Hey. So there's, like seven chapters left at this point, which means I'm gonna post twice a week, on Tuesdays and Thursdays (America time), and once on a mystery Sunday (America time) that I haven't decided yet, so keep an eye out.

Also, this chapter has a companion chapter over in A Collection of Stories, so if you haven't checked that out, and want to know more, I'd suggest heading there.

That's all from me. See you again Thursday.

Mumbling to herself about Markarth and Forsworn and sabrecats, Cry made her way down the stone road through the hilly Reach of Skyrim, doing her best to keep from tripping over every bump in the path.

She was returning to Sky Haven Temple, per Delphine's request, to talk about Paarthurnax's punishments, which she was sure was a euphemism for death. She needed to tell the Blades that she had no intention of killing the dragon that had once fought on the side of the enemy, but was now the very opposite of what a dragon should be. She'd had only one conversation with him, but she'd gathered what she needed to know from it. Paarthurnax was not a danger; he had worked hard to separate himself from a dragon's normal way of living.

He did not deserve to die, and she was going to make Delphine and Esbern see reason, despite knowing that she needed to return to Whiterun as soon as she could, to capture a dragon that would tell her where Alduin had gone.

If she was being honest with herself, she would have admitted to going to see the Blades before capturing the dragon because she was terrified by the idea of capturing the dragon.

So, there she was, the mighty Dragonborn, shuffling along the road at the speed of a horker because of the fading light, so she wouldn't needlessly injure herself. What a brave, desirable sight she must have made just then.

Cry stepped around another rock in her way, grunting as she did so. How many stray boulders could there possibly be on one road?

A sound to the right of her made her freeze, her internal cursing silencing. She strained her ears, waiting for the noise again, or at least another noise that would signify she had heard something.

Instead of hearing a noise, the Dragonborn was knocked to the ground by a flash of magefire.

Cry let out a panicked yelp as she hit the hard stones, and she reached over and cupped her burnt right shoulder with her left hand in order to protect it from further damage. She then rolled to the left, barely avoiding yet another flash of fire that was sent in her direction.

Scrambling to her feet, Cry didn't even bother trying to see what was attacking her. She raced away from the assailant, running as fast as her legs could take her down the road, huffing and puffing. Her arm felt like it was still on fire, and, as she ducked behind a huge rock on the side of the road, she removed her fingers from the burn to inspect the damage.

Her entire right shoulder was burnt black. Red lacerations covered it as well, places where the fire had gone straight through her skin. To top it all, it hurt.

"Divines," Cry muttered, and then froze when she heard the same noise as before come from the other side of the rock she was hidden behind. Before, she hadn't been able to discern the sound, her other thoughts having taken precedent over recognition. Now, however, she realized she knew exactly what the sound was, and it sent a chill through her entire body, even into her burnt shoulder.

Hagraven.

She'd only fought the evil, witch-creatures once, and it was not a fight she liked to remember. She'd sustained more than one injury from the battle, including a burn similar to the one now on her shoulder, and she was not looking forward to receiving more.

The sound came again, and Cry stiffened, leaning back against the rock, her left hand returning to her shoulder. Her mind whirred, trying to make sense of the situation and come up with a solution at the same time, which it did, in a matter of two seconds.

Cry had only one choice if she wanted to get away, and ensure the Hagraven didn't follow her.

Inhaling, Cry prepared herself, and then stepped out from behind the rock. The Hagraven was skulking only two feet away, and she let out a croaking yell when she saw Cry.

Fire burned in the Dragonborn's chest as fire burned on the tips of the Hagraven's gnarled fingers.

"Yol!"

A burst of flame blew out of Cry's mouth and hit the witch. The Hagraven screeched as she flew backwards into a tree on the side of the road. Cry wasted no time in turning tail and running away as fast as she could up the road, leaving the burning Hagraven behind her.

Cry ran until she could run no longer. She slowly came to a stop, and leaned over, her breathing irregular. She struggled to get it back, straightening up and inhaling the night air as deeply as she could. Her shoulder was stinging like no other, and Cry knew she needed to get a health potion into her system to help heal it. It probably didn't help, either, that she'd only two days before recovered from dislocating the very same shoulder.

She crouched down in the center of the road, gently reaching up to pull her pack off of her shoulders. She rooted around in it for a moment with her left hand, and quickly found a bottle. She was pulling it out when she was suddenly kicked from behind, and sent into a puddle on the road a few inches away from her bag.

The Dragonborn let out a groan; she'd landed on her injured shoulder. She'd heard her greatsword clatter to the stones somewhere nearby, and she did her best to glance around for it before she was kicked at again, this time held to the road so that she couldn't move. A sharp stab struck her side, and she let out a pain-wracked scream at the sensation.

"This is Forsworn territory," a gruff voice told her, as the stabbing happened again, only in reverse. Cry blinked blurry, tear-filled eyes, and watched the boots of a Briarheart as he stalked away from her down the road.

She had been left for dead.

The realization of this caused a strange bubble of amused hysteria to rise in her chest, and, if she hadn't been in so much pain, she probably would have laughed.

Cry decided that she needed to at least get out of the middle of the road. When she tried to move, even the slightest, however, she found that she was incapable.

I can't move.

Instead of amused hysteria, this time it was only hysteria. Cry started to panic.

No, no, I can't die. I haven't fulfilled my destiny yet. I must kill Alduin.

She could feel a warm liquid pooling beneath her side, where the stabbing sensation had been the worst. The Briarheart must have sent his weapon straight through her.

Cry was going to die.

She struggled to turn her head to the side, so that her face wasn't pressed directly into the stone road. If she was going to die, without having fulfilled her destiny, she could at least do it in a more comfortable position.

How comfortable could she get, though, really? With a burnt shoulder and an injury that was going to lead to her bleeding out, was comfort really a thing she could experience just then?

Frustration mingled with disappointment as she realized just how she'd gotten to this position. She had been so worried about getting her barely injured shoulder healed that she'd been snuck up on.

Vilkas would be furious. So would Aela. Farkas would shake his head, and Skjor would've insulted her, calling her an 'insolent whelp', or something similar.

She missed Skjor. And Kodlak. She missed the Companions. She wished they were there with her, although, at the same time, she didn't, because she knew they'd only be upset with what she'd done.

Some Harbinger/Dragonborn she was, killed off by a Hagraven and a Briarheart in the middle of the Reach. She had a feeling that any songs sung about her would only be tunes about her pitiful death, and not of her great feats.

Not that there were many.

It's poetic, actually. Death by the very people you were trying to escape from only ten years ago.

She managed a chortle. So much for revenge on the Reachmen for what they'd done to her parents.

She could hear the rushing waters of the river nearby that ran from the bottom of the Reach to the top. She had fond memories of that river, skipping stones across it as a child when her parents would take her and her sister on trips into Markarth. The city had been nicer then, less dirty and corrupt.

Cry focused on the sounds of the river, finding herself humming along with it. It did resemble music, in a way. She wondered if a bard had ever attempted to do that, to write a song that mimicked the sound of water. If she decided not to die in the middle of the road, she'd have to see about it.

Her eyes had closed, but she only realized it when she opened them again. It was only possible to do so for a moment or two, before they drooped and had to shut once more.

Can I really be bleeding out that quickly? she thought in amazement. The Gods really do want me to die, don't they?

She chose to laugh at this thought, and she coughed immediately afterwards. The kicks that the Briarheart had hit her with must have broken a rib or two.

The pool of blood, which had been progressively getting bigger and stickier, had spread out beyond her side and was thickening beneath her belly and near her thighs. Cry could feel it, and was slightly disgusted. Her armor was going to be ruined.

Is that really all you can think about? Your armor?

The dry thought-question reminded her of Skjor, and Cry once again felt sad.

Her eyes drifted shut again, and this time, stayed shut. She found herself wandering her mind, and she came face to face with the dragon inside of her. The beast was asleep, smoke billowing out of its nostrils with every breath it took. Cry reached out and pressed a hand to its dark red scales, which were warm to the touch.

I'm sorry, she apologized to it. I've failed. The gift you gave me will never be used again.

The dragon didn't even stir. Cry wondered for a moment of it was a metaphor for her body's own position and state.

She decided that the dragon looked a lot more peaceful than she felt.

That was a lie, though. She did feel oddly calm, despite knowing her situation was dire. Unable to move meant she couldn't crawl to her bag and get a potion. No potion meant no healing, and nonhealing meant death.

Cry was basically already dead, if she thought all the way through it.

In her head, the dragon had disappeared and her mind was now a division between darkness and light. She found herself walking the edge of it, listening as the light whispered sweet words to her, humming the same song as the river near where she physically lay. It was a beautiful song, a silent song, and Cry followed down the division line, listening.

She was at peace.

"Cry," a voice within the light said. She stopped walking and turned to face it, feeling as though she knew the voice.

Indeed, Kodlak stepped out of the light, pausing just before he reached her. Cry grinned when she saw him.

"You made it," she said.

"I did," the old Harbinger responded, returning the smile. "Thanks to you, of course."

"How's everything on the other side?" Cry asked him. "Is Shor's Hall as beautiful as they say?"

Kodlak's smile disappeared. "I have not been to Shor's Hall," he told her.

"What? Why?" Cry demanded.

"Sovngarde is shrouded in mist," Kodlak explained. "I cannot see through it. You must leave this place, Dragonborn."

"But, Kodlak, if I come with you, we can find our way through the mist together," Cry insisted, finding she had no desire to do as Kodlak suggested. "We'll help one another reach Shor's Hall."

Kodlak merely shook his head. "You must return to the world of the living, Cry. The Companions need you, as does Skyrim, and all of Tamriel. Only you can help them." He smiled again. "Someday, we will feast together in Shor's Hall, but for now, you must leave."

Cry knew he was right. She had a task to complete. Still…

"What about you?"

"I'll find my way soon enough," Kodlak promised. "After all, if I had already been there, I wouldn't have been able to come talk to you, and to send for help for you."

Cry frowned. "Send for help? What do you mean?"

Kodlak simply shook his head. "You'll find out on your own when you return," he told her. "Go now, Cry, before you lose your chance."

"All right," she sighed. "I'll go." She blinked. "How?"

As a response, light gleamed from the darker side of the divide, and she turned around to face it. Almost at once, she was enveloped by it, and the divide disappeared.

Cry's eyes opened.

She was immediately aware that she was laying somewhere soft.

At first, she couldn't understand how, considering she'd been dying on the road to Markarth what felt like three minutes prior. After a few seconds, she registered that someone must've found her, stopped her from dying, and then brought her to the soft place. Whoever it had been, she didn't know, but she was grateful.

Another minute passed, during which she registered the smell of a burning candle, and something else she recognized, something that reminded her of home. She forced her eyes to open, and discovered she was laying in her bed in Jorrvaskr. The candle she'd smelt sat on the bedside table, and the source of the other smell she'd locked onto was asleep in a chair next to the bed.

Cry's expression softened as she took Vilkas in. She'd seen him rather recently, but she'd missed him an awful lot. She briefly wondered if that was what love was; missing someone even when you'd seen them hours before. Obviously, she hadn't seen Vilkas hours before, but she imagined it was the same basic principle.

She watched him for a moment, wanting him to awaken but also wanting him to get some sleep, especially if he'd been up for hours tending to her and her injuries. Although she was in pain, and desperately needed a potion, she wanted him to get some more rest.

She glanced at the other bedside table, and was relieved to find a potion sitting there. Carefully, she started to reach for it, but almost immediately her injury flared up in anger, and she let out a noise, shocked by how badly it hurt.

Her sound woke Vilkas, whose chair legs hit the floor hard as he started. He rubbed at his eyes, and then looked over at her. Seeing what she was trying to do, he sighed and stood, walking around the bed to retrieve the potion for her. Once she had it in her hand, he leaned back and watched her drink it. Cry did her best not to look guilty as she did so.

All the same, his narrowed eyes eventually got to her. She smacked her hand down on the bed. "I was snuck up on!" Her injury complained, again, despite the potion she had just taken, and Vilkas shook his head at her.

"I don't want to hear it," he said. "What I want is for you to heal, all right?"

Relieved by his lack of anger, Cry blinked up at him, gratefully. She realized she had relaxed too soon, however, when Vilkas let out a huff of air, unable to hide his frustration for even longer than a minute.

"I feared something like this would happen," he began.

"Divines," Cry sighed, closing her eyes to wait for the rage to pass.

"I did!" Vilkas said, his voice rising. "I talked about it, at length, and you wouldn't hear any of it. "Oh, I've been on my own plenty of times, Vilkas. I'll be perfectly safe, Vilkas. Nothing is going to happen to me, Vilkas!"" He spat his name out, and Cry's own temper flared.

She opened her eyes and glared up at him. "Listen -"

"No, you listen!" Vilkas interrupted, and Cry's mouth snapped shut. "You were practically dead! Aela and I found you lying in a pool of your own blood! You were the same color as snow! I -" He cut off suddenly, and pressed a hand to his eyes. Cry refused to speak, however, and waited for him to continue.

He did so, after a moment, and a shaky inhalation of air. His hand lowered, and his head bowed. When he spoke, his voice was soft, broken: "When I saw you like that… you tore my guts out, Cry."

Cry's anger immediately faded, and she suddenly, very desperately, wanted to get up and go to him, but she couldn't. Instead, she held her hand out to him. Vilkas, seeing this, settled down on the edge of the bed, and Cry reached for him. She was able to touch one of his shoulders, enough to turn him in her direction.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "Vilkas." He didn't look at her, and she cupped one of his cheeks in her hand. "Forgive me."

Vilkas lifted his gaze, and after a moment of searching her eyes, he managed a weak smile. "Forgiven," he said, softly. "I'm… I'm sorry, too. I said more than I meant." He glanced downwards again. "Will you forgive me, too?"

Cry smiled at him. "Forgiven," she murmured, and Vilkas wrapped a gentle arm around her in order to pull her against his chest. His hand drifted to her hair, and he stroked it, hiding his face against the top of her head. They sat like that for a few minutes, the fight that they'd had suddenly unimportant, to either of them.

Cry had closed her eyes, and her brows drew together as she remembered her dream. "I had thought that…" She trailed off, and then exhaled. "Never mind."

"What is it?" Vilkas asked her, allowing her to pull away, slightly, and she lifted her gaze to his.

"I… I think I did die," she said, softly. "Kodlak sent me back."

Vilkas frowned at her. "When Aela and I found you, you had bandages on your wounds," he said, slowly. "We'd assumed that you managed to do that yourself, and then fainted from blood loss."

Cry shook her head. "I gave up," she said, suddenly feeling ashamed. "After the Briarheart stabbed me, I was sure I was done for. It definitely felt like I was done for, anyway. So I didn't even bother trying to bandage my wounds, or taking a potion, because… it seemed useless."

That clearly bothered Vilkas, going by the way he shifted, but she didn't say anything else. After a moment, he said, "Well, someone saved your life. We probably won't ever know who it was, but… they did. So, clearly, you're meant to be here."

That gave Cry cause to smile, but then she frowned almost immediately, remembering what task awaited her next. Vilkas noticed this, and he nudged her.

"Cry? What is it?"

"I have to capture a dragon at Dragonsreach."

"Sorry?" Vilkas questioned after a brief moment of stunned silence, and Cry let out a breath.

"You heard me." She met his gaze. "I need to know where Alduin went, after my fight with him on the Throat of the World."

"Wait, you already fought the dragon?"

"Yes, after I used the Elder Scroll, to learn Dragonrend," Cry said, "and I won, but -"

"You've fought the dragon, and you won, but there's still more that has to be done?"

"Yes," Cry said again. "I didn't kill him, Vilkas. I just chased him off. He's weak, now, though, recovering from our fight, and I need to find him while he's doing so, before he can recover his full strength." Vilkas shook his head, and Cry let out a breath. "I know, it's not fair, but it - I need to finish this, Vilkas. For good.

He looked at her again, his expression full of worry and frustration. "I just don't understand why there's more to this," he said. "You learned Dragonrend, and you used it to defeat him in battle. It should be over."

Cry managed a smile. "The Nords that used Dragonrend against him the first time didn't kill him, either," she said. "That's the step I need to take, to make sure this ends."

Vilkas studied her for a long moment, before he sighed a little. "Fine," he said. "Then I'll help you get wherever you need to, to reach that final step."

Cry relaxed, and she did her best to tug him closer, so that she could kiss him. Thankfully, Vilkas met her more than halfway, since she couldn't do much. When they pulled apart again, he left his forehead against hers, and Cry traced the line of his stubble with her thumb for a moment.

"I need to talk to Lydia," she said, eventually.

"Why's that?" Vilkas asked.

"I need her to take a message to the Blades," Cry said. "I was on my way to talk to them when I was attacked." She pulled away again, so that she could look at him properly. "Will you go get her for me? She should be at Breezehome." Guilt pressed down on her chest. "I haven't checked in on her lately. She must be going insane without anything to do."

"Then she should appreciate this job you're going to give her," Vilkas said. He stood up. "Do you think you can write your message?"

"Too dangerous," Cry said, shaking her head. "Lydia will remember it."

Vilkas nodded, and he started for the door. "I'll go ask her to come back with me," he said. "I'll have Tilma bring you down something to eat."

"Thank you," Cry said, and he made to leave the room. "Vilkas." He paused, and glanced back at her. "I love you."

Vilkas smiled a bit. "I love you too," he assured, and then he exited through the doors, leaving them ajar.

A few minutes later, Tilma appeared with a tray of food. She talked Cry's ear off as she helped arrange her position so that she could eat without choking, telling her all that had happened at Jorrvaskr in her absence. Cry mollified her with her responses of "Uh-huh," and interested hums, although she was much more interested in the food Tilma had brought her.

Eventually, Tilma left, only to be replaced by Farkas, who lifted an eyebrow, in what seemed to be a condescending way. Cry made a face at him in response.

"I don't want to hear it."

"I know," Farkas answered, walking around the bed to take Vilkas's chair, "but I'm going to say it anyway." He cleared his throat, and then looked at her, making sure to emphasize each word as he spoke them: "I told you so."

Cry sighed, and spooned up some stew so that she could pretend she wasn't listening. Farkas chuckled. "How're you feeling?" he asked.

"Fine," Cry said. "I mean, everything hurts, but relatively speaking."

"Is there anything I can do?" Farkas queried, and Cry shook her head.

"I don't think so." She glanced at him. "Will you help me capture a dragon?"

Farkas furrowed his brow. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"No," Cry said. "If it was, I don't think it'd be a very good one." She smiled a little, and set down her spoon. "I fought Alduin, the big bad dragon that I need to kill to completely end this? But he got away, before I could do that, and we think he went to Sovngarde."

"Sovngarde?" She nodded. "But that's where heroic Nords go when they die."

"I know," Cry said. "He feeds on their souls, to fuel his power."

"Yikes."

"Yeah," Cry agreed. "So, we need to capture a dragon, and find out if they have any idea as to how Alduin gets to Sovngarde." She hesitated, and then said, "So that I can go there after him."

"Wait, so you're going to go to Sovngarde too? Before you die?" Farkas asked, disbelieving.

"I think I might have to," Cry said. "I need to catch him, while he's still recovering from our last fight, so that he isn't back up to full strength."

"But, wouldn't you going there… be strange?" Farkas questioned. "I mean, you'll still be alive, but you'll be in the place where the spirits of the dead reside."

"I know," Cry said. "I don't really know how it's going to affect… well, anything. But it's what I'll have to do."

"You didn't tell me that." They both turned towards the door of the room, and saw Vilkas standing there, Lydia behind him. He walked further into the room, moving around to the other side of the bed, and sitting down on the edge of it. "Cry."

"I know," she said, quietly. "I was going to mention that it might be where this all leads, but… only after we know for sure that this is going to work at all." She looked past him, towards Lydia, who'd approached the end of the bed. "I've neglected your services, Lydia. For that, I'm sorry."

She shook her head. "Do not worry, my thane," she said. "Vilkas said that you have a job for me, now."

"I do," Cry said. "I need you to travel to Sky Haven Temple, in Markarth," she said. "Esbern and Delphine are there, and I need you to tell them what's going on."

"Which is?" Lydia prompted, crossing her arms, and Cry rehashed everything that had happened since they'd left Delphine and Esbern at Sky Haven Temple: the trip to High Hrothgar, meeting Paarthurnax, all of it. Lydia listened, and when Cry was done, said, "I probably don't need to tell them all of that, right? Just the important bits. Paarthurnax is good, the Elder Scroll worked, and now you need to capture a dragon so that you can get after Alduin."

Cry let out a laugh. "Yes, I suppose that covers it." She exhaled, and tilted her head a little. "You'll be all right?"

Lydia nodded, smiling a little. "Yes," she said. "I'll be glad to travel. It's been a while. I'll find them, tell them what they need to know."

"Thank you," Cry said.

"Of course," Lydia responded, dipping her head. "I will send a letter, once I have." She nodded to Vilkas and Farkas, and then she exited the room.

When she was gone, Cry turned back to Vilkas. "I'm sorry," she said. "I really should've told you everything, I know, but like I said, we can't be sure that a dragon will know how to reach Alduin, even if we can capture one."

"I know," Vilkas replied. He reached over and covered her hand with his. "It's all right."

"It really isn't, I know," Cry said, "but thanks anyway." She looked down at her food, suddenly not as hungry as she was before. "How long before I can get up?"

"At least another day," Vilkas told her, firmly. "If you're to be believed, you died, or at least got as close to death as you could've, and I'm not okay with the idea of you getting up and walking around at any point today."

"You died?" Farkas asked her, and Cry shrugged.

"Something close to it, I think."

"Wow," he said. "What was it like?"

"Not as great as it would have been, if everything in my life had been completely resolved."

"Huh."

"All right," Vilkas interrupted with a sigh. He stood again, and pointed to the food. "Eat. Then you should get more sleep. After that, we'll talk some more about how exactly to handle the next steps."

"Fine," Cry said, and she picked up her spoon again.

"Farkas, don't you have whelps to give jobs to?" Vilkas prompted, and Farkas sighed, but stood up, and shuffled for the door. Vilkas followed, looking back briefly at Cry, as though to make sure she was still in the bed, before he left as well, tugging the door shut behind him.