"Search for survivors," Telyra ordered. "Gather those well enough to transport to the healers."
"And the enemy?"
"Bind any of higher ranking," she replied. "Kill the rest."
With a nod, the lieutenant rushed off, gathering her unit to carry out Telyra's orders.
"General."
Another soldier approached, his voice went unheard as Telyra looked over the battlefield. Iron and ozone weighing down the air, too heavy even for any bit of breeze; the scene stagnant, silent other than the calls of those looking for fallen loved ones and fellow soldiers.
"Telyra," he said, speaking louder.
She turned this time, looking up despite every move causing her body to protest in pain. Erik, looking a little worse for wear but otherwise uninjured.
"There's been no word from General Miraak."
Any relief she felt at seeing her closest friend alive vanished. Her stomach dropped, nausea welling inside her as a lump formed in the back of her throat, threatening her breath.
"Find Miraak!" she cried across the fields, blood painting her tongue as her Voice sent a ripple through the grasses. "He takes priority!"
Telyra pushed past Erik and hurried through the bodies in the direction she'd last seen Miraak. Eyes darting over each fallen soldier, praying he wasn't one of them yet desperate to see his face.
"Miraak!" she Shouted. Again and again, she called out, her Voice piercing the air as her throat burned.
Her treatment of the dead was unsanctimonious, but she cared little; she flipped bodies, tore off helmets, pushed the dead aside with her bloodied boots. With each unfamiliar face, the bile in her throat grew. If anyone spoke to her, it was lost to the deafening pounding of her heart in her ears and her panicked focus. This frantic pattern continued, her trembling body pushing beyond the boundaries of exhaustion and her voice becoming nothing more than a rasp with each order barked at every passing soldier. Find him. Find him. Find him. Find Miraak!
It all felt in vain; with each minute past, his chances of surviving dwindled. If he was hurt, if he was on the brink of death…
Telyra broke into a run, willing her spent muscles to continue through the exhaustion and pain. She fell to her knees beside a large, face-down body clad in familiar armor. Turning him over with what little strength she had left, Telyra was filled with an anxiety-provoking mix of relief and dread. His front was covered in blood, originating from multiple impacts in the armor.
"Miraak." Her voice was barely a whisper.
His eyes fluttered and opened, barely enough to see the blues of his irises. He placed a shaky hand on her arm a moment before it slid off.
"Miraak!" She cradled his face as tears rolled down her own.
With his lips barely parting, he muttered, "Dii mal ruvaak."
"Don't you dare leave me!" she cried.
His body grew limp.
"I need a healer!" she Shouted, her mouth filling with blood once more. "Get me a fucking healer!"
"You need to sleep."
Telyra ignored Erik and continued her pacing outside the infirmary. It'd been a struggle to get her out of the room, but Erik managed to talk her down; a feat that impressed even the seasoned healer.
"You passing out from exhaustion isn't going to help Miraak," he lectured.
She threw her hands up. "How am I supposed to rest knowing he could–"
"Telyra." Erik pushed off the wall he'd been leaning on and placed a hand on her shoulder. "He'll make it. He's always made it." His voice wavered, so subtle anyone other than Telyra would've missed it.
Stepping away from Erik, she leaned against the wall and slid onto the floor, digging her fingers into her battle-greased hair and letting her head rest on her palms.
Tears pricked her already-raw eyes. They'd come so far, were so close to seeing the end of this war; stability and peace a near-reality on the verge of crashing. Their life together had been constantly plagued with the promise of another fight, another enemy, another world-ending threat. To see a life of quiet and love teetering on the edge, a breath away from falling into Oblivion; it tore at her soul.
The door opened, and Healer Arimon stepped out, his wrinkles looking even deeper, his eyes noticeably exhausted.
"General."
Telyra looked up at him, her lips parted but unable to ask the question that caught in her throat and threatened to strangle her.
"He's unconscious," he began, "but stable."
Erik held a hand out to Telyra, pulling her to her feet.
"It will take time for General Miraak to recover," the healer explained. "We'll need to keep an eye on him, but for now, you may go to him."
He stepped aside before Telyra could run through him.
"Thank you, Arimon," she heard Erik say behind her.
"The gods truly must watch over him," Arimon replied in a hushed tone. "Were he not Dragonborn, I don't think he would've survived."
Telyra was too elated to see the rise and fall of his chest to pay much mind to the implications of Arimon's words. A basin stood in the corner of the room, bloodied rags fueled the fire, the light bouncing across Miraak's face. She hovered over him, her fingers grazing over the raised, sutchered skin on his cheek. Her hand moved to rest against his other, thumb trembling across his cheekbone.
"I thought I lost you," she whispered, fresh tears rolling down her face.
His head turned, his hand covered hers, and he placed a soft kiss on her palm.
His voice was little more than breath. "Hi fen neh saan zey."