's a taboo subject, as you know."

"Those are Cicero's favorite subjects," he says, a glimmer of his usual humor creeping back into his voice.

"I have noticed." Luka settles into his chair, getting comfortable. "I suppose my interest in necromancy began with my mother. She was a mage, and when she noticed my own magical abilities, she allowed me to study from the books in her personal collection."

"Your mother had books on necromancy?"

"Well, yes. She said it was foolish to shun any type of magic just because people were afraid of it. Fear of the unknown is just ignorance, and ignorance is dangerous, especially for a mage."

"Smart woman."

"She was."

"What happened to her?"

The question is cautious. Almost as if Cicero himself is afraid to ask it, or maybe he is just afraid of the answer. Maybe because it might remind him of his own past; of the family that came before his chosen family.

"She became very ill," Luka says slowly. "I was only eight when she passed away." He does not tell him how his father began drinking heavily when his mother showed no sign of improving. He does not wish to mention that he was alone with his mother when she finally succumbed to her illness. He cannot give voice the words because he cannot burden Cicero with his own lingering grief. It's an old pain. It is not the constant, sharp pain of new loss, but the dull ache of an old wound.

The conversation wanes after that, and Luka is left to wade through his memories. He can still remember the smell of Windhelm's Hall of the Dead. It smelled like all the others he'd been in since then. But that one had always stuck in his mind.

The air is thick with the overwhelming stench of the perfumed candles that burn in a vain attempt to cover up the smell of human decay. His mother is laid out on a stone slab, wearing her best dress. She looks just like she did when she was asleep in her bed. Luka used to watch the rise and fall of her chest, finding comfort in the fact that she was still breathing. But she's not breathing anymore. She looks so wrong. Her body is too still, and her skin drawn too tight.

Rolff beckons him closer. "Say goodbye to your mother, boy."

Luka steps closer to the lifeless body of his mother, glancing fearfully at the Priestess of Arkay standing nearby. He didn't like this strange woman being so close to his mother. "She's not really gone, is she?" he asks. "Couldn't she come back?"

"No one comes back from the dead, son," his father says, his voice breaking.

He touches his mother's hand, but quickly pulls away. He doesn't want to remember how cold and lifeless she feels. She was always so warm before. "But, mama has a book about it," Luka says. "With enough magic-"

The priestess gasps in horror, while his father grabs the collar of his shirt and gives him a rough shake. "Don't talk about things like that!" he snarls. "The dead stay that way! Do you hear me? They don't come back!"

His father had destroyed all of his mother's books after that day. He may have tolerated his wife's magical abilities and strange interests, but he wasn't going to allow his son the same kindness. But that did not deter Luka from practicing necromancy. He started small at first; thralling insects, and eventually working up to rats and birds before trying out the art on humans. Humans and elves were a little more complicated- too many moving parts. But he always enjoyed the company of his dead friends. They were harmless compared to so many of the living people he had known. The dead would never laugh at him, never judge him, never get drunk and hit him. He always felt more comfortable with a corpse than a real person. But now he is surrounded by real people. Real, living people who would never hurt him either.

It is strange to have friends, and even stranger to have a friend like Cicero. A friend who knows about Luka's bizarre interests and dark deeds, and will never bat an eye.

"You are staring at Cicero." He leans forward in his chair. "Does Cicero have something on his face?"

Luka looks away, feeling silly for staring. "I just got a bit lost in my thoughts, but I did remember something." He fiddles with something in his pocket, pulling out a folded letter. "Miss Lumen slipped this into my hand before she left. I'm pretty sure it's for you."

He pushes the parchment across the table. Cicero picks it up gingerly, as if it might crumble to dust at the slightest touch. He unfolds it with care, swallowing hard as his gaze falls upon Lumen's familiar handwriting. Luka watches in rapt attention as Cicero's expression goes from fearful to enraged in the span of an instant.


Lumen sits on the edge of an empty coffin. The previous occupant had risen to fight her, but she'd had enough of draugr for one day, and she Shouted the dessicated bastard to pieces. Between herself and Arnbjorn, they must have dispatched hundreds of draugr today. She doesn't know how she's supposed to run this gauntlet of dragons and the undead and still have enough energy to fight Alduin at the end.

Arnbjorn moves around the room which had held at least a dozen draugr. He secures the doors, prods corpses with his foot to make sure they are well and truly dead, and then he busies himself by collecting scraps of wood for a fire.

They have to rest. Arnbjorn can keep going for days if necessary, but Lumen can't. She doesn't have that lupine restlessness, nor does she have a Nord's stamina. Her body is so tired she can barely sit up straight, but that doesn't mean she'll be able to sleep one wink. Not in this wretched ruin, and not when she's so close to Alduin.

"I think we're getting close to the portal," Arnbjorn says. "The draugr are getting a little stronger, and there's an oddness to the air. It feels-" He falls quiet when he lays out their bedrolls on either side of the fire. "It feels powerful."

"I know. I feel it, too." Lumen pushes away from the coffin and makes her way over to their little camp. She doesn't know how to adequately describe the odd feeling that's befallen her as they've made their way through the ruin, so she doesn't even try. The air thrums with an ancient energy. Pulsating like a beacon and tugging at her soul, pulling her closer to Sovngarde and closer to her fate.

"How long do you think we've been here?" he asks as he begins to remove the heavy pauldrons of her armor without prompting. "I tend to lose track of time in these ruins."

Lumen breaths a weary laugh. "Arnbjorn," she begins, groaning when the weight of her armor is removed from her shoulders. "I know you can sense the movement of the moons. What I don't understand is why you're pretending otherwise."

"All right, tidbit," he says, sounding a little less cheerful than before. "Maybe I'm tired of hearing nothing but the screams of the draugr. Maybe I just want to hear your voice for a while."

The almost plaintive pitch of his voice is completely foreign to her. She's never heard Arnbjorn sound so lost, so needy. It makes her feel guilty for even pointing out his flimsy lie. "There is a rumor that some Bosmer can sense the movements of Nirn as keenly as you werewolves can sense the movement of the moons, but I don't have that talent." She glances up at him, a half-hearted smile on her lips. "I don't have many talents, but sometimes when I Shout at things they catch on fire. So there's something."

"Not many people can claim to have that ability." He settles down on his bedroll, his sword in his lap and whetstone in hand. "It's safe here. We should try to rest as long as we can," he says, returning to the easier subject of the business at hand, rather than the unexplored landscape of his vulnerable side. The side of him that might actually be a little afraid of what's to come.

Lumen piles her gauntlets and boots next to her discarded pauldrons, lost to her thoughts. She's been so wrapped up in her own anxiety, she failed to even consider how Arnbjorn might be faring. He's always been so strong and unwavering. But just because he's strong doesn't mean he isn't afraid. He just hides it better than she does.

After a moment of consideration, Lumen grabs her bedroll and drags it around to the other side of the fire. The sound of the whetstone abruptly stills as Arnbjorn watches her lay her bedding out beside his. She sits down, wrapping her arms around him without a word. He puts his sword and whetstone aside in favor of pulling her a little closer, even though they are about as close as their armor will allow.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks. "Feverish?"

"Oh, shut up."

They are quiet for a long time, both listening to the sounds of the ruin; howling drafts of wind and the draugr scuttling around in the rooms beyond. But more than that, Lumen is wrapped up in the simple comfort of listening to the gentle cadence of his breathing. Every breath as steady as his heartbeat and his resolve.

"I've been wondering how a Companion becomes an assassin," she says, finally breaking the silence. "You told me once before that your former family found your methods unsettling. Were they always unsettling or did something happen?"

"It's not an interesting story." He shifts into a more comfortable position, resting a hand on her hip. "You've heard about Pelagia Farm in Whiterun? Well, it wasn't always his farm. He purchased the property when the previous owner moved. The man couldn't live there after what happened to his family, and I don't blame him."

"Don't tell me they were eaten by a prepubescent werewolf."

"No," he forces a laugh. "The farmer had come to Jorrvaskr asking for help. Some bandits had overrun his farm and taken his family hostage. They didn't want money. They didn't want anything he could offer. So he came to us. I took the job, I killed the bandits outside, but when I finally got into the farmhouse-" he heaves a sigh. "I was young. Barely past my eighteenth name day and I hadn't quite gained an understanding of just how cruel people could be. That day, I learned."

"So what happened?" she asks, her curiosity piqued.

"I was supposed to bring the bandit leader back alive so the jarl could bring him to justice," he spits the word like it's a vile curse. "But I couldn't. The jarl's justice wasn't enough."

"What did you see?" she asks, although she isn't certain she should. "You don't even get this tense when Cicero tries to feel you up."

He chuffs a laugh at that. "That's only mildly disturbing." He takes a deep, steadying breath before continuing with his story. "The leader had gathered the family in the house. The farmer's wife, a couple farmhands, and the kids. He'd killed them all. I think one of the farmhands was the last to go, the kid had tufts of his own hair in his hands. He must have pulled it out from the sheer terror of watching those people die. I'll never forget the look on his face- what was left of it, anyway."

"So what happened to the bandit?"

"I killed him," he growls. "Slowly. And I did the same to many other bandits after that. That's why my methods were disturbing. I was supposed to bring them in. I was supposed to keep them alive if I could help it. But I tore them apart instead."

She bites her lip. Arnbjorn may shun the idea of locking up a group of helpless victims and torturing them, but Lumen cannot say she feels the same. She's done it before. "So how do you go from killing 'bad guys' to assassinating people?" she asks. "Sometimes we kill people who are, for all intents and purposes, completely innocent."

"I like killing," he says, unashamed. "I enjoy it. I love the rush, the smell of the blood and the palpable fear. But there are some things that I would never do. I wouldn't hurt a kid and I don't particularly enjoy torture. Maybe that makes me a hypocrite, but I don't really care."

"Everyone's a hypocrite." She stretches her legs out in front of her, wincing a bit when she flexes her sore and tired muscles. "Besides, I'm not one to judge. You heard all the lies I had to tell just to get Tullius off my ass. I think the only reason anyone believes I'm innocent is the looming threat of total annihilation. You just wait. Once Alduin is gone, they'll be after me for the death of the Emperor."

"I think Ulfric would be willing to ignore Tullius' accusations if you help him win the war," Arnbjorn says, his fingers combing through her hair. The action is so normal, if Lumen closes her eyes she might be able to pretend they are home. "You did him a favor by killing the Emperor. Surely even he can see that."

"I don't want to help him win the war," she sighs. "I just want to kill this stupid dragon and go home. I just-" Exhaustion has rendered her nerves raw. There is liquid heat behind her eyes, and it takes all her self control to hold in the tears that are so close to falling. She knows the tremor in her voice gives her away, and she can't seem to continue her rant for fear of losing what's left of her self control.

Arnbjorn tightens his grip on her and presses a kiss to the top of her head. He lingers there; breathing in her scent and holding her close in their shared moment of weakness. "It's all right, tidbit," he says, even though they both know it's not. "Don't worry about that now."

"What's the point in putting it off?" She rubs her eyes, angry at how close she came to falling apart. "I'll have to worry about Ulfric at some point, and I'd like to at least be prepared."

"You're overthinking. Just treat him how you treat anyone else who asks you for a favor."

She stares at Arnbjorn in confusion, only to laugh when the thoughts finally click. "You mean I should make him pay me for my loyalty?" she asks. "In favors or in gold? That- that might actually work."

"It might. But first, we have to defeat Alduin. Once that is over, then you will have all the time in the world to worry about Ulfric and the rest."

"Yeah," she agrees half-heartedly. He makes this task sound so easy, it's almost infuriating. As if she's just going to waltz into Sovngarde, beat Alduin, and return home in one piece. Still, there is a part of her that cannot wait to face him, to cause him pain for what he did to Cicero. That dragon almost killed her Keeper, and that is a grievance the Listener cannot ignore.

"Quit sulking," he says. "And get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day."

"I know." She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth before curling up on her bedroll. He settles down beside her, his arm around her waist and his breath upon her neck. "I'm glad you're here. I don't think I could do this alone."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," he murmurs.

Lumen takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, trying to focus on the sound of her own heartbeat, rather than the rattling of the tomb. She misses Cicero, even though they've only been apart for a day. She has grown so used to his constant presence, it feels wrong not to have him with her. But she could not bring him along on what might be a doomed mission. Mother would not forgive her if she lost both her Keeper and her Listener, and Lumen would never forgive herself if something happened to Cicero.

It's better this way. She just hopes he will understand.


Cicero,

If you are reading this, then it means I am (hopefully) stomping Alduin's ass into a paste and you are safe at home. I know you are probably angry with me, and I am likely to get an earful when you see me again. That's okay. If that's the price I have to pay to keep you safe, so be it.

There is a possibility that I will not return. I know you don't want to hear it, but it's the truth. So, on that note, consider this the Listener's final order for her Keeper.

Live for me.

Life is short, but it feels so dreadfully long when you're lonely. Luka cares for you, so do not squander that gift. Mourn if you need to, but do not lose yourself to grief. Move on. The one thing I want more than anything else is for you to be happy. I bet you just rolled your eyes at that, didn't you? I'm not sure how I turned into such a sap, but I'm content to lay the blame on you.

So thank you, my Keeper, for warming my heart. I'm glad to have known you.

Lumen


Cicero reads the letter for the umteenth time, before finally crushing the parchment in his hand and shoving it into his traveling pack. He tugs on Shadowmere's reigns, the daedric horse snorting a complaint before coming to a halt. It is early still. They left Whiterun before dawn because Cicero was eager to be home, but what exactly is he going to do when he gets there? What does the Listener expect him to do? Sit around and twiddle his thumbs while she puts herself in danger?

Fuck that.

"Which way did that dragon fly?" Cicero asks without preamble. "To Eastmarch, yes? That's where he seemed to be going, but Cicero cannot be sure."

"Yes, I believe so," Luka says at length. "What's on your mind?"

"There has to be more than one way to Skuldafn," he says. "Cicero doesn't care what the red dragon told Lumen. There has to be another way. The Velothi mountains are surely dotted with ruins that might lead us there."

"But we have orders-"

"Orders be damned!" he snarls, only to instantly regret it. "Cicero is sorry, sweet Luka. He did not mean to yell." He heaves a sigh. "I do not know what to do. I cannot be expected to remain idle while Lumen throws herself in harm's way. I should be there!"

"I understand. I'm worried about her as well," he says, smiling softly. "Well, I'm in. I can't let you blatantly defy her orders all on your own."

Cicero smirks. "I should hope not."

"All right, so we need passage through the mountains..." Luka bites the inside of his cheek, his brow furrowing as he wracks his brain. "Climbing could take days and may very well be impossible. There is a Dwarven ruin that leads very deep into the mountain, it is said that it might lead all the way through to Morrowind."

"If it leads to Morrowind then it might take us close to Skuldafn! There might be a passage that leads there! The Dwemer explored everything! Nothing was unknown to them! It stands to reason that they made it there, too!"

"Well it's certainly worth a try," he says with a grin. "It's better than moping around the Sanctuary, at any rate."

"Right, so-" Cicero tugs on Shadowmere's reigns, wheeling him around to change directions before setting off down the road which will lead them to Eastmarch. "Where exactly is this ruin?"

"I think it's just north of Riften. One of the entrances is right there on the road. We can't miss it." Luka kicks his horse into a trot. "It's called Mzulft. The College of Winterhold sent a few mages to excavate it quite some time ago. It was during my first year at the college, so I wasn't invited to go, but I remember hearing them talk about it. Many claimed one of the blocked corridors led to a place of power. It's possible that it leads to Skuldafn."

"Sweet Lumen is going to be so angry when she finds out there was an easier way of getting to Skuldafn," Cicero laughs. "If we'd only known about this sooner! She could have skipped all the trouble with the peace conference and the dragon catching."

"It is only a theory, Cicero," he warns him. "I did not consider Mzulft until today, and it may not lead us anywhere."

"I know," he says, glancing at Luka and offering him a smile. "Thank you, by the way."

"For what? I haven't done anything yet."

"For telling me," Cicero says quietly. "You could have kept this to yourself and your life would have been easier for it, but instead you chose to share it. That being said, Cicero understands if you do not wish to go on a wild skeever chase with him."

"What? And miss all the fun? Perish the thought!" Luka smiles warmly at him. "Look, we ought to stop by Riften first to get some supplies. I have a friend there. He's a sellsword, and it's possible that he knows about the ruin. He might be able to help us. Er, for a fee. Marcurio won't do a damn thing unless there's a guarantee he'll make some coin."

"Fair enough," Cicero says, kicking Shadowmere into a full gallop. If they keep a good pace they will reach Riften by nightfall, and with any luck, he'll be fighting beside Lumen in a day or two.


Notes: Sorry it took me so long to update! I hope everyone is still with me! :)

I had actually planned for Cicero and Luka to go on a different sort of adventure, but Cicero was so damn insistent on finding Lumen, I just had to rewrite the entire arc lol. He does this to me a lot. Cicero does what he wants, I guess.

Apparently there is a doorway to Mzulft from Skuldafn in ESO. I've not played ESO, so I can't tell you exactly where it's located, but that little bit of information gave me all that I needed to give Luka and Cicero a glimmer of hope.

I hope you guys don't mind the lack of action. There's only so many ways I can write "Lumen stabs a draugr" and make it interesting, so I focused on the character interactions instead.

Arnbjorn's bandit story is a nod to the Hinterkaifeck murders. It's an interesting read if you like crime mysteries. But if you do a search for it, just be mindful that the images that come up are pretty graphic.