A/N: So, my lazy ass is writing more for this. Welcome to the last chapter of Arc 1. I can honestly say that this has been the toughest story for me to write in terms of how it affects me mentally, but I can safely say I powered through to bring you the last chapter of Arc 1. I hope you enjoy.
Trigger warning for suicide.
Whispers of the Night
Summary: One year after Serana died and she left Astrid, Alana has left for Solstheim to be alone and never harm another innocent. Enemies new and old are rising, and it is never easy for one to free themselves from the shackles of their demons…
*Book 1: The Black Swordswoman Part 8*
Alana could feel herself starting to fall towards the rust colored ocean below and she let her limbs go weak as gravity did its work. 'I'm sorry, Saoron. But it's for the best. I need to die. Otherwise, I'm just going to get you killed.' The list of people who she befriended and later died trying to protect her weighed heavily on her heart, crushing her like a thick blanket of guilt.
She closed her golden eyes, a few tears spilling out of them like the saltiest of raindrops, and her rapid descent was cut short by a powerful hand clasping firmly around her wrist. 'What? Why?'
Alana blinked her eyes open and saw that Saoron had sprinted over and grabbed her before she could fall too far. Her body swayed in the wind that came off of the sea and she looked up at her friend as he struggled to heave her back onto the tower. "Saoron…please. Please, let me go."
Saoron didn't answer her. He wasn't able to speak at the moment; his teeth were gnashing together as he lifted his arm back in his continuous efforts to haul her back. The blonde vampire knew what he was doing. He was trying to save her from a fate of endless torment at the hands of Vaermina, but he didn't understand that this was her torment. Every day she lived, she was constantly reminded of her greatest failures by the daedric prince. Vaermina relished in seeing her mind in such a pained and broken state, sending out her minions to try and rip her apart.
If she was dead, she wouldn't have to suffer the living nightmare anymore. She'd be free of it, but more importantly, Saoron would be free of her. He would be able to live without worry of her getting him killed.
Alana felt herself start to get frustrated and angry with her friend as he refused to just release his grip and let her plummet to her doom. "Dammit, Saoron. Let me fall!" She kicked out desperately with her legs, hoping that her momentum would force the brunet into dropping her. Her boots hit the tough stone of the tower but it didn't make Saoron budge an inch.
Instead, that seemed to make him even more determined to save her. His spare hand clasped onto the edge of the tower and sweat rolled down his face as he pulled with every ounce of strength in his muscular body. A loud crack sounded off in Alana's ears as his shoulder dislocated from the strain, but still he did not waver in his determination. If anything the pain gave him strength; his amber eyes narrowed in concentration and he took in a sharp breath of air before heaving with all of his might.
He pulled Alana over the edge of the tower on top of him, rolling off of the blonde to stand up and snap his shoulder back into place. "What the hell do you think you're doing!?"
"Doing what I wanted you to do when you had the chance!" Alana snapped back, scrambling to her feet. "I wanted you to kill me, just to spare you from having to do this!" Hot tears of anger dripped down her cheeks and she glared at the Breton, reaching for her sword. "Step aside. Let me die."
"No." Saoron stood in front of her, blocking her path.
"I said, step away," Alana hissed, her gloved hand gripping the handle of her weapon. "I won't warn you again."
Still Saoron refused to budge. He raised his shield and drew his own sword, taking a deep breath. "I won't let you do this. You'll have to get through me, first."
"Then so be it."
She attacked first with a quick horizontal slash. The aetherium treated sword hit the reinforced steel with a loud clang; if it had been anyone else holding it, they probably would have fallen over completely from the force of the blow.
But Saoron was a master with a shield and kept his footing, barely even budging an inch. He tried to counter her next attack with a power bash that could possibly disarm her, but he rolled to the side when the second sword came into play. Tough malachite hit reinforced steel and his amber gaze burned into her own. "Snap out of this! You don't know what the hell you're doing!"
"I know what I'm doing, and it's what I want!" Alana took another swing at him and again the heavy zweihander met the steel shield. "If you're too much of a damned coward to kill me, then I'll do it myself!"
Her follow up slash with the second sword missed, soaring over his head by inches and ruffling his hair. "How is refusing to kill you cowardly!? You're the coward for wanting to take the easy way out! What happened to the promise you made to Serana!?"
"Don't talk as if you know her!" Alana spat in fury and her swings became all the more savage with her anger coursing through her body. She put Saoron on the defensive, the Breton having trouble moving his shield thanks to her unpredictable fighting style. He grunted as her heavy blade slammed repeatedly onto his shield and she knew she'd wear him out before he wore her down.
Her blade slammed hard into his shield and he only just kept his footing, struggling to push back up. Alana's vision was blurry from the pure sorrow that flooded from her eyes and she let out a sob. "She would hate me! She'd want me to die for what I've done!"
"Dammit Alana, that's not you speaking!" Saoron shoved back with a loud grunt, sweat pouring down his face and body. "When will you see it!? Those thoughts you're having are not your own!"
His shield bash hit with enough force to rip Alana's zweihander from her hand. The heavy blade spun in the air before sinking into the ash that built up on the top of the tower. Alana still had the second sword in hand as well as her bare fist.
With a snarl of pained defiance she swung her fist and caught him in the jaw. The Breton grunted in pain and was forced back, rubbing his cheek for a moment before he brought his shield up to meet the blonde's sword.
"I know what I want," Alana croaked. "And what I want is to die for what I did. Either do it yourself or let me be the one to do it." She brought her knee up to the bottom of her chest and kicked hard, her boot hitting his heavy steel armor. Pain flared from her foot but she ignored the discomfort and swung her sword again.
Saoron's shield couldn't come into play in time and the aetherium treated sword cut through the shoulder guard of his armor. It was a glancing blow, but the razor sharp blade nicked enough of his shoulder to disable his sword arm.
Blood sprayed from the wound and he fell to his knee, his glass sword lying on the ground next to him. He tried to focus his restoration magic on his wound, breathing heavily as his amber gaze met Alana's golden one. "Don't do this. Please."
Alana looked at the sword in her hand for a few seconds, seeing the sun glint off of the shiny metal surface before looking back at her friend. "I've already made my choice." She flipped the blade around in her hand so the point of it was facing her.
"NO!" Saoron got to his feet to stop her, his eyes blazing.
"Tiid Klo Ul!" Alana used her Slow Time Shout, slowing everything down to a crawl. Saoron was still beginning to reach his hand out when Alana raised her sword up and stabbed herself in the chest.
The sword tore through her clothes and flesh with ease. Blood began to pour out of the wound and a gasp of pain left her lips. The Shout wore off as she pulled the sword out of her chest, letting the blade fall from her hands. Alana stumbled back, blood spilling from the wound that was so dangerously close to her heart, refusing to let her vampirism heal it. 'It's better if I go away for good. I just bring death no matter where I go.'
She could dimly hear Saoron scream out her name as his hand missed hers and she fell. 'Good. It's what a monster like me deserves.' She closed her eyes and thought of the people that had been the closest to her over the course of her life as the Dragonborn. 'Everyone…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'
"It's good to see the future of the College is in good hands. If you ever need my assistance, please do not hesitate to ask me, Arch Mage. I'll always stand by your side." Tolfdir. The old man had always supported her during her time in the College of Winterhold, never hesitating to lend her a hand or alerting her of magical disturbances that required her attention. He had been almost like a father to her, teaching her in the ways of magic.
"You led us to victory here today, Alana. It was an honor to stand by your side and shed the Empire's blood with you. I'll never forget what you've done, and neither will the men and women who fought by your side." Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's right hand man. The two of them led the siege on Whiterun, spilling the blood of the Empire's soldiers with the ferocity and courage of true Nords.
"Nice to see you're still in one piece. Was worried about you after the battle at Fort Sungard. Shows those Imperial dogs that they'll have to do a lot harder to put down us Nords, eh?" Ralof, her very first friend in Skyrim. The man who introduced her to Ulfric Stormcloak and his cause, helped her escape from Helgen.
"I would like to thank you for your service to Skyrim and her people. You showed that we will not bow down to the Thalmor and will fight back. I could think of no other woman I would rather have fighting by my side than you, Alana. I'm very proud to have fought with you." Ulfric Stormcloak, the former Jarl of Windhelm and current High King of Skyrim. The man's charisma inspired her to take up her sword against the Empire, fighting for their right to decide their own future without being burdened by an empire too weak to rule them.
"Bloody hell, lass. You've brought in a lot of gold for the guild this week. I can't remember the last time there was actually hope around here. You've done what I was beginning to think was impossible. You've saved the Thieves Guild." Brynjolf, the man who helped her become one of the stealthiest people in all of Skyrim and taught her how to pick virtually any lock. With his guidance she became the Guildmaster of the Thieves Guild and brought it back from the brink. She could still feel the Ebony Blade in her hand as she slew him.
"You know something, Alana? I've never felt so at ease around you before. You've gotten me to show my true colors around you. Now shut up and kiss me." Astrid. The woman who had helped her mend her broken mind and got her to be more at ease. A few tears left Alana's eyes as she thought about her mistress, her heart throbbing in guilt. 'Astrid…'
Her arm slammed into a small section of the tower that jutted out, shattering it on impact and bending it at an unnatural angle. A gasp of pain left her lips and the force sent her spinning.
"Turns out you don't learn much about something just by sleeping with it. And I swear, Alana, if you laugh, I'm going to bite you." Serana. The vampire she fell in love with and made happy. A sob left her lips as she thought back to the day she died, the rain pelting her skin as she clutched Serana's broken body in her arms and cried.
'I'm sorry I got you killed. You'd be better off without me in your life.' Alana hit the lukewarm water with a loud splash. She became drenched in a manner of seconds and the weight of the water began to pull her down to the shadowy depths of the sea with its powerful hands. Alana didn't fight back against it despite her body's instincts screaming at her to stop and swim up to the surface; she had no desire to. She wanted to end it the only way she could.
Alana could see the sun, so big and bright beneath the brown water. Its brilliant shine started to fade away the further she sank and she could the sliminess of underwater weeds and plant life tickling her legs. Blackness started to creep at the corners of her vision and she closed her eyes for the last time, embracing the end of her life. 'I'll see you soon…'
'Serana…'
The only trace of her left was a few bubbles escaping her mouth and disturbing the surface as the last breath of air left her lungs.
"No…no!" Saoron watched as Alana fell to her death into the sea, too late to save her. The damage she inflicted on his shoulder wasn't lethal by any means; it was merely meant to incapacitate him and stop him from preventing her from killing herself.
He gritted his teeth in frustration, focusing his magic on the wound to close it up. "Dammit!" He was furious with himself for not being able to prevent his best friend from taking her own life. It made him feel weak and powerless, unfit to call himself her friend. 'No. Don't think like that. That's the same method of thinking that drove Alana to this.'
Saoron picked up her bloodied swords, fusing them together and lifting it with a grimace. The weapon wasn't as heavy as he initially thought but it was no lightweight dagger; the damn thing weighed more than any greatsword or shield he had ever used.
He had to get down into the water and go after her. Even though he knew there was a very little chance that she had survived the fall, he had to try. He wouldn't give up hope that easily. I have to get down there. Looks like there is only one way to go.'
He descended the tower and made his way across the courtyard of Fort Frostmoth's ruins, breaking into a sprint when he reached the docks below the ruined tower. How Alana didn't land on them instead was a miracle.
Saoron set his shield and sword by the coastline, dropping Alana's zweihander. The water was still rippling from Alana's fall and he began to discard his heavy armor. The added weight would only drag him down to his own death and he had no desire to be sent to Sovngarde right now.
With his armor tucked into a neat pile he jumped into the ocean after her. Saoron swam out to where he believed she had sunk to and cast a water breathing spell. With the spell cast he dove beneath the surface of the water and began to concentrate, straining his eyes to try and see in the murky depths. Reeds and clams littered the seafloor and he narrowed his eyes when he saw a shadowy mass up ahead. 'There!'
He swam over to the shape and confirmed his finding. It was Alana's body, slowly sinking to the seafloor. 'Alana…'
Her body was still, her right arm broken and bent at an unnatural angle. Saoron fought the current trying to sweep her away and reached her, grabbing onto her shoulder and kicking with his feet to swim to the surface. His spell would only last for so long and he could feel it beginning to wear off.
His head broke the surface and he let out a gasp of air. He hadn't swum too far away from shore and he managed to carry Alana's limp form across to the ashy beach. He laid her body down on her back, pushing his hands just below her ribcage to try and force the water out of her lungs. A bit spilled from her lips, bubbling out of the corner of her mouth, but still she did not stir.
"Dammit Alana, don't you dare do this to me." Saoron fought back a surge of sorrow and continued with his efforts until his muscles throbbed and groaned in protest. A few thin streams of salt water dribbled out of her open mouth, her chest still and unmoving.
He touched her forehead, brushing her soaked hair out of her face and balling his hand into a fist. "Dammit…"
Saoron was forced to admit it when she did not react to his feeble attempts to rouse her. Alana was dead. 'She's gone. And nothing will bring her back.'
He stood up from Alana's body and wiped his eyes as an unfamiliar wetness stung the very corners of them. 'I can't leave her here. She deserves far better than to be left out to rot and have scavengers feast on.'
Saoron started to fit on his armor when he heard a pair of portals open behind him. 'An Oblivion portal. Someone's summoned a daedra.'
He looked over his shoulder to see a pair of dremora lords waiting for him, each of them with an iron greatsword in their hands. They were encased in heavy daedric armor, the blood red lines giving them the appearance of a dread knight, and the Breton man could sense the powerful fire magic in their weapons.
"Stand aside, mortal," one of the dremora growled. "We are here to take her body to Lord Dagon."
Saoron faced them, drawing his glass sword and preparing to cast Ebonyflesh. "Like hell you are. You'll have to get through me, first." 'Even when she's dead, the daedric princes still want her body. Sick bastards. Even with her gone, I can handle two dremora lords. I've had worse odds before.'
"So be it." The one to his right growled and swung his heavy sword. Saoron cast the alteration spell and rolled under the blow, letting his free hand become encased with Frost Cloak. It would whittle away at their power and stamina, leaving them exhausted and easier to fight against. His method of combat was much more strategic than Alana's ever was; she preferred to use her sheer power and brute force alone to just cut down everything that got touched by her sword. Saoron was a cunning strategist in comparison, using his magical prowess to his advantage.
His Breton blood gave him an advantage, enabling him to absorb the magicka from spells that hit him. Against enemies that used enchanted weapons like dremora lords, it was definitely something that proved useful.
The second dremora took a swing at him and Saoron leapt back, making sure he stayed within range of them for his Frost Cloak spell to affect them. He was still on the defensive, using his mobility to his advantage to avoid their clumsy attacks. He was tempted to scoff at their lack of a real challenge; even though her mind was shattered and she wasn't aiming to kill, Alana was much more dangerous in their fight than the two daedra. Her method of fighting was very vicious and unpredictable.
The style of the two dremora was the same style of traditional combat most greatsword users were taught. It was easy for him to counter, even without his steel shield.
He parried a pair of blows from the two daedra before he countered with an Ice Storm spell. Both dremora stumbled, the icy magic eating more of their stamina away. Ice began to crawl up their armor, slowing them down even more, and Saoron started to push them onto the defensive.
His sword clashed against theirs and it was obvious to see that the daedra were losing the ability to keep their swords raised.
"What trickery is this!?" one spat, groaning in pain as Saoron's sword cut through the tough armor of its abdomen. "I suddenly feel so weak!"
"Cursed mage!" the other growled out, struggling to keep standing with the ice magic draining its power. "You will suffer for your insolence."
Saoron's lip curled up in a snarl of determination and sheathed his sword, summoning every bit of magicka he had left in his reserves. "Rot in Oblivion where you belong." Lightning crackled along his fingertips and he focused his entire magical power into one powerful blast of Lightning Storm.
The magic struck the two dremora lords with a flash of bright light, blinding even himself. When he lowered his hands he saw that both dremora had been disintegrated into piles of ash, sending them back to Mehrunes Dagon's plane of Oblivion, the Deadlands. It was said to be the very definition of hell, full of collapsed towers with broken bridges on islands surrounded by molten lava. Towers built to house Sigil Stones were erected during the Oblivion Crisis, over two hundred years ago. A small passage of time for a daedric prince like Mehrunes Dagon, who would live for an eternity.
Saoron turned back to Alana's body, lowering his head when his amber eyes raked over the sight of the strongest person he knew lying limp in the ash. It still hadn't quite sunken in yet, that the first friend he ever had was now dead, killed by her own hand. "Alana, I'm sorry. I wish I paid more attention sooner."
He brushed a hand through her wet blonde hair, now slowly drying thanks to the sun blazing overhead. A gentle breeze ruffled her clothes and Saoron's ears picked up the sound of lightweight footsteps. The pattern suggested it wasn't a soldier or an ash spawn and he could feel an overwhelming sense of vampiric power. It wasn't radiating from Alana's body, either; instead, it was right behind him.
Saoron whipped around with his sword springing into his dominant hand, his other cloaked with fire. Approaching him was a young blonde woman wearing tight black and red leather armor. His eyes spotted the black handprint on the chest and his eyes narrowed. This was someone from the Dark Brotherhood.
"Who the hell are you? What do you want?" he asked with a growl.
The woman stopped a few feet from him, her bright golden eyes flickering to Alana's body. "I came for her."
"She's dead," Saoron croaked, his grief giving him strength. "What more could you want?"
"I didn't come to kill. Though if that's what you'd like, then I can easily start with you," the blonde shot back with a sneer, baring her canines. Saoron stood his ground and refused to be intimidated, having dealt with vampires before, and she let out a soft hum. "Hmm. Any other man would've run for their lives by now. Either you're a fool, or you're someone who's familiar with the undead."
"You could say that." Saoron's grip on his sword tightened and he took notice of her weapons. An unusually shaped dagger was strapped to her thigh and an ebony sword hung from a holster on her back. A little heavy for someone who was an assassin. "What do you want with Alana?"
"I want to talk."
"Good luck talking to a damn corpse."
"My, quite the mouth on you." The vampire smirked at him and took a few steps closer, enough for him to feel her warm breath on his armor. "Alana certainly knows how to pick a replacement." The last word was spat out of her mouth like venom.
"I'm not replacing anyone," the Breton man said coolly, keeping his composure despite being in very close proximity to a deadly vampire assassin. "Nor will I ever. Now if you're quite through with wasting time, I would prefer I take my friend back to Raven Rock."
"You're not going alone." The woman helped ease Alana's body across his back and for a moment he swore he saw unadulterated sorrow flash across her face briefly before turning to her normal stoic self.
"Forgive me, I never told you my name, did I? My name is Astrid, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood," she introduced calmly.
"And Alana was my Listener."
That wasn't a smile. That was a furious baring of fangs and Saoron had to admit it, she had every right to be infuriated with Alana.
Raven Rock seemed so far away now.
A/N: And that's it for Book 1. Alana's suicide is the highlight of this arc, all of her darkest thoughts finally being too much to bear. Next chapter begins Book 2: Oblivion Walker. Now, time to clear up some confusion you will have. 'How the fuck did Astrid reach the island that quick?'
Answer: the chapter with the Dark Brotherhood is set about two weeks prior to Alana trying to kill herself. While it would be amusing to see Astrid magically teleport via Oblivion portals, that shit doesn't actually work. Hence this explanation. See you all soon
C. Strife#5371