Chapter 70: And When Sovngarde Beckons…

The portal to Sovngarde was a swirl of colours circling a too-bright inner thread, nestled in an ancient ruin hidden and forgotten deep within the Velothi mountains.

I tracked the beams of light shooting ever-upwards, trepidation worming across my skin.

"Daar los nii?" (This is it?) I murmured. "Zu'u bo ko?" (I go in?)

Odahviing reared back, wings beating against the air to control our descent.

"Ni orin. Wah bo Sovngarde, mu fen grind Alduin nahkriin." (Not quite. To go to Sovngarde, we will face Alduin's vengeance.)

"Alduin's vengeance?" I squinted, blinking against the false wind Odahviing stirred. His feet touched stone and his body rolled as he landed.

I gripped to steady myself, fingers tucked under his scales as the mountain shuddered.

"Zu'u uth nall thurri dein daar miiraak." (I was commanded by my lord to keep this portal.)

Peering over Odahviing's shoulder, I saw a humanoid figure across the courtyard. The tall, thin body was washed out by the light from the portal, but the head seemed to be trained on us.

After the heightened emotional turmoil of the past days, I found it difficult to feel anything toward the figure I probably should have found menacing.

Its arm flicked out - it was difficult to tell exactly what it did, around the glare - but suddenly the portal was gone and the light of the sun, no longer competing with Sovngarde, lit up bronzed armour and a grotesque, metallic mask. There was a gnarled staff in its hand, spluttering and fizzing with purple lightning at its end.

"Wo rok?" (Who he?)

"Nahkriin," (Vengeance,) Odahviing snarled, crouching on his front legs and hissing. "Dovah-Sonaak. (Dragon Priest.) Daar gein dein fin miiraak." (This one guards the portal.)

"Dovah-Sonaak?" a sudden headache pierced my temple and I cursed, rubbing at the twinge.

"Kro wo aam Alduin." (Mages who give loyalty to Alduin.)

With a grimace, I climbed off Odahviing. I'd assumed my tasks bar the big one completed, and there would be nothing standing between me and Sovngarde. I rolled my shoulders to loosen the cricks in my neck, wondering: what next?

My soft boots made little noise against the flagstones. With no clue of how to make myself ready for Sovngarde, I'd prepared for the flight on Odahviing instead and was armed only with my lute, for it would be pointless for me to come at Alduin with steel. Lydia had twisted my hair into braids and pinned them securely into buns, and I doubted even a Fus would move them. But the tunic was scratchy, the leggings clung, my hair felt heavy at the back of my neck, and nothing was as comfortable as the armour Alvor had made for me. But that was gone.

"I don't have time for this today!" I called across the expanse. "I'm the Dragonborn! Will you open the portal again or…?" I asked, reconsidering. "Mu tinvaak dovahzul?"

The figure seemed rooted to the spot, too tall and too tense, but at the offer to speak dragon tongue, the mask tilted.

"Dovahkiin fen vod," (Dragonborn will pass,) Odahviing told it.

"Alduin uth," (Alduin's orders,) Nahkriin spoke. "Nid nuz dii thur vod." (None but my overlord passes.)

Its voice was low, guttural, reminding me of a draugr. Nahkriin started to advance, a slow shuffle, his mask unerringly locked onto me.

It was my turn to tilt my head.

"He is undead?" I whispered to Odahviing.

Odahviing made a disgusted, huffing sound of assent. The warmth of his breath puffed at my back.

"Ugh," I muttered, scratching at the back of my head where the braids tugged. "Fen hi oblaan rok, Odahviing?"

The dragon reacted at once, rearing up, then his front feet thumped down, one either side of me as he opened his maw and sucked in a breath.

"Yol Toor Shul!"

I winced at the heat, sheltered from the flames by Odahviing's legs. The Dragon Priest tried to jump out of the way but Odahviing's Shout was too strong and widespread to miss. I gripped Odahviing's foreleg, eyes averted. A warmth jittered through my veins, calm and protective; the dragon souls within, reminding me of fire's role in nature, both giver and taker of life.

But I wasn't ready to see anything burn so soon.

"Nii los oblaan." (It is over.)

"Kogaan," I acknowledged quietly, stepping out from the shelter of Odahviing's form, bracing myself for the gristly sight of charred remains.

But all there was, was a mask wobbling against the flagstones, and the staff, no longer fizzing with lightning.

At Odahviing's suggestion, I retrieved the long, gnarled length of what looked like wood, but must have been…something else entirely, to survive his flames. It felt too smooth, too warm, a being with its own power who needed no mage to channel magicka. I eyed it warily for a moment, then looked to the place the portal had been.

A ring of stones stood, newly charred, and before it were a couple of unsteady, crumbling slabs that must have once been stairs. The structure was truly ancient.

Odahviing thudded closer, and with a disdainful flick of his claw, he sent the Dragon Priest's mask flying off the side of the high courtyard, then instructed me to place the staff and reopen the portal.

With a steeling breath, I picked my way over the steps. There was a bronzed recess at the top, too central and purposeful to be anything but what I was looking for, and I clicked the weirdly warm staff into place.

There was a whir, then a hum, then the colours and brightness burst back to life, shooting up and shattering the sky in a dizzying pattern of fractals.

I squinted against the glare so my eyes might adjust. "You cannot come with me?"

"Zu'u nis."

"Okay," I whispered uncertainly, gripping at the strap of my lute as I rocked on my heels, preparing to jump. I knew I would have to do this part on my own. The others were waiting for me on the other side.

"Spaan wundun, dovahkiin. (Safe travels, Dragonborn.) Zu'u fen dein hin miiraad." (I will guard your path.)

"Ahrk zu'u hin," (And I yours,) I murmured.

Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I jumped.

Then I flew.

The portal shot me up, and the lights that had seemed so beautiful from the outside felt like an ocean of glass, jagged and unyielding, tearing me to pieces. Oddly there was no pain, but within a heartbeat I was scattered, and I could feel the dragon souls I had taken into my body as energy pressing around me, seperate but desperately trying to hold on for the ride. Everything burned and froze simultaneously, but I didn't feel anything. I didn't even observe, not truly, for there was nothing but blinding white.

When time slowed, the dragon souls found purchase on my mind again, their relief palpable. I was surprised to feel their fear for me, for I had wondered if the dragons I had forced to join me on this journey would resent me for not giving them their peace.

In truth, I did not know how to; I couldn't exactly Shout Daan Tey Vo at myself.

White shifted to grey, and I recognised a feeling - a pressure, against my legs curled under me.

Solid ground.

I opened my eyes, blinking as I came back to myself. I glanced down. I seemed to be in once piece. I gripped at my lute strap - it had made it unscathed.

Reflected colours danced across my hands, and I looked up, gasping at the sky. Resplendent with gently swirling golds and pinks and vivid purples, and colours I was sure there was no name for, it was so glorious that a part of me longed to stay here forever and stare, for I would never grow weary of its beauty.

A thick, pale-bluish mist curled around me, driven by some unfelt breeze, drawing my attention back down. There were mountains in the distance, and trees, and fog, gathering in valleys. The rocky outcroppings appeared to be floating.

Perhaps they were.

Under my legs was grass. Dry, yellowing clumps and lush green and rusty, hardy varieties. I traced my fingers through the papery threads, the blades whispering at the movement.

I could have sat there, staring at the murmuring grasses and coiling mists and glorious skies for a second or an hour, but the gentle crunch-crunch of steady approach encouraged me to test my limbs and rise.

A large man in odd-looking leathers was working his way across the glade.

"Hello?" I hailed, wary of startling him. My voice croaked out of my throat, as though I'd not used it in days.

The man looked up, a pleasant, somewhat distracted smile in place. There was a far-away look to his eyes that I couldn't pinpoint. "Hello," he murmured amicably.

I took in his tanned skin and red hair and muscled arms - if not an army man, he could be a mercenary. I shuffled my lute about me, adjusting the strap so the weight of it rest more comfortably against my back.

"I'm Celeste. Do you know…where everybody is?" I winced.

The man stared for a moment, bewildered and blinking as though I'd spoken in another language.

I asked him again, just in case I'd spoken in dovahzul and not realised.

This time, the smile re-emerged.

"I'm Celeste. Do you know…where everybody is," he parroted.

My words; my intonation. A chill danced up my spine.

"What is your name, soldier?" I hushed.

"What is your name, soldier?"

Perhaps he was not the soul of a man who had lived, but some echo of otherworldly energy. He seemed harmless enough.

I nodded and looked away across the mountains and mists. Was this truly Sovngarde? Legends told of a great mead hall, and of Tsun the gatekeeper. The place the portal had bought me to was beautiful, but perhaps it had spat me out somewhere else.

Before I could follow that dreary thought to conclusion, I turned back to the man and reaffirmed my smile. "Okay. I'm going to take a look around, try and find some more people. Do you want to come with me?"

"Okay. I'm going to-"

"Never mind."

I strode past the man as he never mind'd back at me, reasoning he must have come from somewhere before he found me, so I would start by retracing his steps. The man followed.

"I'm going to name you Echo," I told him over my shoulder, wondering if this would snap him out of - whatever haze he was in.

He repeated me word for word.

I sighed and continued on, until his boot prints on the grasses could no longer be seen for the thick mists around our ankles. I walked, and Echo followed, until the hill I had arrived on flattened. As the mists thinned for a beat, I caught sight of a grey stone path beside me.

With a bark of frustration, I realised what I should have done all along.

"Lok Vah Koor!"

The mist scattered like startled fish in a pond, and the path was visible. I fell into a run, and Echo ran behind me, our boots an uneven beat along the stone. We rounded a copse of fir trees, ascended a gradual rise. The mists writhed beside the path as though anxious to grab us but wary, now.

I saw another man in the distance, standing by a sharp jut of stone.

"Hello!" I called.

This man turned, his Stormcloak armour singed and his face pale with fear. "Hello?"

"Don't just copy what I say."

"I…I don't-" he stammered.

"Thank the Gods!" I grinned, racing across the field to him. "I'm Celeste. What's-?"

I staggered to a halt as I caught sight of the man's features - the dark blue eyes, the blonde hair, the wide jaw - set in a face of confusion.

It was the man who had captured me, brought me before Ulfric before I'd known I was Dragonborn. The man my sister had been tricked into killing. The man Hadvar had considered his brother, before the war tore them apart.

"Ralof?" I stuttered.

He blinked at me without recognition, his head tilting to one side. "What is a Ralof?"

"It's your name, it's Ralof," I managed. "I - I know you. We met. A - long time ago."

"My apologies," Ralof murmured. "I remember…little but fire."

I nodded stiffly, hands unwittingly reaching for a sword I wasn't carrying. "What do you remember?"

His focus drifted. "Fire…"

"You already said fire. Anything else?"

"There is more than fire?"

"There is," I told him, my nails digging into my palms. There was an injustice here, though I couldn't fathom why these men had been robbed their memories. "You have a name. You had a family, and a home, in Riverwood. You had," my voice cracked, and I swallowed down the lump in my throat. "You had friends. Hadvar. Do you remember Hadvar?"

"Hadvar…" Ralof mused idly, gaze fixed somewhere beyond the horizon. The mists tested me, snaking beside our boots.

Ralof remained as he was, just staring, until I prodded his arm.

He turned to me, blue eyes blinking placidly. "Hello. I am Ralof."

I gush of air left me; at least he now recalled his own name. "Hello, Ralof. I am Celeste. Come with me."

"All right."

"This is Echo," I motioned to the other man.

"Echo," Ralof greeted with a small wave.

"Echo," the man agreed, mirroring the soldier's wave.

Shaking my head in disbelief, I turned back to the path. The mists had crept in while I'd been talking.

I scowled at them.

"Lok Vah Koor," I bit out.

Again, the mists retreated.

I jogged along the path, the Nords keeping pace behind me, and searched the hills for the shadows of other people, lost to the forgetting sickness that had overcome the two men.

While the sight of Ralof had scared me at first, at least I could be certain the portal had brought me to Sovngarde. But what a strange place it was, all misty and vague, and its inhabitants even more so. Had it always been like this; a vast waiting room for energies imprinted with the last vestiges of forms they had held, waiting for - for what? And where was Tsun? Where was Shor?

Where was Alduin?

Soon - and I use the term loosely because I might have been running through the hills for days, so strange was the passage of time - I had collected ten lost souls, and they all trailed after me, all cursed with forgetting in varying degrees. Some, like Echo, couldn't remember their names, and others could remember only that, or a vague impression of how they had died.

I ran for so long, my body somehow never needing rest or water, and I wondered if this was my duty; to run and keep running with the souls in Sovngarde, so Alduin might never catch us.

Until you forget why you're here, a voice whispered through my mind.

I shook that thought away; the mists could keep it. Cresting a rise, I caught sight of another lost soul walking along the path, this one an old man with snowy-white hair and wearing mages robes, his serene face turned to the skies.

I readied my smile and commenced the descent to meet him.

The old man heard us, for his eyes whipped toward me, wide and startled. His mouth opened in surprise as he drew to a halt.

I stilled. Now close enough to take in finer details, I saw, and recognised, the shape and familiar shade of his ocean-blue eyes.

"Wo los hi?" he asked me, voice quiet and tremulous. "C…Caroline?"

Okay. I closed my eyes, steadied myself with a nod. A man with eyes like mine, who could speak dovahzul. An ancestor. He had to be an ancestor.

"Zu'u los Selahsttiid," I met his gaze, watched the recognition flare in his eyes.

"Hi los Dovahkiin?" he whispered, aghast.

I nodded and took a careful step toward him, holding out my hand. "Zu'u laan mindok hin luft, zeymah?" (I would know your name, brother?) "Though I have a feeling we share Passero," I smirked.

The old man's eyes flickered from my face, to my hand, and back again. He nodded shortly, his shoulders relaxing.

"My mother was a Passero, before she wed. I thought the name buried," he took my hand, holding it briefly in greeting. "How do you come to own it?" he tilted his head. "If you are Dragonborn, and Passero, then you cannot have lived before me."

"No," I released him, realising suddenly who was standing before me. "Because the Dragonborn before you was your father, wasn't he, Daanteyvo?"

The man huffed, shaking his head at the path. "Taking lessons from Paarthurnax, I see."

"Yes," I admitted with a shrug. "You're Dante Vonius, aren't you?" I asked.

"I am," he confirmed.

I had a thousand questions, but the first to slip out was-

"How do you remember so much?" I asked, incredulous.

Dante cast a glance behind me, his eyes sad as he regarded the silent, waiting souls. "The mists are a kindness, in a way. They feed on memories - a painless process, from what I have observed - which causes them to forget everything. Every name. Every place. Every love and loss. The longer they are here, the more they forget. And that is when he comes for them," he murmured.

I shivered. Who did not need to be said.

His eyes were back on me, and his mouth quirked, a shadow of amusement. "You and I, however, are cursed to remember everything. So, briinah-"

"Call me Celeste."

"Celeste," he smiled, lifting his eyebrows.

"What's so amusing about my name?"

"Nothing - I am sorry," he rushed. "You merely bear a striking resemblance to my briinah Caroline, when she was young. When I saw you I thought perhaps she had conquered both death and time, to drag me home."

Again I shivered.

"But no, she is long gone, of course. Forgive me. Celeste," he emphasised, as though to brand my name in his memory. "Do you need to talk about how you died? Most do, before they forget, and," he opened his arms, palms facing the glorious sky. "You and I have an eternity to examine it."

I huffed. "I'm not actually dead."

His brows crossed, wiry and white. "Of course you are, dear. You know better than that. Flesh would not survive in Sovngarde for long enough to achieve - anything."

"My flesh feels fine," I wrinkled my nose at him. "And I have no desire to stay, but I need to do this first. Odahviing brought me to a portal and I jumped in. The portal, not death, brought me here."

Dante slow-blinked.

I took advantage of his silence. "I've come to stop Alduin, and I think I'll need your help to do it."

"Alduin," Dante winced, and the old man glanced away. "I have been banishing him for - what year was it when you died?"

"Not dead," I reminded, "and, 4E 201."

He drew himself up and stared at the rainbow sky. "I've been banishing Alduin for nearly one hundred and twenty years," he acknowledged in a flat sort of voice.

"I don't want to just banish him from Sovngarde," I corrected. "I'm here to put him back on his true path. The one Akatosh entrusted to him."

Dante glanced to me and shook his head, his eyes apologetic. "What fool sent you to your death for this folly?"

I opened my mouth but stopped, for the old man's certainty I was dead was starting to weigh on me. Had the portal…? But no.

No, it didn't matter. Until otherwise proven, I would assume I could return home.

"I chose to come here," I said steadily, suffusing my words with the dregs of courage I could find. "The dragons overcame Alduin's compulsion to join me and end the war in Skyrim. I vowed to end their struggle with Alduin, for the dragons he forces to fight for him, and all who live in Tamriel and…" I hazarded a glance over my shoulder. "And for them," I murmured, looking back to my ancestor. "For those who have been lost. For my sister. For you. This isn't what Sovngarde is meant to be."

"And you hope to achieve this with a lute and your Voice?" Dante's hand rest on my shoulder. "Don't mistake me, Dragonborn. I understand the power you wield. If it is anything like mine, it is a force to be reckoned with. But - Alduin has been fighting his purpose for eons. He is brutal, an expert fighter. He knows every loophole, every manipulation to attain what he wants. He is wily and patient, and he cannot be killed."

"I don't want to kill him," I made sure my gaze didn't falter. "I must find my sister."

"And then?" he prompted quietly. "What is your plan? If you are truly here in both flesh and mind, your time is severely limited."

I didn't know anything about limits, and beyond finding Giselle, there was no plan. But I couldn't tell Dante that, so I stayed silent and stared at him, determined.

"Will you come with me to find her?" I asked eventually. "I would appreciate your help, and maybe we can…talk?"

After a brief but weighty silence, he motioned to the path.

"Of course," he inclined his head. "Most of the Lost are found alongside the path. Perhaps it used to lead souls to the Halls of Valour, but I question if such a place exists any longer. Perhaps Alduin gobbled it up."

"You've never walked the path to its end?"

"I tried," Dante sighed. "After walking for so long, I have determined the path circles back on itself, at least for me, which makes it infinite. If Tsun is waiting, he is well hidden."

I nodded my acknowledgement, and turned to Shout the mists clear. Well, I wasn't here to meet Tsun and gain entry to the Halls of Valour, I was here to face Alduin, then go home.

Dante's eyes were on the path, but faraway. "It is strange to hear another Shout, after so long."

"Does Alduin not Shout?" I started along it, and the cluster of quiet, lost souls trailed after us.

Dante's movements were graceful as he joined me. "Oh, he does. I meant another human."

"Are there no other Dragonborn in Sovngarde?"

"There must be, somewhere," he mused, almost to himself with a sideways look in my direction. "But our paths have never crossed until today."

I sighed at the scrutiny. "How did you come to Sovngarde?"

"I lived my life in the mountains, and I died peacefully at High Hrothgar," Dante replied simply. "When I arrived here in the glade of the afterlife, Alduin was waiting for me."

I stared at him in horror. "He was waiting for you?"

"Perhaps," Dante smirked. "I had been training my whole life to stop him, though we had wrongfully assumed I would face him in Skyrim. He spoke of delivering a true afterlife, more fitting for my kind; ritual words in dovahzul, which of course," he posed with a hand tilt, "I understood."

"Did you talk to him? What else did he say?"

Dante said nothing for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head. "Alduin can't be talked to. He cares not for logic and is blinded by greed. I Shouted at him before he finished speaking, and I've been Shouting at him ever since," he clipped.

We walked in silence for a time and I let this sink in. Perhaps it had been naive of me to cling to the hope Alduin might be reasoned with.

"What's the Shout you use, to banish him from Sovngarde?" I asked eventually; I might as well know it, just in case.

"Oh," Dante blinked himself out of whatever grim thought had captured him. "I'll teach it to you," he drew to a halt, held out his arm, his eyes lowered.

The old man took a deep, focussing breath, then aimed his palm to the ground.

"Nahl Daal Vus," he Shouted, and the words Living, Return, Nirn thrummed though my mind as the dragon speech characters etched into the stone with a crack, glowing with blue-tipped light.

"Kogaan," I thanked quietly, relief surging through me. My boots touched the characters, and the lights coalesced, climbing my legs and swirling around me, creating a warm, false wind. I remained perfectly still, and closed my eyes as I absorbed the knowledge.

If Nahl Daal Vus returned a living creature from Sovngarde to Nirn, this Shout was my way home.

When I opened my eyes, I felt more serene, more certain I had chosen the right path. I smiled and motioned for us to proceed.

"Did you come up with that Shout yourself?"

Dante shook some confusion away, and we continued on. "No," he laughed. "Goodness, no. Paarthurnax taught it to me, though I couldn't fathom why at the time. Shouts created by man are abominations."

I sent him a perplexed look, and remembered that he'd been a Greybeard, for almost his entire life. Of course he believed as they did.

"But you and I are accepted as dovah," I pressed. "Surely our words are not considered taboo to our own kind."

"We are fundamentally humankind," Dante sideways glanced again, a wryness to his tone suggesting he'd had this conversation before. I wondered who he might have discussed this with.

"In body, perhaps," I shrugged, nonchalant.

"The dovah do not take kindly to humans manipulating their language," Dante sighed.

I considered this, but something about it didn't sit right. Paarthurnax had warned against the Shout the ancient Tongues had created to overcome Alduin, and the Greybeards had been fundamentally opposed to the idea I would seek that knowledge, of course. But. The dragons had never questioned my use of the thu'um.

I came to a decision.

"I would teach you a Shout in return for the one you have given me," I said, drawing to a stop.

Dante turned, his brows tight with confusion. "You were taught something I was not?"

"Let's see?" I half-shrugged, and held my arm out so he wouldn't get in the way, or who knew what it might do to him.

I breathed in, stilled my mind, and formed the words I had used to free Viinturuth's soul.

"Daan Tey Vo." (Fate Story Undoing.)

I dismantle the destiny made for and taken from you.

The Shout whispered from my lips and the meaning whispered through my mind like a song. The words shimmered on the stone path like sunlight on clear water, and the symbols pressed into the rock, lit up by thousands of pinpoints of light.

I turned to my ancestor.

His eyes were glued to the glittering characters, his face pale. His sea-blue eyes flickered to me.

"What?" he whispered, focus back on his name, bright and glowing. "Is this a…did Paarthurnax…?"

I shook my head.

"You did this?"

I smiled and nodded.

"What does it - of course, I understand the words but whatever possessed you to use my name as a Shout?"

I stared at the etched stone, recalling how I had come upon the idea.

"When I first learned I was Dragonborn, I thought it meant I had to fight them, and for each one I…overcame, their soul poured into me, giving me their power. But I learned to be a dragon slayer was what humankind believed my purpose to be," I motioned him forward, encouraging. "Please. Take up these words of power, Dante, because they are yours and without them, dragonkind wouldn't have any hope of being freed from the false destiny Alduin forced them into."

Dante choked out a breath, as though he had been holding it without realising, and stepped forward, his eyes shimmering with tears. The words shifted onto his boots, up across the robes he wore, and he closed his eyes, breathing in deep and long through his nose as the hidden secret of his name joined him.

When he opened his eyes, a weight of resolve looked back at me. "There is no wrongness to your Shout," he admitted. "Do you realise what this means?" he murmured.

"It means you and I were made Dragonborn to save the dragons, not kill them," I huffed, resuming our path.

Dante fell into step again but his mind seemed far away. "It means we are closer to dragonkind than I realised," he mused. "The implications are…quite overwhelming."

I smiled at him and shrugged, falling to see how that knowledge changed my goal, but the notion seemed to make him happy, at least.

He shook off his speculation. "And you say the dragons helped you to end a war in Skyrim?"

I nodded.

"Which Shout did you use to make them fight for you instead of Alduin?"

I shot him an incredulous look; he still wasn't getting it.

"I didn't make them do anything. I asked them."

"Surely you needed a thu'um to convince-" Dante spluttered, then seemed to change his mind. His vision shifted a little.

"Tell me why you have brought a lute to Sovngarde?" he asked quietly.

I smiled that he seemed to have answered his own question.

"Do you want me to show you?" I asked, one hand rising to touch my lute strap.

His eyes met mine, serious and determined, and he nodded.

We stopped walking and I found a rock to sit on by the path's edge. The souls following us clattered to a halt. As I tested each string was in tune, the quiet notes echoed around the mountains, rich and sonorous.

I took a deep breath, then a beat to centre my will, then I started to play, and sing:

"Aav ko kruziik kiindinok pindaar, (United on ancient birth-death plains,)

"Zu'u los hin spaan, hin dwiin, ol hi los dii. (I am your protection, your steel, as you are mine.)

"Nu fin thu'um lovaas, ol aan dovahkiin mah, (Now the Voice sings as a dragonborn falls,)

"Lein mulhaan erei mu drun nii." (world remains the same until we make it.)

I picked out the final notes and left the last to linger, its tone resonating over the silent, misty glade. I felt nervous about meeting Dante's gaze; to learn I'd convinced dragons to stand with me through a song might seem ridiculous to him.

When I did glance up, Dante was still and wide-eyed, but a thousand other movements caught my attention.

The hills around us were shifting. No - not the hills.

I stood, strapping my lute around me hastily as I recognised the mass: people. Hundreds, thousands of people. The song had somehow called them. But - it couldn't. It was dovah - it had been formed to give the dragons the will to choose. I had sung it for people at home, and it hadn't done anything like this.

Dante placed a hand on my shoulder, and my focus snapped to him, startled.

"I didn't know it would control them," I stuttered.

His smile was kind. "You're not controlling them."

"Then why do they come?" I accused. "They haven't the will to remember their own names, let alone make a choice."

Dante shrugged. "Perhaps, unlike a Shout, which can rob one of their will, a Song such as yours gives it back?" he proposed, then chuckled, eyes bright with a pride that reminded me eerily of Kodlak. "It certainly felt like you were giving a piece of your soul to me through your music, and the effect was…" he paused to shake his head, baffled. "I do not question the dragons swore to stand by you. Not when you are willing to stand with them, not because it is your destiny, but because it is the right thing to do."

Had he truly felt so much from the song? But then, music had long worked its way into the hearts of those around me, rousing emotions and determining paths but never, ever removing ones own choice. I couldn't keep denying its power, so different, so much more subtle than the thu'um.

"And," Dante lowered his hand. "Your song brought the lost souls of Sovngarde to us. Your sister will be here, somewhere."

My eyes widened - of course!

"Look for someone who looks exactly like me!" I told him in a rush, turning on the spot, wondering where to begin, and lifting my hands to cup my mouth. "Giselle!" I called across the sea of faces.

"She may not remember who she is," Dante reminded me sadly.

"She did not come here so long ago that she would have forgotten," I insisted. "And - she is Dragonborn, too. She will remember me," I grumbled.

"Dragon blood and Dragonborn are two different-"

"Rek los Dovahkiin, Daanteyvo." (She is Dragonborn, Dante Vonius.)

I stepped into the tide of people. The bodies slowed to a stop around me, and I searched the faces for those I had lost and loved. There were men and women of every race and age, and I wondered how they had been delivered to Sovngarde, when other cultures believed in other eternities.

Perhaps Sovngarde looked different to their eyes? Or perhaps their arrival on this plane was Alduin's doing.

The first face I recognised was one I hadn't expected, and brought me to a staggering halt.

High King Torygg was just as I remembered him being that fateful evening at the Blue Palace.

I glance over his handsome face, stared at the crown sat on his brow, and had to stop myself from bowing as I had been taught to do all my life in his presence.

"I'm Celeste. What's your name?" I tested.

"Hello," his eyes were glassy and his smile seemed witless. "Forgive me, I seem to have misplaced my name."

"Well, I remember it," I said, my words gaining strength. Elisif, my Jarl, my friend, missed him so much, and he couldn't even remember his own name.

"You are High King Torygg," I told him, lowering my eyes briefly. "You are married to High Queen Elisif the Fair. You were loved by your people, and gave your life trying to keep the peace in Skyrim. Hold onto that. Nothing, nobody can steal your legacy."

He nodded once, his eyes flickering with a spark of recognition, and dismay. "I will. Thank you."

I nodded and made myself continue searching. I had to find Giselle.

And then what, my thoughts taunted?

"The High King was killed?"

I jumped, then glanced over my shoulder. Dante was following me; I'd thought he was searching on his own, but he'd been there, witness to my entire exchange with Torygg. He gave me a tight-lipped, but apologetic smile.

"He was murdered," I turned back, continued searching the faces. I told him the story; of Ulfric Stormcloak and how he'd used the thu'um to kill the High King and plunge Skyrim into war with the Empire.

Dante listened, and as the injustice roaring through my veins cooled, I slowed to walk by his side. Talk of the war led me to tell him part of my own story, of the first meeting with Alduin, when I had no idea what I was.

The next face I recognised in the crowd was Alvor's, and the sight of Hadvar's uncle brought me to my knees.

"Steady," Dante touched my shoulder, helped me to stand again, his gaze shifting to rest speculatively on the smith. "Do you know your name, sir?" he asked gently. "Because this young lady seems-"

"Alvor Ebonhand," I gasped hurriedly, drawing my lute over my shoulder and showing him. "Look, you did this for me. Thank you. Alvor thank you - Hadvar made sure it was finished," I swallowed back the lump in my throat and made myself meet his hazel eyes, the same shape as the eyes of the man I loved. "It's more beautiful than I could have dreamed."

"I - I don't-" Alvor's brows knit, and he frowned, glancing from me, to the lute, and back to me again.

"Alvor we all miss you so much," I babbled, my fingers closing around my lute as I cradled it to me. "Dorthe and Sigrid are safe-"

"I'm sorry, I don't-"

"- they live in Whiterun, in Lydia's house," I carried on, unwilling to let him say the words: that he'd forgotten them. If I kept talking, he would remember, and never say it.

"Dorthe studies with Adrianne Avenicci as an apprentice blacksmith," I laughed through my tears. "Sigrid is writing a book, and takes care of everybody, she cares so much, has so much love in her. And Hadvar and I are to be wed," I choked out. "As soon as this is all over, we're going to Riften."

"Celeste," Dante prompted, tentative.

Alvor's ruddy face tilted, his smile barely touching the surface. "Who is Hadvar?"

I turned my eyes to the grass and clenched them shut. Tears streamed down my face. "Your sister's son," I blubbed. "You raised him, after your sister passed away."

"I'm sorry," Alvor murmured. "I have trouble remembering these days."

I nodded sadly.

Dante's hand squeeze my shoulder. "Celeste, we must move on. Your time is limited."

"It's not your fault," I ignored Dante and made myself open my eyes and look at Alvor. I strapped my lute over me and let the instrument settle against my back, so I could use both hands to wipe away my messy tears. "You are not forgotten," I told him. "You will never be forgotten, Alvor. You are loved. Remember this."

"I - if you say so."

"Please."

"Of course."

I staggered past Alvor and tried to push the pain aside. I'd known I would find the souls of my loved ones in Sovngarde. I could not let Alduin's influence dismantle my resolve.

When I spotted Kodlak's dear face, I was prepared for him to remember nothing, though I felt hollowed out after speaking to Alvor. Rather than words, I sang to him, one of Kodlak's favourite songs that I had seen bring peace to him and his wolf.

My Harbinger's eyes faltered, cautious, then filled with tears. When I sang the final note, he blinked, glanced around briefly, and looked up, to take in the radiant skies.

His head tilted again, and Kodlak looked at me properly.

"Why are you here, little dove?" he asked sadly.

I laughed to keep from weeping even more, and threw my arms around him. "Don't fear for me, Harbinger. I had to come, and when I'm finished, I'll go back to them."

After a few soft, fond words between us, I made myself move on, fortified by the knowledge that my song had helped him to remember.

But of course it had. All this time, Shouts had been used to remove will, and Song had been used to return it, just as Dante had said. I wished I had thought to play for Alvor, but I would find him again, later. If he remembered he was loved - that would be enough for now.

Dante and I must have walked for miles, trekking over meadows and rolling hills, sidestepping the waiting figures watching our progress with vague awareness.

"Do you hear that?" Dante asked eventually.

I stilled and glanced to him - he was frowning, his eyes on the horizon.

I listened, waiting for something to break the silence.

Then there was something - distant, but still a something. I focussed on it: a keening, high-pitched cry.

"I hear it!"

I broke into a run and chased the sound, because there had been so much nothing since I arrived. It was good to hear anything but the sound of Dante's voice and the whispering grasses beneath our boots.

The sound grew louder, so I knew I was going the right way. Eventually it was loud enough to identify, and my heart clamoured in my chest at the realisation.

It was a baby crying.

What was a baby doing in Sovngarde?!

I pushed my way through a throng of silent people as the cries became ear-splitting. Then I caught a flash of polished armour, a shock of dark hair, a form, so like my own, and I realised where the baby had led me.

Giselle.

I came to a stop by my sister's side, wary of learning what she remembered and what she had lost.

Giselle didn't seem to notice I was there. Her eyes were turned on the baby, full of fear. She shushed urgently as she bounced the bundle in her arms gently.

"Can I help?" I called, competing with the screams.

My sister shook her head, distracted. "I don't remember what to do. Do you-?" she finally looked up, and her eyes widened. "I know that face," she stammered. "You have my face! What's going on?"

"I'm your twin," I said hurriedly, eyes on the bundle. "How do you have your baby?" I asked, incredulous. She had been too early, and stillborn, that's what Giselle told me around the campfire that night.

"Look at her," Giselle thrust the baby toward me, her voice pleading. "She's hurting - they hurt her. I don't know how to make it better."

I scrambled to take her, panicked I would only make everything worse. "I don't know what to do!"

"Do anything!" she motioned toward the child as though the rest was obvious.

I looked at the baby, whose screams pierced my skull and wriggling limbs tried to break free of the cloth she was wrapped in.

She was tiny. Her face was pink and scrunched up, her mouth was wide open, and her hair was fine and dark.

How was Giselle's baby in Sovngarde?

She's hurting - they hurt her.

I paled as the reality knit together. She hadn't been stillborn. The Thalmor had forced the delivery of this tiny baby, my little niece, and they had killed her.

And Giselle said the baby was hurting. My sister didn't seem to remember why she was hurting, and perhaps that was a blessing.

She's hurting.

The understanding of why clawed at my chest and tore at my heart with how unfair it all was.

She remembers.

If the baby had been here all this time, and the mists hadn't taken the only memory she had away from her…

"Hi los Dovahkiin," (You are Dragonborn,) I huffed at the child, amazed. "Hi los med zu'u." (You are like me.)

The baby's screams faltered, turning to whimpers. Wide, ocean-blue eyes looked straight into mine, full of tears.

"What was that, what did you say to her?" Giselle asked in a rush.

"It's the language of the dragons," I hushed back, flickering a glance to Dante, standing silent and pale on my other side. "She understands dovahzul."

Dante nodded grimly. I looked back to the baby and smiled, because if I didn't make myself smile I would cry for her. She was cursed to remember one thing, and it was horrible and confusing, and I didn't know how to make that better.

She has not only known death. She was wanted. She was loved.

"Take her," I encouraged, holding her out to her mother. "Talk to her. Yours is the only voice of kindness she ever knew."

Giselle blinked at the sad little face. "You made her stop crying. She doesn't want me."

"She does, she just needs to hear your voice."

"What do I say?" Giselle's stricken gaze held mine.

"What did you tell her, while you were carrying her?"

"Oh," Giselle accepted her daughter gingerly, and cradled her close to her chest. "I don't…" she glanced down, her brow creased, clearly searching her memories - anything the mists had left in her. The baby made a few indeterminable whimpers, and Giselle gently patted her back.

"It's okay," I sighed, the breath shuddering out. It was so wrong to see her mind robbed, all of their minds robbed of what had made them whole. "Come with me."

"Where?" Giselle blinked, her eyes faraway as she looked over the hills. "There is nowhere to go."

"Then we'll walk nowhere forever," I said, steady as I could. "Together. We are family, all of us."

Giselle nodded. I directed her before me, through the crowd of idle souls.

Once we were moving, Giselle began to sing.

It was a sweet, quiet lullaby, meant only for her baby's ears, but I couldn't help but overhear. In the stillness it brought hot tears of injustice to my eyes again. It was a song our mother had sung to us, when we were little.

She remembers it.

Dante stepped beside me. "What now?" he murmured. "Your sister is not Dragonborn. How does discovering a Dragonborn baby help us against Alduin?"

"I don't know," I admitted, Giselle's lilting notes softening my frustration. "I didn't know she'd ever lived, or why Akatosh saw fit to make her Dragonborn."

"How did she die?" he asked quietly.

"Thalmor," I scowled.

There was nothing more to say, and eventually, Dante and I came upon the path again. I linked my arm with Giselle's, while her other pressed the now silent, wide-eyed and listening baby to her chest.

Dante cleared the path of mists, then we walked. The army of lost souls followed, their footfalls an uneven, swishing heartbeat.

Giselle's song finished, then she hummed the same lovely little tune.

While she hummed and we walked, I tried desperately to figure out why I'd been so certain finding her would help me make Alduin return to his true purpose.

What am I going to do when he comes?

I glanced to Dante, but he seemed to be caught in his musings, too.

"Do you know why you were taken to High Hrothgar, as a child?" I asked, desperate for talk, because introspection was only making me realise how I'd yet again, relied on improvisation.

Dante's mouth curled up at one corner. "My mother took me. I was too much like my father. The Empire was lost in the wake of the Oblivion Crisis and mother wanted to make sure the Blades wouldn't…take me away, and use me."

"Smart woman," I murmured. "So, she did tell you who you were?"

"No," he sighed, eyes on the sky briefly. "She and my sister would visit every year or so, and they wrote often, so it wasn't as though there was no chance to say it. But it was as though they were afraid of speaking his name. I learnt who I was from Him directly."

"Who?" I hazarded quietly.

"My Father," Dante replied thoughtfully. A peaceful smile grew on his face. "Paarthurnax helped me find a way to commune with Him, or perhaps it was He who found a way to speak to me."

I thought about Paarthurnax, perched on the tip of High Hrothgar, and how he'd expressed such fondness for Dante, too. Paarthurnax had told me Dante talked with Bormahu, the dovah word for Akatosh.

Had Dante's father, Martin Septim, not become an avatar for Akatosh, at the crux of the Oblivion Crisis?

"I never felt alone, not on the mountain," Dante continued thoughtfully. "I had Paarthurnax for a brother, and others came to the mountain, seeking knowledge. They would leave, of course, for all life on Nirn is fleeting by nature," he mused, and I knew he was thinking about Britta, and their daughter. "But there I remained. Devoting my life to the thu'um to prepare for Alduin's return was a worthy cause, though I was often confused about why he never came for a confrontation Father and Paarthurnax were so certain I would have. I merely didn't realise I would be battling him in a different realm," he chuckled. "And He had obviously seen no reason to enlighten me of that, for what purpose would it have served?"

I nodded sadly, remembering how frustrated he had often been in his journals. "Perhaps your Father wanted you to have a long life and family, before you faced Alduin."

Dante shrugged, and his smile was bittersweet. "Perhaps so. The same, it seems, has been denied of you, and has certainly been denied of the babe in your sister's arms. I'm very sorry."

I looked to the tiny baby, at a loss for how to reply. I didn't feel as though I hadn't lived a good life, but then, I planned to return to it, continue it.

But the baby? There were plans, purpose, destiny to some extent, and then there were loose threads, intolerable injustices, thrown across our paths to make us question, why?

No, it wasn't as simple as why, was it? The Blades had engineered this baby. They would have taken her, moulded her into a Dragonborn to suit their agenda. Or Ulfric would have used her, a pawn to legitimise a march on Cyrodiil.

Or she might have escaped both fates, and lived a whole life on her own terms.

"Do you think she feels human?" Dante asked.

His eyes were on Giselle's daughter. Her face was toward us; her eyes were now closed peacefully, and her ear was pressed to Giselle's chest. One tiny hand had escaped her swaddle to rest against my sister's armour - my armour - over her heart.

"What do you mean?" I asked carefully.

Dante cleared his throat a little. "You saw as well as I, she understands dovahzul. No human child understands their native language from birth."

I shrugged. "I don't think she experienced enough of the world to know the difference."

"That is in a sense, exactly what I'm coming to," Dante said. "Her soul is a dragon. Her body was never given a chance to be human."

"Are you saying she's really a dragon?"

"I'm saying," Dante emphasised, "that we might have been born into these flesh bags," he picked at his robes. "But were we not, from our first breaths, also dragons?"

Something about his words irritated me, and I felt the bright, rumbling essence deep within me stir, hot and indignant.

All this time I had been thinking of my soul as separate from me, some higher power I had little control over who stepped up now and then when the human-me couldn't handle things any more. A powerful dragon, shrouding, guiding, protecting my human self, but separate from who I felt I was.

But being Dragonborn wasn't so black and white; Giselle's daughter was proof of that - the frail body and tiny soul who understood dovahzul were not two seperate beings in a single shell. She was whole.

I was whole. The strength to rise up in a time of crisis had come from me.

The realisation spilled out in earnest.

"Just because your father became part of Akatosh doesn't make you a dragon," I crossed my brows at him. "And why does it have to be one or the other?" my voice rose. "Why is it dragon or human, Skyrim or Empire, man or wolf?"

"Wolf?" Dante stuttered.

"We are who we are in our hearts, regardless of how we look or sound," I continued, poked at his arm. "You were born, you lived, and now you're here. Had you been born in a different body, would it make you less or more of who you are today?"

"I don't deny my humanity," Dante defended, shooting me an abashed look. "I was a man - I had a daughter-"

"As my sister has a daughter," I cut him off. "And she understands dovahzul, because it's part of who she is. Well," I glanced to the sleeping form, my sigh thick with regret. "Who she would have been, had she been given a chance to live."

Dante echoed my sigh, misinterpreting it. "Who might any of us been in a different world, a different time?" he waxed. "Born in your time, I might have been a simple mage, or been permitted to know my child. Born in my time, you might have been Empress of Tamriel. We will never know."

His words annoyed me even more, and not only because for a fleeting moment, the Medes had intended to make me Empress. But I didn't want to argue with him. I glanced across the plains, sorting through words of rebuttal, but my thoughts were muddy and uncertain, and ultimately, neither of us could know why events had unfolded as they had.

Giselle's baby startled awake suddenly, her eyes wide and scared.

I had been looking at her at that moment, and jumped at the alertness to the tiny form. "What-"

"Meyye! Tahrodiis zaam!" (Fools! Treacherous slaves!)

Alduin's words cut through the air like a whip, sharp and terrible.

I stilled, tossed Dante a quick glance. He was searching the skies. Beside me, behind us, the lost souls stopped walking, and just stood and waited, unaffected. Giselle's eyes stared straight ahead, glassy and unfocussed.

"Hi gaff daar joor, hind faa stin!" (You ghost this mortal, hoping for freedom.)

The mountains echoed with Alduin's booming voice, so familiar and dreadful. I let go of my sister to step forward, to shield her. My hands clenched and my mind buzzed with anticipation.

"Kolos hi, Alduin!" (Where are you, Alduin!) I called.

Giselle's baby began to cry.

"Zu'u los hin stin!" (I am your freedom!) Alduin ignored me.

"First he will play with us," Dante stood beside me. "Watch the skies. He will attack. He always attacks, once he has said his piece."

A flash of shadow flit across an adjacent mountain.

"You watch the skies," I replied. "I'll watch the earth."

"Zu'u hin daan!" (I am your doom!)

Dante huffed a humourless laugh. "Any moment now."

He wasn't wrong.

From the mists coalesced in the valley between our mountain and the next, the enormous black form of Alduin rose like a wraith. His wings created whirls in the blueish-white that dodged and spiralled away from him, as though panicked.

Alduin's red eyes burned like coals, searching the crowd, and I had never felt more insignificant in my life.

I braced my feet against the earth as I tracked his ascent, his wingspan so great it briefly obscured the brilliant skies. My muscles tensed and my heart fluttered, thrumming with awareness of its smallness compared to him, and the dragon souls I carried clamoured to be let loose; to flee or fight with me, I wasn't certain.

Nii los tiid, (It is time,) they whispered, deep within where my own soul had encircled them. Mu fen bo. (We must fly.)

Alduin's eyes pinned me suddenly, as though the dragons had given my position away.

Perhaps they had.

"Daar hi los het, dovahkiin, tinvaak do dii krongrah," (That you are here, Dragonborn, speaks of my victory,) he growled. "Ont hi los naako, zu'u fen daal wah Lein, ahrk kipraan nau ney tahrodiis dov ahrk jul!" (Once you are eaten, I will return to Mundus, and feast on both traitorous dragonkind and man!)

"Now he knows all the Dragonborn are here, he will have no cause to return to Sovngarde to eat. Whatever you were trained to do," Dante murmured through the corner of his mouth, "do it."

I barely heard him. The buzzing in my centre grew frantic as the dragons tugged at the flesh that bound them, obscuring all else. I grabbed hold of either side of my head and grit my teeth.

Mu fen bo! (We must fly!)

Ni nu, (Not now,) I insisted.

Alduin uttered his terrifying equivalent of a laugh, and his wings created a fierce, false wind as he landed on the plain before us. All of Sovngarde shuddered.

Everything had been so silent and still for so long and now, it was happening too fast. Giselle's baby wailed, her cry piercing my skull and making the dragon souls flit about in a frenzy.

Alduin opened his mouth and sucked in a breath. The mists swirled, tendrils clinging and whipping fleetingly before cascading toward Alduin's throat, a furnace burning with hatred preparing to flood all of Sovngarde.

"Hin tiid los sizaan, dovahkiin," (Your moment is lost, Dragonborn,) Alduin rumbled, smug and certain.

I frowned. My moment wasn't lost. I was this moment, we were this moment - it was he who wasn't meant to be here.

"Zu'u drey ni bo wah krif hi!" (I did not come to fight you!) I called. "Sel Ahst Tiid!" (I belong in this moment!)

I had thought to speak with him, but the dragon souls latched onto my intent, and turned my words, turned my name into a Shout.

The result was…bright, and quick. A luminous gold, the thu'um flit out like fireflies, moving so fast it appeared as thin trails in the shadowy glade. In a blink, they wrapped Alduin's body in a shining web, tied down his legs, pinned his wings, whirled around his snout, and snapped his jaws shut.

Alduin shook his head furiously and the lights on his head flit away. His eyes squared me with the fire of a thousand suns as he opened his mouth to Shout again.

"Sel Ahst Tiid!" Dante Shouted.

Lights cascaded from my ancestor to Alduin to join with mine, wrapping about his jaw, and squeezing.

I glanced to him and saw Dante staring down the great dragon, his blue eyes hard and set. I grinned at him, unbearably proud, and was still grinning when I turned back to Alduin.

Alduin thrashed - as much as the gold bindings allowed for scant movement - and his fury leaked from him as muffled, terrible screams. His words came to me as disjointed threats and vows.

Each cry made the dragon souls within me snarl and spit, their desire to be out making my head spin.

Nii los tiid! Mu fen bo! (It is time! We must fly!)

"-Nis lovaas ahst zu'u ulse!" (-cannot sing at me forever!) a snatch of Alduin's screams came to me.

"I don't have to," I realised why the dragons within me were desperate to leave.

I'd been so certain I would find help in the souls of Sovngarde - but they could not take on Alduin as they were. They could not Shout and bind him, as Dante and I could.

Yet.

Mu fen bo, the dragons chanted now, drowning out all other thoughts. Stin un sil nol hin slen! (Unbind our souls from your flesh!)

"Sil Stin Slen!" I screamed at the chaos, suffusing the words with my thu'um. "Mu Fen Bo!"

The souls swelled within me, surging out of my spirit in a coiling spiral of energy. The force made me stagger, and I caught a tuft of grass and gripped tight, my tether to Sovngarde as the few dragons I had swallowed before understanding my purpose detached from me. I glanced up, gasping, to see them surge not toward Alduin, but the lost souls.

Even as he thrashed and the golden threads holding him frayed and in places, snapped, Alduin's piercing red eyes narrowed, watching the dragon spirits circle around the nearest human souls.

The first of which was my sister.

"Sil Gron Slen," (Soul Bind Flesh,) the dragon whispered.

Then it dove into Giselle, and she gasped, clinging tight to her tiny baby. Her teeth clenched together and she pitched backward, but I caught her free arm and steadied her as the soul sank into her skin.

Then Giselle opened her eyes with renewed purpose and knowledge, narrowed and dangerous and glowing with golden light, fixed on Alduin.

I let go of my sister, and faced the World Eater.

"Zu'u los Silashtstin, Alduin," (I am the one who will free all souls, Alduin,) I called, my voice clear and sonorous. "And you will return to the duty your Father made for you."

Giselle steadied herself, pushed past me as though I wasn't there, clinging her baby in one hand and tensing her other hand into a fist by her side.

"Sel Ahst Tiid," my sister huffed.

No, Shouted.

Lights flit from her, more fireflies darting out to join and reinforce the bindings.

"Sel Ahst Tiid!" another Shouter came, his voice low and purposeful.

I spun, tears in my eyes, to see Alvor, face set with determination and eyes glowing with the same golden light. The Shout left him in a shower of sparks.

Beside him stood Kodlak, and his eyes too were filled with gold, a dragon now where a wolf had once resided. "Sel Ahst Tiid!"

A laugh burst out of me, the joy in seeing three people I dearly loved together, each imbued with the power to use the name Paarthurnax had given me to protect us.

"Sel Ahst Tiid," a forth Shout entered the fray and I recognised the speaker with a jolt.

I turned to face the newcomer, who stood between myself and Dante. He was tall, dressed in fine, tailored clothes with a greatsword at his hip. As with the others, his focus was trained on Alduin, and his once blue eyes shone with otherworldly gold.

"Father," I choked out.

The spirit of my father gave me a swift, sideways glance.

"Zu'u los het, Mon." (I am here, daughter.) he said. "We will keep him from you. It's your turn."

I nodded, swallowed down a huge lump in my throat, and stepped toward the World Eater.

Alduin was so immense; some of his teeth were larger than me, and at any moment they could saw through the protective net.

There was no time to waste.

"Daan Tey Vo," I Shouted at him.

The words of power were tremulous, thick with emotion. My name had bound him, and the name of my ancestor would dismantle the destiny taken from him, and return him to his path.

I stepped back as the words whooshed out of me, and watched.

And waited.

Nothing changed.

It did nothing.

"Pah hi lost dreh," (All you have done,) Alduin snarled through his teeth, "los koraav dii dez." (is realise my destiny.)

"Ni," (No,) I searched his piercing eye, held his gaze. "Your destiny was to complete the cycling of life. Creating life as well as taking it. You are only taking."

"Nuz zu'u wahlaan hi," (But I created you,) Alduin countered with a low growl at the back of his throat.

"You did not give me my power," I grated.

"Hi lahney nunon fah zu'u wahl hi," (You live only because I made you,) Alduin continued.

"Hi lost aan joor mon-kiir, nuz fah zu'u los het, hi los dovahkiin," (You were a mortal girl-child, but because I am here, you are dragonborn,) he continued, a dull growl. "Daar los wahlaan." (That is creation.)

My mouth twisted at the notion. "You have forgotten your Father," I whispered.

"Zu'u vodahmin nid," (I forget nothing,) Alduin huffed; smoke wafted out of one enormous, half-exposed nostril. "Daar gron fen feim. Zu'u fen saraan." (These ties will fade. I will wait.)

"You do not have to wait any longer," I ensured him. "We are going to return you to your duty now."

"Bo, ruz," (Come, then,) Alduin taunted. "Kod hin thu'um nau zu'u." (Use your Voice on me.)

I narrowed my eyes and gripped my lute strap tight within my fingers.

"Zu'u los oblaan thu'um ahst hi," (I am done Shouting at you,) I whispered.

With trembling hands, I unstrapped my lute.

It felt foolish to play for Alduin, as though song might reach him as it had the other dragons and my shield-siblings, and incite the change I hoped to bring.

But the song called to me, and I told myself to trust its power, however subtle. The song had always brought choices into focus, and made the right path not necessarily simple, but clear.

I sang again:

"Aav ko kruziik kiindinok pindaar, (United on ancient birth-death plains,)

"Zu'u los hin spaan, hin dwiin, ol hi los dii. (I am your protection, your steel, as you are mine.)

"Nu fin thu'um lovaas, ol aan dovahkiin mah, (Now the Voice sings as a dragonborn falls,)

"Lein mulhaan erei mu drun nii." (world remains the same until we make it.)

The meaning doubled back on me, and I gasped, staring at Alduin with overwhelming realisation.

From where I sat, I could see only one of Alduin's glaring red eyes. It grew triumphant, and even under the weight of the golden webs that bound him, he started to chuckle.

I just stared past his knowing, calculating gaze, disbelief warring with destiny. I played the final notes of the song automatically, my fingers tumbling over the strings.

The song had done its work. It was as though the mists of my mind parted, to show me the right, the only way forward.

Alduin would never return to his purpose, because it was not his purpose alone.

Now the Voice sings as a dragonborn falls, world remains the same until we make it.

As Martin Septim had become part of Akatosh to defeat Mehrunes Dagon, I was going to become part of Alduin.

And the dragons I had killed, whose spirits had joined my sister, father, Alvor and Kodlak, giving them the power to bind Alduin long enough for me to realise this - they had used the very Shout I would need to do it.

"What is it?" Dante called. "What has he done to you?"

A gentle hand touched my shoulder, but it might have burned me, for I startled and faced my ancestor.

His eyes were so wide, so familiar - but so lost.

"I have to become him," I told Dante quietly.

"What?"

"I have to join with him, become him," I emphasised waving my hand toward the smug-looking fiend.

"That doesn't make any sense, you can't become Alduin," Dante scoffed.

I shook my head swiftly. "Your father became part of Akatosh," I said hurriedly. "So I must become a part of Alduin, to return him to the cycle of remaking. He will never do it alone," I admitted. "So I have to join him. Balance his spirit out. Death and Life. Shout and Song."

"How do you propose-?" Dante protested.

"The other dragons did it," I lowered my eyes to the grasses, watched the thin, yellowing tendrils waft gently in an unfelt breeze. "Sil, Gron, Slen," (Soul, Bind, Flesh,) I told him flatly, words stilted and powerless.

The resignation weighed on my chest - I couldn't bear to Shout it yet - but truthfully, it was not unbearable. I had accepted I might have to remain in Sovngarde to fulfil my purpose. This way, I could keep everyone safe, and keep Alduin in check, for eternity. Who knew what wonders I'd see through his eyes, what new worlds were waiting to be realised?

"Celeste?" Dante asked quietly, sadly. "You will lose everything you are."

"As tends to happen with our kind, brother," I gave him a rueful smile, unstrapping my lute and passing it to him. It could not come with me.

"Our…kind?" Dante's eyes widened.

"Our lives are, as you put it - one with dragons."

Dante pushed my lute back onto me.

"Put that back where it belongs," he commanded, stepping between Alduin and I. "It is not your destiny to join with this wyrm."

"Dante?" I choked, slinging my lute over my shoulder to free my hands. "What-" I reached for him.

He batted my fingers away, casting a frustrated glance over his shoulder. "I lived for over eighty years Celeste, and I have walked Sovngarde for nearly double that, always wondering when my Father would call me to join him," he turned to Alduin, reached a hand toward the bound dragon's head.

Alduin's eye was now wide, the slit of a pupil searching and desperate.

"And now he has," he continued, pragmatic. "Don't you see? Alduin is Akatosh's son," he gripped a fistful of golden bindings, lifting his gaze to meet Alduin's through the net. "And I am Martin's. This is my destiny."

"But - you told me," I managed around the lump in my throat. "You will lose yourself."

"No," Dante smiled at Alduin, his face serene. "I will finally find myself. What was the Shout again? Oh yes.

"Sil Gron Slen." (Soul Bind Flesh.)

"Dante!" I gripped my lute strap and stepped back, squinting as Dante was absorbed by light from within.

The Shout swirled, his brightness coalescing about Alduin's head, piercing the enormous red eye. Alduin tossed his head back, the bindings stretching over his maw finally snapping as he screamed to the glorious Sovngarde skies; a formless, wordless cry of despair.

Then his head fell forward. His jaw crashed to the plains with a great thud, then he stilled, as though dead.

But Alduin can't die.

I waited a beat before reaching out to touch the smooth, warm scales under the dragon's closed eye. "Dante?" I asked. My voice cracked, and I cleared it. "Daanteyvo? Alduin? Los hi til?" (Are you there?) I begged.

His eye snapped open. The slitted pupil dilated as he stared at me.

I gasped a laugh of relief. His eye was a clear, regal, stunning purple colour; Aludin's red and Dante's blue beautifully in balance.

"You did it!" I cried.

"Mu drey nii," (We did it,) the dragon rumbled.

He eased his head up, tugging briefly against the shreds of golden binds. They snapped and dissolved, possibly sensing they were no longer required. He stood, turning his head from side to side as though working out cricks in his muscles, then flexed his wings experimentally.

"Daar los pruzah," (This is nice,) he mused.

My sister stepped into the corner of my vision. Her eyes were still gold, still glowing with the power of whichever dragon had loaned her their strength. She regarded the great black dragon cautiously, still clutching her tiny, now quietened baby to her front.

"Alduin is gone?" she asked, ethereal eyes turning on me.

"No," I laughed. "Alduin is returned."

"Lok Vah Koor!"

Alduin reared on his hind legs and Shouted. His enormous wings beat against the air and his words of power flooded the hills and valleys, surging around the lost souls and clearing the snaking blue mists.

All around me, the souls blinked as though waking from a deep sleep. Some rubbed their eyes, stared at their surrounds: the mountains, the plains and the radiant skies. They saw each other, truly saw everything, possibly for the first time since they had arrived in the afterlife.

I checked on my sister with a cautious sideways glance.

Giselle was staring at the baby in her arms, her glowing eyes awash with tears.

"How are you here?" she choked out, glancing up to me suddenly. "How is she even here?"

"Giselle," I closed the space between us and hugged them both.

"Celeste!" Giselle accused, her voice thick as she squeezed me with her free hand. "Why are you in Sonvgarde and why is there a dragon inside me?"

I laughed and pulled back to grin at her. "Welcome to my life. But here," I moved a hand to her shoulder, looked her in the eye. "I'll release them, just hold on, it can be a little…disorienting. Sil Stin Slen."

The gold left her eyes at once. The dragon soul spiralled out and hovered above her, their wispy wings extended, watching, waiting.

"Kogaan," I told it with a small nod, and took a deep, focussing breath. "Daan Tey Vo," I Shouted.

It's leave granted, the bright soul sparkled and flew, climbing higher and higher. Giselle and I watched until it grew indistinguishable from the glorious, shifting skies.

"Are you okay?" I asked Giselle.

My sister did a double take, nodding idly.

"I'll see to the others, but I still need to talk to you. Stay with Dante for now, okay?"

"Dante?"

"I mean Alduin," I motioned.

Giselle looked baffled, but didn't argue. I moved to Alvor, then to Kodlak, unbinding each dragon soul in turn and Shouting its promised release. Beyond us in the bemused crowd, I caught flickers of conversation, of laughter and tears, saw hugs and handshakes as the lost found one another.

This is what Sovngarde should be, I thought with satisfaction.

After hugs and brief, quiet words of wonder and thanks with Alvor and Kodlak, I turned to the fourth who'd stepped forward for me: my father.

"Sil Stin Slen."

Once it was done, and the dragon soul given its final release, father looked at me, really looked at me with his eyes wide and brimming with emotion.

"Daughter why are you here?" my father choked out.

Wordlessly, I threw my arms around him, tugging him down to my level as tears spilled from my eyes, large and unchecked.

I didn't know what to tell him; too much had happened since he had passed, and to explain even a tenth would create more questions.

We held each other in silence for a long time, and when I finally withdrew, Giselle was with us, and embraced him too.

"Let's go find mother," she murmured over his shoulder. "She's here somewhere, I know it."

Before I could open my mouth to say I would join them, Alduin nudged me gently with his nose.

"Nii los tiid daal wah Vus," (It is time to return to Nirn,) he rumbled, "fod hi fen bo." (if you will go.)

"Already?" I blinked at him, glanced to my family.

"Sovngarde los ni fah slen," (Sovngarde is not for flesh,) he said, his tone suffused with regret. "Your body weakens here, even as your soul is fed. If you do not daal, return now, there will be no going home."

I nodded, puffing out an overwhelmed breath as I watched Giselle pass her tiny baby to our bemused-looking father.

Of course I still wanted to go. I wanted to spend my life with Hadvar, with Lydia and the Companions.

"Ahrk niin?" (And them?) I whispered.

"Til los nid slen daal wah," (There is no flesh to return to,) Alduin posed thoughtfully. "But I see gein miiraad, one path where they might go with you. Fen rek lost nii?" (Will you take it?)

Watching Giselle, smiling and unburdened with our father and about to set out and find mother, it felt wrong to tug her back to the uncertainties of Skyrim. If she returned, I could not ensure her freedom.

And what of the others, the lives lost to Alduin's greed, to the pointless war? If Giselle could return with me - couldn't they?

"It is not my choice," I told him quietly. "Nuz fod nust hind daal, zu'u laan wahl niin." (But if they wish to return, I want you to remake them.)

"Vahzah ful, Dovakiin." (Rightly so, Dragonborn.)

I nodded, acknowledging the gravity to Alduin's words, and accepting I might be returning to Nirn on my own.

"Hi lost mal tiid." (You have little time.)

"Giselle," I called, and ran to them. I had to ask her, let her know it was possible to come back to Skyrim.

My sister's smile was fragile as she took back her tiny daughter from father. It must have been a lot to have your memories flood you, and realise you were in the afterlife with a baby you'd thought lost and a father who had Questions.

I slowed to a stop beside her, my eyes welling with tears of understanding.

Even if Giselle wanted to come back - her baby was far too small to survive outside of Sovngarde. It was a miracle the tiny soul had been brought here at all, though I assumed her being Dragonborn was responsible.

"Why are you crying?" Giselle huffed, stepping closer. "You did it. I mean, of course you did it," she rolled her eyes. "Only you could figure out a way to overcome Alduin with a song."

"That's not -" I spluttered a laugh. "Dante did it, in the end. And…" I faltered.

"Selahstiid, zu'u los krosis, hi fen bo," (Celeste I am sorry, you must go,) Alduin said gravely.

"Gein tiid," (One moment,) I begged, a fragile smile at the dragon.

I turned to my sister and threw my arms around her, minding the child between us. She jumped, then laughed a little, and returned the hug with her one free arm.

"Alduin said there is a way for you, or anyone who wishes it, to come back," I managed to choke out, "if you want to."

My sister stilled.

I squeezed my eyes closed with regret.

Only when I withdrew did she answer.

"I suppose…I must face my mistakes," she shuddered, her face pale and eyes distant.

"Not what I meant," I insisted. "There is a lot of work ahead, sure - reparations, and I'll need to somehow convince the entire world the dragons will leave them alone if they stop hunting them but-" I babbled, wiping my eyes swiftly. There would never be another chance to say this.

"I want you to come back because you never had a chance to live life on your own terms. You made decisions based on what everyone else needed of you. But I understand if it's too much - if you don't want to," I made myself look up, meet her gaze. "I guess I just want you to know," I sniffed, another rush of tears spilling down my cheeks. "Thank you, for being my sister. I love you."

"Thanks," Giselle smiled, pensive, nodding idly as she shuffled the baby, hugging her a little closer. "Okay. We'll do it."

I nodded, tears dripping off my nose to splash against the grass before I really heard what she said.

"Okay?" my head snapped up, eyes widened. "You'll…"

I glanced to Alduin, wondering if this was real, then again to my sister.

"You'll come back? To Skyrim?"

"Dovahkiin, hin tiid los nu," (Dragonborn, your time is now,) Alduin interjected. "Nahl Daal Vus!" (Living Return Nirn!)

I spun to face Alduin in shock: not yet!

But I could feel the effects of his Shout already, making my skin buzz and tingle.

"We'll come back," Giselle said, seemingly unaware of my departure. "Look for us on the other side, okay?"

"Okay! Yes, I'll see you soon! Good bye!" I babbled, too many words in too little time and they flit off my tongue as Sovngarde dissolved around me.

"Nid pruzah guur," (No good byes,) I heard Alduin say as everything became formless fragments of light and shadow. "Fah lingrah hi lost nunon naako heyv. (For long you have only tasted duty.) Nii los tiid fah hin stin." (It is time for your freedom.)

Everything rushed by me, or perhaps it was I that rushed past everything else. I tried to not feel regret; I hadn't said goodbye to my father, Kodlak, Alvor - and I hadn't even seen my mother. There had been my duty, and then I'd run out of time.

But Dante, and then Alduin had said I could not stay in Sovngarde for as long as I wished, or I would lose my chance to return. And perhaps I would see them again, and soon. Perhaps, they would all want to come back, and Alduin would remake them.

And if they didn't come back? Well. I would see them again, when I journeyed to Sovngarde, to stay.

The return to Nirn felt much the same as my departure, only this time the dragon souls I had carried with me for so long were no longer there, grappling for purchase. There was only a whizzing, rushing sensation that glanced off my formlessness like rocks skimming across a lake or stars, shooting through a dark sky.

When everything slowed down, I felt I was sitting with my legs curled under me, with the comfortable weight of my lute pressed to my back. Flecks of snow prickled my cheeks and there was cool stone under my fingertips.

I opened my eyes, blinking back the snow and glare of the sun, and lifted my arm as a shield.

Where was I?

Sounds returned next; the whoosh of wings, the whistle of the air to whisk the snow about in every direction. I looked to the sky, still shielding, and gasped.

It was a bright, clear blue, unmarred by clouds - but filled with dragons.

They were so great in numbers, I realised they were creating the winds. Some hovered far enough away to be little more than specks in the distance, and some were so close, I could pick out patterns in the scales on their gleaming flanks.

"Nii los oblaan," (It is done,) came Paarthurnax's voice. "Ro los daal." (Balance is returned.)

I pulled my focus away from the sky to search the plateau for the dragon, and located his word wall, suddenly recognising where Alduin had sent me.

We were on the peak at Monahven; the Throat of the World.

Paarthurnax sat at the base of the crumbling wall like a statue, his wings curled behind him and eyes glittering with triumph.

My smile overwhelmed me, and I rose and ran to him. "Alduin los daal," (Alduin is returned,) I corrected cheekily.

The old dragon lowered his nose to touch my offered palm. "Hi lost dii kogaan, briinah," (You have my thanks, sister,) he rumbled, briefly closing his eyes. "Alduin lost dii zeymah, ol lost Daanteyvo." (Alduin was my brother, as was Dante.)

"I did not look forward to vervisk, celebrating the fall of either," he said with a deep sigh, in quiet words, just for me. Hot air puffed out of his nostrils and warmed me, "much I saw it might be praagek, necessary."

Paarthurnax's eyes opened, and he lifted his head to the skies, to address the hovering weyr.

"Hi lost hon fin Dovahkiin Thu'um. (You have heard the Dragonborn's Voice.) Rek lost Lovaas fah hi, ahrk rek lost daal, krongrahkei. (She has Sung for you, and she has returned, victorious.)

"Hi los stin, dii zeymah ahrk briinah. (You are free, my brothers and sisters.) Bo, ahrk lahney ol hi unad. (Fly, and live as you choose.)

"Mu sel asht tiid." (We belong in this moment.)

A lump welled in my throat and I hastily wiped away more tears. I had been trained to use words in many forms, as instruments of war and peace and to create love and hope, yet I found myself basking in Paarthurnax's speech with no words to reply. None would suffice.

When the dragons soaring above Monahven replied, their cries and Shouts created a cacophony of wild weather. I laughed at the sheer joy of their celebrations, ducking under Paarthurnax's wing to shield myself from the fallout. I peeked out as they spiralled and soared, a wondrous, beautiful dance of joy and freedom.

And then each departed, for where I could only guess. And that was the point, really; their lives were their own to live.

The realisation came to me when only a handful remained: it was finally done. The dragons were safe, the souls of Sovngarde could continue on their journey to Shor's Hall of Valour, and Alduin, with the help of my ancestor, had returned to his purpose.

Remaking.

Odahviing landed, shirking me out of my inner thoughts. His eyes shone with pride, and victory.

"Zu'u fen bo hi wah Ahrolsedovah, fod hi los nuk," (I will fly you to Whiterun, when you are ready,) he said, lowering his head to the ground; practical, for it was how I would climb onto his back.

I laughed. "Kogaan, Odahviing."

"Ahrk naanstad voz hi hind," (And anywhere else you wish,) Odahviing added with a rumble, suffused with respect. "Fahvos paagol fod hi aal bo?" (Why walk when you might fly?)

"I'm ready," I smiled and went to him, lowering my head in turn. "Unless there is more for me to do?"

Behind me, Paarthurnax chuckled; a low tone full of mirth. "Aalkos Dovahkiin aal kuz daar sizaan gein hofkiin?"

"Sizaan gein?" I repeated, my nose scrunching. Take who - what lost ones - home?

A sudden, swift wind spiralled around my ankles, then ascended. I held my hands out for balance, watching the blur of snow and - scales? - rise along me. The blur paused once it reached my eye-level.

"Ahnok, mal gein," (Hello, little one,) I hushed in wonder.

The dragon was smaller than a fox, her tiny brown scales glimmering a lovely burnt red where the sunlight played against them.

She blinked back at me, her eyes wide and blue.

"Ahnok," she replied in a shy whisper.

I was about to ask her name, but in a flash, she spiralled away.

I had never known a dragon could be so small, and in wonder, I followed her movements. She flew to a larger dragon nearby, one with similar colouring, and the little one would have been completely camouflaged, but for the blur of her movements. The smaller positioned herself atop the larger's head, and her little tail curled around a large, slender horn. Secured in place, she watched me.

Okay.

Holding my breath and not daring to speculate, I shifted my focus to look at the hovering, mammoth-sized dragon with lovely, deep brown scales and ocean-blue eyes.

And she looked into me, knowing and smug. I hadn't realised dragons could smirk but - this one was definitely smirking.

"Ahrk nust for hi Dovahkiin?" (And they call you Dragonborn?) the dragon murmured.

Underneath the growl of dovahzul, I heard my sister's tone. My hands flew to my mouth to muffle my laughter as my eyes filled with tears of happiness.

"Giselle?" I called. "Why did Alduin make you a dragon?"

The dragon - my sister - tossed her head in a bizarrely Giselle way.

"My daughter could not return jul, a human and live; she was too small," she said in Tamrielic, for I supposed now she could speak both, too. Giselle's focus flickered upward, to wryly observe the tiny dragon perched on her. "Alduin enfan zu'u aan miiraad, ahrk zu'u unad." (Alduin gave me a choice, and I chose.)

The memory of Alduin's final words flit back to me: For long you have only tasted duty. It is time for your freedom.

Perhaps he had not been speaking to me at all. This was certainly a kind of freedom.

"I suppose this means I will have to name her," Giselle's fond grumbles continued, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh.

The tiny dragon tilted her head, peering upside-down at mother's face.

I laughed again, baffled and delighted. Why not? Dante had become part of a dragon, so why not the rest of my family-?

The rest! Was it possible-?

I turned, scanning the skies and counting the dragons who hadn't flown off yet; those Paarthurnax had called lost. "Zu'u fund grind hi. Genaz, golt." (I would meet you. Please, land.)

Eight adult dragons and a smaller one dipped down at my call, landing elegantly in the snow. I raced eagerly to them, unable to hold back my grin.

Two landed close to one another, closest to me, and I identified my mother and father in dragon form, grateful and bewildered they were here. Father's colours were the same as Giselle's and the baby - who yes, really needed a name - and my mother's scales shone burnt-bronze, the same colour her hair had once been.

"You chose to return as dragons?" I asked wryly.

"It seemed prudaav, appropriate," mother murmured, her light-green eyes twinkling with joy.

"And I need to see if this kendov, soldier is balaan, worthy of my daughter," father added, flexing his wings.

I laughed, pressing my hands to the smooth, warm scales of their noses in greeting. "You could have done that as a human," I chastised.

Father closed his eyes, and huffed. "Daar miiraad los gezuk verluz." (This way is more intimidating.)

There was levity to his words, and I narrowed my eyes. "Til fen kos nid verluz," (There will be no intimidating,) I told him with mock sternness, in pure dovahzul for emphasis. "Zu'u unadaan rok. Zu'u lokaal rok." (I chose him. I love him.)

"Mu fen koraav." (We will see.)

"Dad!" I bit out in exasperation.

"Bormah yormud hi," mother sighed. (Father teases you.) "Leave it, Sahmuul, and let us go meet our grand daughter."

"I will not let you meet Hadvar if you are like this," I warned loftily, lowering my hands as the bright joy in my heart glowed with merriment. They were dragons but - they were here.

"Who else has returned?"

Father cast a dubious glance over his shoulder. "Hi fun mu?" (You tell us?)

With a roll of my eyes, I told my parents to go to Giselle, for mother was eyeing my sister and the tiny dragon wound about her with avid curiosity.

I talked with each dragon in turn, discovering all the humans who wished to return had been brought back as dragons, and realised, through their evident wariness and confusion, they had not all chosen to return like this.

Some of them, I knew. There was Ralof with scales of ashy-yellow and eyes the colour of twilight. He wished to return to his family in Riverwood, a sister who had grieved his loss. The small dragon was Helgi, the little girl I had sung to the afterlife in Morthal, who wished to fly with me from one side of Nirn to the other, now she was free to repay me. High King Torygg was amongst the returned, who vowed to wait for me to take him to Solitude, so he could stand alongside Elisif and protect her.

The last dragon I stood before had scales the colour of honey, and when he turned his hazel eyes toward me, I drew an unsteady breath of recognition.

"Alvor!"

"Ahnok," Alvor rumbled uncertainly.

I threw my arms around his lowered snout. I had felt his death as keenly as I had my own twin's, and it was a relief to know he was home.

I pulled back to look at him in wonder, afraid to blink in case he disappeared.

"I am so glad you decided to return. Riverwood is going to be home to so many dragons," I laughed.

Alvor huffed, the air from his nostrils brushing my boots and sending little flurries of snow spiralling away. "Fod dii brod fen lost zu'u," (If my family will have me,) he said, mild self-deprecation to his tone. "If not, I will watch over them do utan, from afar."

"Alvor," I hushed. "They love you. They will never stop loving you, no matter the form you wear."

"But, what use am I to them as dov?"

I didn't know how to answer him. I bit my lip and wished I could talk to Alduin, to the part of him that was my ancestor. Alvor had clearly wanted to return from Sovngarde, or he would not be here at all, yet Alvor in dragon form could not be what he had been to his family before.

Faced with Alvor's confusion, I questioned Alduin's logic.

Perhaps this was how Alduin got around returning them without flesh - by placing those who would come back into stronger, resurrected dragon bodies, whose souls had already been released. It seemed an odd decision, for restored to his position as maker, he could have returned them to their previous forms, surely.

Then, perhaps returning human souls to dragon bodies was part of some greater scheme, even to unite human and dragon goals through a handful of beings who, like myself, technically belonged to both races.

Whatever Alduin's reasons, and despite the overwhelming joy and relief at having so many beloved returned, I felt a twinge of regret that no matter what happened now, our lives were changed forever.

But had they not already been irrevocably changed over the past year? This was just another change. Another chance.

"We will find a way," I told Alvor steadily, told myself. "And I'm sorry, I don't think it will be easy, at least not at first. But we'll walk this path together. Whatever we chose, and however we fit into the world," I glanced away, toward my family. The fact they were all dragons stole the breath from my lungs.

I closed my eyes and fell back on my breathing exercises, balancing my focus and will, as though I was preparing to sing, or Shout.

"We will find a way," I repeated, when I felt steadier. "We always do."

Uneasy as the future was, at least it was ours.

When the frigid cold of Monahven became too much for me and my teeth began to chatter, Odahviing insisted I return to Whiterun.

I agreed; Hadvar, Lydia, Vilkas and Farkas were waiting for me, uncertain about whether I'd find my way home at all, and I wanted to put their minds at ease, and share our victory with them.

Akatosh, through my family, had made me Dragonborn, set me on the path to balance Alduin and guide him back to his purpose, and help Dante stand with his father. But the family I'd made for myself on this journey, and their trust and strength and hope and dear, unconditional love, had armed me to face it.

It was time to return to them.

I mounted Odahviing and said farewell to Paarthurnax, with a promise to return soon, for I would need his wisdom in the coming years.

When we launched into the sky, the new dragons leapt up beside us, and my tiny niece flew in excited spirals around my head. I laughed, delighted by her very presence, watched her fly to her mother, and smiled at the picture we painted.

It fell when I thought about what the people of Whiterun would think when they saw us, or what the people of Solitude would feel, when I escorted Torygg home, or what any person in Skyrim might do, when next a dragon swooped overhead.

Some might relish the wonderful sight, but most would fear, and react.

It would be neither easy nor simple to turn eons of legends, decades of terror and almost a year of death, war and the looming threat of attack around.

But, nothing about life was simple. Some would never accept a new path, where dragons lived amongst man and mer in peace, for their own fear and loathing, or dogma, ran too deep to concede ground to anyone. But most souls just wanted to live their lives, and a peaceful future was within our grasp.

And it wasn't like I had to change the whole world's opinion of dragonkind on my own.

"Dragonsreach will have to be extended to accommodate you all," I mused to my sister, who'd taken wing by Odahviing's side.

She snorted and flashed me an amused, sideways glance. "A great many things will vuld, change, if this pruzaan ven, better way of yours is to work, briinah."

"And it will be worth it, briinah," I returned with a smirk.

While my duty as Dragonborn was over, I saw then that my duty as a Bard had just begun.

There would be stories, songs, legends written about this time, and I would do my best to ensure they told the truth.

I would ensure news of the dragons assisting with the war spread far and wide. I would document my time in Sovngarde, compose songs to assist in the retelling, filling it with details to delight and aggravate scholars for years to come. I would tell the world about Alduin, and Dante Vonius, and how the World Eater's eyes were now purple. I would teach people the language of the dragons, and the dragons the language of men, and write and sing in both of my native tongues, for there were some things only dovahzul could convey, and others that would only reach hearts and minds through Tamrielic. My music would show me the way, if I trusted it.

And other bards would follow, drawing on this time for inspiration, drawing on the hope found in the midst of chaos. The past was ours to write faithfully, and both Tamriel, and Sovngarde, was brighter for it.

I flew down from the Throat of the World toward Whiterun with my family, to return to my family, to face our futures together.

Fin Laat (The end).


A/n: Congratulations for making it to the end, and regarding this chapter in particular, thank you for wading through the dovahzul. There was so much dragon speech that at times I regretted going there in previous chapters, but for consistency, given I've only ever had Paarthurnax speak Tamrielic occasionally, I had to stick to it. As there was so much dovahzul, I actually researched different ways to format multiple languages in text, and went with the way that seemed the least sluggish for dialogue whenever I could. For sanity's sake, sometimes I had to remove the dovahzul, and simply have dragons understand and reply in Tamrielic, or it became too hard to read.

But yeah, Celeste's Dragonborn journey is finally over. I've spent a heap of years writing this and when I couldn't write, I was always thinking about it. There's only an epilogue set in the future remaining, which is why this is marked unfinished (for a little longer). I hope you like the spin I put on the game, and I hope the changes felt true to the direction Celeste took me.

If you have any questions about the story, the characters, or anything really, feel free to ask in a comment and I'll answer them after the epilogue, if the answer isn't addressed in the epilogue itself (or, if you're reading this after the epilogue is published, feel free to ask via tumblr (gabbicav) or in a comment on ao3, so I can reply there).

Thank you to everybody who has stuck with me over the years, for your encouragement and support and for making the journey all the more exciting. It's been wild.