Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): none

A/N: Ah, Corona, I wish I didn't have it because my thesis-related deadlines still count even though I don't have access to the library and thus my sources because of that shitty virus. #stress

Last time… I'm flying. And on my way to Alduin. It takes a while for that thought to process. Hmm… Fuck.

Revised: 20-3-2020

Replaced "Sovengarde" with "Sovngarde"

Chapter 70 – Victory or Sovngarde

The evening skies are dry and cloudless above Skuldafn. Odahviing lands gracefully, and I try to dislodge my frozen fingers with at least half that attitude of seeming effortless. I feel… competitive. Towards Odahviing. We didn't talk a lot during the trip. But now, standing here in front of him, facing him, the debate we had on Whiterun's great porch was… fun. In a strange, deadly way. Not playful, not by draconic or any other standards. A challenge, a rivalry, if one could call it that. I smile at the red dragon and straighten my bracers.

"Thank you, Odahviing."

He grumbles, but stays subdued, eyeing the ruins behind me. "This is as far as I can take you, Ysmir." A jolt runs through me at the deliberate address. As close to a sign of respect I'll ever get from a- from another dragon, no doubt. "Krif Voth Ahkrin. I will be waiting for your return… Or Alduin's." His lips bare into a snarl, and I back away as he flies off.

Slowly, I turn around.

Crumbling archways and tattered banners greet me, stubbornly holding themselves together. The banners, the reddish-brown color of long-dried blood, depict dragon priests. Huh. I'd expected Alduin's face. Behind the bridge that leads to it, Skuldafn rises high over the small valley it is sequestered in, somehow making the surrounding mountain peaks look pale in comparison.

It must have been a true architectural marvel, back in its glory days. Looking at the size of it, and the location, I'd even say it still is.

Towering spires cast dark shadows across the traditional ancient Nordic stonework, statues gazing down solemnly onto the scene. I look back down at the path ahead of me and draw my axes, glass gleaming menacingly in the slowly sinking sun. Now is not the time to get distracted. Let's see… Skuldafn has a portal to Sovngarde. I quickly glance at the highest parts of the ruin. I doubt it'll be kept in the basement.

A dragon swoops down from somewhere over the mountaintops, maw already ablaze with heat as it descends and demands I die painfully for daring to set foot in Skuldafn, or something. The exact translation isn't my concern when the undead archer on the other side of the bridge joins in.

You know the world is close to being destroyed when the natural order no longer makes sense. The damn dragon goes down faster than the sole archer.

I grit my teeth and glower at the incoming draughr death lords when I finally bury an axe in the bastard's neck. I shiver at their unnatural blue eyes.

I don't get how Marcurio does it. Or Lydia, or anyone, really. They can just draw their weapons, ready their spells, and charge right in without any more fear than they'd have facing a living enemy.

Swallowing thickly and breathing in, I steel myself for what is no doubt going to be an entire ruin full of the overpowered draughr. Terrifying, unnatural freaks that haunt me in my sleep. At least killing them – temporarily or not – allows the fists clenching around my heart and throat to loosen their grip on me. I hate draughr. Hate. Draughr.

And every single horse ever except for Shadowmere, she doesn't count.

There's a courtyard with a smaller building that I resolutely ignore. I can't come back here later but no treasure is worth delaying this mission even more. Mission. Quest. Gods-appointed job. Whatever. I've lost my time to linger. Lost my time to lounge about and wait. I have to be ready now, cannot falter, cannot freeze in fear like an elk in Magelight. No matter how many of these fucking draughr Shout Unrelenting Force at me. Their blows make me stumble, and there are a few near-misses on the many, many inconsiderately uneven stairs, but I manage to stay on my feet.

I don't kill every draughr. Being chased by five of them at once really makes one thankful for sprinting skills and the stamina build up from walking everywhere, all the time, every day.

The inside of Skuldafn is much the same as any other Nordic ruin. If with larger dizzying passageways and more puzzles that any three-year-old Dwemer toddler with functional eyes could work out. I stick to my strategy – run, unless there's no options. If there's no options, thank Sithis for my Dark Brotherhood training and sneakily assassinate as many of the bastards as possible before they notice me. Gods, I wish I had backup. These are a lot of enemies to handle all alone…

…But other than a long scratch from my ring finger across the back of my hand I come out of the other side… remarkably unscathed. Down a few healing potions, but largely unscathed, nonetheless.

I'd seen some ebony axes, and while tempting, I am not in a situation where I can properly sharpen them. Even ebony becomes dull after thousands of years. I also found my second Word of the 'Call Storm' Shout.

Strun Bah. Storm Wrath. Fitting for what it does, but incredibly draining. The Shout leaves me with an impression of it when I use it – Call Storm has me feeling like there's an actual thunderstorm going on inside my body. Electric shocks that have me spasm and wetness clinging to my mouth and throat no matter how often I clear it. It's a wildcard… with heavy repercussions. Why couldn't it have been another word of Elemental Fury? Damnit! Now I'm annoyed.

The rest of Skuldafn passes in a bloodthirsty haze. Turns out that even while fighting with an audience of two dragons that make me exceedingly nervous without any effort on their parts, the Dragon Priest Nakriin… Is a little bitch.

"Seriously?" I can't help but ask out loud when the lich dissolves into ash and I'm barely out of breath. "I mean. Seriously?" I grab the foul creature's mask and staff from the miserable heap of cloth and dust it's turned into. I frown at the strange markings on the staff, but nevertheless take a moment to roll my eyes at this particular priest.

"I can't believe you were the one to stand guard here. Was it the dragon priest equivalent of being on graveyard shift? No people around to convert or terrorize except the ones already here? Gods, the nerve of some dragons, right? Why couldn't you have been stationed at the High Gate ruins? Now that place was a nightmare. And not because of Anska, mind. She was a pleasure to work with. Alright." I pause. Cast my eyes skywards at the stars peeking out.

"Alright. Aye. I'm talking to a dead body to procrastinate now. If I turn into another Cicero - though I love my brother - Sithis smite me now."

Nothing happens. I fasten my axes back onto my belt and hold Nahkriin's staff firmly. It's clearly enchanted, but feels different from any Dwemer or Nordic enchantments I've come across in my lifetime as Forgemaster.

Forgemaster. What a joke. Doom-driven hero, at best. Maybe I can retire after this? Build a house near Morthal with Marcurio, settle in, settle down…

I take a deep breath to ground myself in the moment as I stand in front of the seal on the ground.

Dreams for a later time. For when I survive this. IF I survive this.

Taking a guess, I place the end of the staff into the circular hole on the platform. I immediately let go of it with a wince. The staff burns and crackles with magic and thunder, white-hot and vibrating in place. Am I – Shit, did I do something wrong?

In front of me, the ground collapses in on itself, rocks floating like pieces of driftwood on the waves, vibrant energy rushing out and up in a swirling vortex of light, warm air caressing my face and tugging at my hair. It's stunning. It's magnificent. It's pure, undiluted Aetherial energy reaching for the night sky, reaching for –

Sovngarde.

I look back at the world behind me. All too keenly, I'm aware that this might be the last time I ever see it. The dragons stay docile, content to watch me. I look at them, drink them in, as I drink in the surroundings – the crisp mountain air, carrying mountain flowers on the breeze. The ruins, magnificent even in the evil they represent. The pine trees and the snow-tipped mountains, the rough natural stone and the rushing of meltwater. The warmth at my back from the portal, comforting yet alien.

My hands tremble before I steady them. I stare at the swirling tornado of light, the active portal to a different realm right in front of me.

This is it.

Please, let me not be too late.

I take a breath.

In.

Out.

Brace.

Jump.

The light rushes up to meet me, carries my weight, and lifts me up in a breathless moment. I flinch and close my eyes.

When I open them again, it's to the sound of chanting. Many voices, deep and booming. They're singing, a battle hymn, though I've never heard it before I feel it resonate all the way down to my bones. Surprisingly, I'm not tired. Not even a little fatigued, despite Whiterun and Odahviing and Skuldafn. Perhaps it's the magic of this place. Perhaps some friendly help, or something far more sinister.

Did going to Sovngarde mean… I died?

Am I already dead?

Is that why I'm not tired? Or sore? Or hurt anywhere at all even though I was sure my hand would scar?

I swallow thickly and shake my head as if to dislodge the thought. It doesn't matter. It does. All that matters now is that I defeat Alduin. And that I get to go home.

To Marcurio. I repeat it under my breath in prayer to any gods that might be listening to make it real. Let me go home after this. Let me go to him. A shaky sigh escapes me, and I finally take a moment to look around.

The ground here is strange – stone veined with some blue, crystal-like material. There's a strong wind stirring the bushes and the flowers without ever dislodging a single leaf, pushing against my back in a silent urging to make me move. There's snow-covered rocks, and ice, and a great amount of mammoth parts and other bones.

The sky is a sight I'll never forget. I stop in the middle of the path just to stare at it, mouth agape, mesmerized.

It looks…

It's like a…

It's impossible to describe with any words that can do it justice, I decide. Clouds curving and twisting slowly, endlessly high, around what looks like a star if it was so much closer. A glimpse of Aetherius itself, bathing this entire realm in an unearthly light. A dewdrop on a nearby flower reflects an entire kaleidoscope.

It makes me angry. Angry at Alduin, for daring to disturb the peace of this place. It might have nothing to do with my personal religion, but to violate a sacred place such as this… If I hadn't realized the true nature of Alduin before this, I would have realized now. I don't draw my weapons as I advance, past large stone statues of old men that bow their heads down to me solemnly, the chanting not once letting up until I leave them behind, eyeing the thick mists that cover the entire valley before me.

It's almost over. I remind myself. It's almost over, but I don't want him to get the jump on me, first. The Hall of Valor is full of the most powerful and deserving warriors in Skyrim's history, isn't it? Maybe I can ask some of them for help. Sithis, I hope they're willing to help. I don't want to face Alduin alone. I can't even imagine it. "Doom-driven" indeed!

I descend into the valley with a scowl at the dark-winged figure that flies across the mist briefly before ducking back beneath its cover.

I need to sneak past him.

Good thing Nazir doesn't allow slackers in the Brotherhood.

But before I can set my plan into motion, a Stormcloak soldier comes running out of the mists towards me, panting and wide-eyed. When he sees me, he manages to calm himself enough to speak.

"Turn back, traveler." Grave and solemn, he sinks down onto a nearby rock to catch his breath. He frowns at the mist. "Terror waits within this mist." The soldier's voice shakes. "Many have braved the shadowed veil, but vain is all courage against the terror that guards the way!"

I glance at the mist, then back at the Stormcloak. "Aye. Thank you for the warning, friend. But to bring that terror to heel is exactly why I am here."

"What?" The Nord balks, jumping up. "You cannot be-"

"Dovahkiin." I cut him off sharply. "I am here to kill Alduin. And I can assure you, I am perfectly serious." The man sits back down.

"Wait here." I tell him, firm and gentle this time. "Wait, and when the veil has been lifted and Alduin's death cry echoes across the valley, you can make your way across safely."

"I… Thank you, Dragonborn. I… I will do that."

He watches me go. I don't look back.

There are others in the mist. Faces unfamiliar, and faces familiar. Savos Aren. Imperial and Stormcloak soldiers. The late Harbinger of the Companions. Galmar Stone-Fist is a surprise, but none of them see me as I pass them by on silent feet, no more solid than the wind.

Alduin is… I don't know what he's doing. But he hasn't come to the side of the valley I chose to go down, and I reach the whale-bone bridge without being eaten on the way.

The bridge is gigantic. I'm kind of scared by the size of the pelvic bone alone. The man standing in front of the bridge is a giant, but even he is dwarfed by the ancient dead creature's remains looming over him. Beyond the bridge, I see the Hall of Valor.

I take a long, hard look at the guy blocking my way. Who the fuck is he supposed to be?

He's… really tall. Not intimidating per se, most people in fancy loincloths that attacked me over the past year were lowlife bandits. But tall. I'm already… vertically challenged, myself. The top of my head reaches Marcurio's shoulder. The top of my head in comparison to this guy is somewhere near his Sithis-damned belly button. Ugh.

"What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?"

I cross my arms and scowl. "Have you, or have you not, noticed the creepy mist and massive black dragon harvesting the souls of the honored dead?"

The giant's face, already grim, sours further. "I have lain eyes upon the beast that brings terror to this valley, indeed."

"Good." I give him my most charming smile. "Then I'll have you know I didn't wander anywhere. I came here with a purpose. The express purpose of getting rid of Alduin. But in order to do that, I need to get into the Hall of Valor to ask if anyone there is willing to come along for the fight. I don't know who you are, really, or why you're blocking the bridge. But could you please step aside? It's rather urgent."

Please get out of my way I want to get on with it.

I wince as my mind conjures up an image of Ondolemar lecturing me for my impatience. Crap.

The giant Nord is still looking down at me. Well, he hardly has a choice, bastard can't exactly look UP at me now, can he?

"A worthy errand. I know some who have chafed to face the World-Eater since he first set his soul-snare on Sovngarde. You seek entrance into the Hall of Valor?" He asks, and I nod.

"Aye, I seek entrance."

"By what right do you request entry?"

By the right of not shoving your thorax through the entirety of your digestive tract for putting me through a conversation when I'm this high-strung.

"I…" Honestly, what right do I have to enter the Hall of Valor? "…I am Dragonborn?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Is that a question, wayfarer, or an answer?"

I straighten up and jut out my chin, planting my feet firmly on the ground. "I am Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr. I am Dragonborn. The Greybeards and the Dov named me Ysmir. I request entry by right of being such."

The sour expression lightens up and the giant man grins knowingly. "Ah!" He sounds genuinely delighted, and it's impossible for me to stay frustrated at him.

"It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood. I do not doubt your power matches theirs, though longer still has it been since I faced one as slight as you." The lines around his eyes laugh, but considering our height difference, I can't even feel slighted.

I wait for a few seconds, but no other words are forthcoming. "…So I may enter?" I ask hesitantly, tilting my head in question.

The giant shakes his head and crosses his arms, but he still seems more amused than anything. "Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'till I judge them worthy by the warrior's test."

He draws his battle-axe. "Wait, fuck, I have to fight you? I don't even know your name!"

The giant brings his weapon down and I dance out of the way of the swing. "I am Tsun, Shield-Thane of Shor!"

"I see." I do not, in fact, see.

But if he wants me to beat him up, who am I to gainsay him?

It only takes a few minutes for the giant – for Tsun – to sink to one knee. And the next thing I know, I'm crossing the most heart-attack inducing, terrifying bridge in any realm that exists no doubt and standing in front of a massive door.

I lean my head against the strange metal it is wrought from, close my eyes and take a moment to just breathe.

I've made it this far.

I can't turn back.

It's almost time.

Here goes everything. The door opens, and I walk into the Hall of Valor.

A/N: Bit of a rushed chapter, maybe. I wrote it in one sitting and it's way past midnight right now. Lol.