Qassanda's eyes opened. She felt light, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She was robed in white, and surrounded by green. Some sort of sky above her was a light shade of blue, and she saw rolling hills smothered in lush grass and tall, healthy trees, and rivers of the purest, most clear water she had ever seen. A voice called to her.

"Qass? Qassanda, is that you?"

Qassanda turned to see a man she recognised, deep in the depths of her mind. His sagebrush green eyes were identical to hers, but the fashionable mess of black hair atop his head caused her to fail in recognising him.

Suddenly Qassanda knew, as if her mind had finally awoken.

"Pa!" she yelled, leaping into the man's strong arms and squeezing tightly. She looked around excitedly and her brow furrowed.

"Where's ma?"

Her pa smiled sadly and gestured her after him.

"Here, there's someone I want you to meet."

Qassanda followed him eagerly, and she could see the familial similarities between them, his jaw and nose were the same shape as Brynjolf's, while the green eyes which ran throughout the family line shared the shape of both of his children.

They wandered through the hills for some time. In spite of the beautiful weather and healthy flora, the world was devoid of life aside from herself and her father.

The pair came to a woman who sat beside a beautiful bubbling stream. She looked over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow, ear twitching a little. Qassanda's father explained.

"Sivaas knows more about this place than any other here," he said. Sivaas stood fluidly, and Qassanda felt like a giant with how clumsy her movements were in comparison.

Sivaas extended a clawed hand, and Qassanda shook it. The trained assassin was, quite honestly, as beautiful and graceful as Mara herself.

"I don't think anyone really knows where we are, or why we're here. I only know that those who carry the strongest Ainmhi blood will end up here once they die," the Ainmhi explained. Qassanda looked around.

"But…I worship the nine divines! I should be in Sovengarde, or at least the Deadlands!" she cried. Sivaas shook her head.

"It doesn't matter who you devote your worship to, those of the Ainmhi blood end up here."

Qassanda hugged herself. So she would never see Ulfric again? Would Brynjolf end up there as well? Too many questions were running through her mind, and she couldn't even put most of them into words. Sivaas gestured to a log Qassanda could sit on.

"Sit down, you're probably in shock."

"How can you be so calm?" Qassanda hissed accusingly. Sivaas remained infuriatingly calm.

"I have had two hundred years to accept the unchangeable," she murmured. Qassanda rested her elbows on her knees and hunched over, feeling her father stroke her back comfortingly.

Qassanda suddenly heard another voice and saw another familiar face.

"You're the Dragonborn, aren't you?" Zohun asked. Qassanda looked up at the Ainmhi man, he seemed understanding of her problem, closing his slitted eyes as his tail swished.

"I know how you feel, Qassanda…I haven't seen my wife in hundreds of years…" he sighed. Qassanda bit her lip to avoid tears and stared at Zohun.

"Will I ever see Ulfric again?"

He shook his head, eyes downcast. Qassanda finally let the tears enter her eyes and run down her cheeks.

"What about Yolah?" she whispered, her voice breaking on 'about'. Her father drew her into a hug as Zohun shook his head and she began to sob in earnest. A moment passed before her mind made a vital connection and she pushed away from her father and grabbed at her own hair in worry.

"Oh, gods no! I'm dead! I'm dead! Tamriel is doomed! Nirn is doomed! Alduin has won!" she cried, tears streaming down her face as she paced. Sivaas grabbed her shoulder with shocking strength and slammed her back against a tree.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, "speak, human!"

Qassanda's father pulled Sivaas away roughly, protecting his daughter instinctively. He then turned to the redhead and drew her into his arms to help comfort her.

"Tell me, Qass. What do you mean, Nirn is doomed?" he asked kindly. Qassanda shook her head from side to side.

"Pa, I didn't kill Alduin. I'm the Dragonborn! I needed to kill Alduin, to save Nirn, but I failed! I died before I stopped him!"

Qassanda's father froze and stared at Sivaas in worry. The Ainmhi woman instead watched Qassanda's distraught face, and suddenly everything froze. Qassanda couldn't move, gold tinged her vision and a voice filled her ears.

"You have been taken from Nirn too early, child. I have come to take you back, as is the wish of Arkay."

Qassanda's vision filled with the image of a man reaching out to her, offering his hand. A handsome Breton, garbed in armour fashioned out of steel into strong, sharp shapes and a dark grey cloak which spilled over his shoulders like liquid. His sharp jaw homed a short brown beard, and intelligent blue eyes watched her steadily.

"Come back to the world of mortals," he said in his deep, comforting voice, "you have been offered a second chance in life."

Qassanda reached out and touched the gauntlet which radiated warmth from within and she knew that this was no man. Or more, it was once a man, who was now among Aedra. The very man who Qassanda fought for.

His grip was strong, yet gentle, and Qassanda spotted a smile upon the Breton's lips, as she felt him pull her backwards with him, and suddenly the gold light became so bright Qassanda squeezed her eyes shut.

Qassanda could no longer feel Talos' grip upon her hand, and the gold became black.

It had almost been a full week since she had fallen asleep. She hadn't woken since, and with no way to give her food or water, Ulfric feared that she would die before she awoke…if she awoke at all.

The metal door swung open and in stormed a familiar man, tearing off his hood and cowl in utter rage.

"Gods, what have you done to her?" he whispered, sitting on the bed at his sister's side. Ulfric couldn't say anything as he absentmindedly reached out to stroke Qassanda's hair and Brynjolf simply watched his twin's peaceful face.

"Can't you get her to wake up?" the red headed man finally said, breaking the silence. Ulfric's voice was quiet in his response.

"I'm a Jarl, not a Divine."

After deathly silence, Ulfric stood and left the room. If he had his way, he would have stayed with Qassanda forever, but a Jarl had duties, and with the recent victory of the Stormcloaks, more work arose than he could deal with.

He wanted to be with Qassanda through this coma she slept through, whether it ended in her eyes finally opening again, or her heart ceasing to beat.