(AN: These past two chapters were written exclusively while listening to some of the more moving pieces from the Return of the King soundtrack. One of them, which featured an unplanned send-off, actually brought tears to my eyes. Amazing how a character who I'd spent some four years with [off and on] could elicit such a response from me.)
Breath of Kyne
Into the Blue Palace came Legate Rikke, forcing her way through the guards. In her arms was Jonna, fast fading from her wound. Despite the protests of the guards, she called in a loud voice for Bolgeir to bring Jordis before her. Within a few minutes, Jordis appeared in the antechamber of the Blue Palace; in her arms a little baby but four days old. Though she was dressed in commoner's clothing, Jordis still bore her blade at her side.
"Legate?" she asked. "Is everything alright? It sounds as though there's a battle going on outside."
"I'll explain later," Rikke said. "This young girl is badly wounded. She wanted to see you."
"Me?" Jordis asked. Rikke presented the bleeding Jonna before the woman who, beyond her knowledge, was her mother. "Gods above! You need a healer, not a huscarl!"
"No, too late for that..." Jonna breathed. "Just wanted...to see...that you're safe." She held up her hand and, to her horror, Jordis balked. "What?"
"I've never met you before..." Jordis gasped. "But...why do your eyes look so familiar? Are you a Battle-Born?"
"No time to explain," Jonna replied. "Just let me..." She held out her hand again, and Jordis looked strangely at her, then turned back to Rikke.
"What's wrong with her? Is she delusional?"
"I don't know for sure. But she's risked her life coming here to keep you safe."
"Well, I am safe now. And what about her? She needs a healer!"
At this, the baby in Jordis' arms opened her sleepy eyes to meet the newcomer.
"Who's this?" Rikke asked, amazed to see life in the middle of such death.
"This is my daughter, Jonna," Jordis replied. "She's four days old."
Wearily, the older Jonna held up her blood-stained hand a third and final time to caress her mother's cheek. Though she backed away, the hand gently brushed the baby. A smile appeared on the older Jonna's face that caused Jordis pause. It seemed familiar, and not in a way that made her initially uncomfortable.
"Hey..." the older Jonna whispered. "I look...so strange...from outside..." The hand fell, the body went limp, and the teenager's eyes went glassy. Rikke shook the body, but it did not respond. Gently Rikke placed her hands on the teenager's eyes and pulled them closed.
"Talos be with you, Jonna," she whispered.
Strong-Voice, Strong-Arm, fiery spirit, indomitable will, maiden of Kyne, last of the Battle-Borns; Jonna, daughter of Jordis, was gone.
Outside, the storm was starting to abate. One by one, the heroes of old had returned to Sovngarde. The streets of Solitude were littered with the blood and bodies of elves. Eirik was now standing, exhausted and blood-soaked, in the courtyard of Castle Dour. Before him were General Tullius and two Legionnaires: between them was Thelgil, bruised and beaten but still standing defiant before the Dragonborn. They were in deep discussion, now that the fighting was over and what was left of the Imperial garrison was back in charge of Solitude. What was left: Thelgil's little coup had cost the Legion more than a few good men. Now only the Solitude guard remained in any meaningful force.
"If it weren't for this hot-headed fanatic," Tullius said, gesturing to Thelgil. "We'd have you in chains being led to the block."
"Is that the thanks I get for saving your city?" asked Eirik.
"Saving?" Thelgil asked. "You brought a dragon here, with the express purpose of slaughtering us all for your precious Ulfric Stormcloak."
"We both know who the real enemy is, Tullius," Eirik returned.
"You and your friend," he retorted.
"The Thalmor!" Eirik returned. "And today I've proven that their strength isn't as great as they'd have you believe."
"Pretty arrogant of you," Tullius commented. "You're just one man, after all. You may have caught them off-guard on account of Thelgil here, but what happens when they send their armies after us? You've doomed us all because of your petulant refusal to accept the banning of Talos-worship."
"I am Talos!" Eirik replied. "You nearly refuted your entire Empire when you had me at the headsman's block in Helgen. Your Legions are in the mud in Dragon Bridge, and you have them shut out of Solitude. I took back Skyrim within a month: I think I've earned the right to throw my weight around."
"Bah! Talos?" Thelgil sneered. "A fool, a murderer, and a tyrant; but not a god! You're only a man, and soon I'll..." Eirik punched Thelgil in the face.
"This is all meaningless," Tullius returned. "You can't just step in and force an end to the war just because of your word."
"I can and I will," Eirik replied. "This fighting among each other is just what scum like Thelgil want of us. We made a break for freedom and you played into their hands. No more!" At this, Eirik seized Thelgil by the hair and, kicking his shins, brought him down to his knees and held his head down to keep him from attempting to rise up. Tullius could only look on in amazement at what he was seeing: the ones he had been obliged to call master and wait on hand and foot for the past thirty years now beaten, bloodied, and forced onto their knees.
"You will pay a thousandfold for this insult, you ape!" Thelgil snarled.
"Bark on, while you can," Eirik taunted. He then kicked him in the face, shoved him to the ground, and put his foot on his neck. He then turned back to Tullius.
"Am I supposed to bow down you to now, great and mighty Talos?" Tullius asked.
"No," Eirik replied. "But here's what you will do. Take your Legions and your men and all your supporters and go back to Cyrodiil and rebuild your Empire. You will hear from me soon."
"And what about Skyrim, hmm?" Tullius asked. "Will you pick up the pieces of the Empire you broke? How will you answer when the Dominion invades us?"
"I'm sure you'll find a way to placate them," Eirik replied. "You did that in Hammerfell, didn't you? Disavow Skyrim, let us stand alone, if it buys you enough time to last."
"And when they invade you without the support of the Imperial Legions, what then?"
"Then I promise that you have not yet seen the full power of the Dragonborn," Eirik returned. He took his foot off of Thelgil's neck. "And these elves will see it firsthand. Who knows, maybe then you'll be willing to nullify the White-Gold Concordant after that? Perhaps then we'd be open to forming an alliance as equals, not as master and slave."
"If you can do that, it would be impressive," Tullius commented. "And what about him?"
"He violated the Dominion's treaty," Eirik replied. "If it hadn't been for me, he would have been hanging bodies from the walls of Solitude within a month. It would have been an act of war on the Dominion which you would have been unable to answer. They would have done it again, until before long, the Empire would be less than a distant memory."
"If we kill him, it will be an act of war as well," Tullius replied.
"I didn't say kill him," Eirik returned.
"You'd be wise to kill me," Thelgil said. "I know too much. If I am free, I will return: you can count on it! And I'll kill you and your family, and all that you love. This...accident will never be repeated! And then Skyrim and your petty empire of apes will both fall separately."
"If we kill him in secret," Eirik continued, speaking to Tullius. "His defeat will go unheard and unnoticed. No, all of Alinor needs to see the severity of their defeat. He shall be sent on a ship back to Alinor, in chains with a placard upon his chest naming his failures. Let him be watched day in and day out; to see that he does not try to kill himself to save his honor."
"You're a cruel man," Thelgil sneered.
"As cruel as threatening to murder a man's wife and daughter?" Eirik retorted. He then kicked Thelgil's side with his boot as hard as he could.
Tullius laughed. "Make sure there's enough of him left to take back to Summerset."
"Is there anyone you have who can take this scum to his superiors?" Eirik asked.
"Not if we're to be heading back to Cyrodiil," Tullius replied. "Although, there is a Redguard pirate ship in the bay. You'll have to see to that yourself, I'm afraid. The only who had any clout with that renegade is now dead."
"Crixus..." Eirik muttered.
"Perhaps I should be thanking you for ridding the Empire of him," Tullius said. "A fine soldier, but...ah, where he went wrong, I do not know. Now, where's my Legate? She should be here, since I'll be leaving her in charge of Solitude in my absence."
"I thought..."
"She's one of you people, isn't she? I'll need a trustworthy connection once I return to Cyrodiil. She stays as the representative of the Empire in Skyrim. I think you'll need her help with the cleaning up?"
"Perhaps," Eirik said. "And Dragon Bridge?"
"I'll have one of the ships in the harbor move upstream as far as it can, and ferry them back with us." He gave Eirik the Imperial Legion salute: Eirik did not return it.
He was busy with his thoughts. There was much cleaning up to do, not only here but in the other holds that had been won. The political climate had to be judged, weighed, and reordered appropriately. Vulwulf Snow-Shod might rule for a time, but what about the Thieves Guild in Riften? And Dengeir wouldn't live forever: who would be his heir? Sorli the Builder, whom Sigrun and Jonna had put in charge of Morthal, was ambitious, but had a son of her own after her. And there was, of course, the matter of Igmund in Markarth. Once some measure of peace had been established, Eirik would have to begin Jonna's plan: armor and weapons were to be forged for every city in Skyrim, to prepare them to defend themselves against another war. Where was she, after all? And where were Rikke and Sigrun in all of this?
But into Eirik's mind came another thought: Ulfric will need my help in all of this. But I've used the dragons twice, and what has he done? Whether I will or not, the people will look to me more than him. And with the reordering of Skyrim in the days to come, I will be filling that role quite rightly. Should I do it? Dare I do it?
He went for a walk out of the courtyard of Castle Dour. His thoughts went back to Dragon Bridge: Mjoll and the others were there, waiting for him. Would Tullius keep his promise? Would he remove the Legion from Solitude? He better: after all, he had shown that he could destroy an army all by himself, and was feeling strong enough to Shout another Great Thu'um as that again. By and by his steps led him to the remains of Odahviing. Crixus had stolen the dragon's soul, but it hadn't helped him. Whatever end he now suffered was more than he could imagine. But at last he was free: there was only one Dragonborn in the age, only one who could slay a dragon or command one.
Suddenly his eyes fell upon something he had taken for a Thalmor soldier lying out in the open, all by itself. A second glance told him that it was not a Thalmor soldier: it bore the new Stormcloak armor. He gasped as he saw the trail of blood behind it. Swiftly he ran to its side and turned it over: it was Sigrun, broken, bloodied, and lifeless.
"Ofan...Gron Laas!" he Shouted.
The wind passed from his lips and onto the body. The hair was gently rustled, but no color returned to the ashen pale body and the limbs did not move. Tears began to flood Eirik's eyes as he clutched the bloody remains of his daughter to his chest.
"Why didn't you stay in Whiterun?" he begged. "Why did you come out here, only to die like this?"
For a long time he sat there, holding her body. His victory was soured with the bitter taste of defeat. He had gotten a rare chance among rare chances: to see his daughter grown before she was born and spend time with her as an adult and see the kind of woman she would grow up to be. And now she was gone. He didn't notice the other figure walking out from the direction of the Blue Palace, gingerly making her way over the bodies of the slain, another body in her arms. She stood a little ways off from him and announced herself.
"Eirik," she said. He looked up, with blood-shot eyes, from the body of his daughter. There he saw Legate Rikke, in full Legion regalia; in her arms was Jonna, unmoving. Rikke knelt down at Eirik's side and placed Jonna on the ground beside her.
"What happened?" he asked.
"She fell in battle," was the answer. "She came in secret to Solitude and was slain."
The two of them wept long and hard over the bodies of the two women: Eirik for the time and help that he had known them, and Rikke to see the cost of the war she had championed. Eirik placed Sigrun back down on the ground, face up, and put Jonna's hand on Sigrun's hand: lovely and pleasant in life, and in death not divided. He then turned to the Legate, a grim look on his face.
"We have much to discuss, you and I."
Sheogorath continued eating, as if oblivious to the one who had died before his table. The hawk was still circling overhead, growing larger and larger as it began to descend. There was a great flash, and the hawk transformed into a woman, tall of stature with flowing golden hair and a garment of white hawk-feathers. This was not Bjornvik the Winged, for she was loftier than she, and a light shone from within, illuminating her eyes and flesh with an otherworldly radiance. This was not anything mortal in anyway.
"There you are...at last," the old man said.
But the tall woman said nothing to the mad-god. She alighted over the broken and bloodied body of Sigrun, her gossamer white hands touching the ashen-gray face.
"Daughter of the Sky," a soft, musical voice whispered from the woman's lips. "You have conquered. All of your people thank you, though they do not know your name...not yet." The hand passed through Sigrun's face and took hold of her head. The other hand slid beneath her knees and then, with surprising strength, the tall woman lifted Sigrun up in her arms.
"You prayed when all others denied me," the woman said, a smile upon her face. "So at last I have come for you. The Dragon Break is mended. Your sacrifice has given birth to a new world." From the woman's eye came a single tear, clear and without salt, like the first drop of rain. It fell upon Sigrun's body.
"Is she going to Sovngarde, then?" Sheogorath asked. "To the Halls of Valor where the brave live forever?"
"No," the woman said, shaking her head. "She shall be allowed to live a second time, but her memories shall be preserved that she may never forget the great cost by which she paid for the future of the Children of the Sky." She leaned down and kissed Sigrun's forehead: but though her forehead was covered in blood, not a single drop of it passed onto the woman's lips. She then reached down with her fingers and closed her eyes.
"Sleep now, Daughter of the Sky," said the widow of Shor. "Forget your weariness, forget your pain, but remember your road. For in six months of the mortal world, you shall be born anew. Then, when your days have finally run their course, I shall lead you to your long home across the mists...to Sovngarde."
Gently now, the goddess Kyne rocked Sigrun to asleep. Their prayers had been answered: the Divines were not dead, but lived and intervened. At last, at the end of mortal strength, the Wind came to her aid.
A voice was crying out in great agony. Suddenly there was light and sound. Big brown eyes opened up again. Looking about, they saw Mjoll's face: drenched in sweat and tears, but beaming with joy. Strong hands took her and held her close to Mjoll's body. There was warmth and life, and suddenly she found herself more hungry than she had ever been.
Just then there was another noise heard. Eyes turned away from Mjoll's breast and looked up at...Eirik! He was beaming down at her, his brown eyes full of tears and a smile upon his face.
"She's beautiful!" Eirik exclaimed.
"She looks just like her," Mjoll replied. "Sigrun..."
At that, she tried to respond. But her new body was unaccustomed to the words and phrases that she had made before: for the present, she could only squawk and coo. But they seemed to understand her words.
"She likes it!" Eirik chuckled. "Sigrun it is, then."
"Welcome back to us, Sigrun," Mjoll said.
Seventeen years later...
Sigrun sat upon a stone on the pebbly southeastern shore of Lake Ilinalta in the verdant woodland hold of Falkreath. It had been a favorite pastime of hers, coming down to the Lake on her family's old homestead. There was little time for that, being the daughter of the High King of Skyrim (who had ascended the throne after Ulfric Stormcloak died childless). Everywhere she went, voices were lifted up in praise to her. She could not go from Markarth to Windhelm without someone recognizing her and her entourage. Perhaps it was because of the scar on the left side of her head, right above the eyebrow and going all the way back to her temples: a birthmark some called it, for it had been with her since the day she was born.
With a sigh, she removed her boots and waded out into the water. It would be the last time she would be on Skyrim's shores for a long time. On her thirteenth birthday, a message had arrived from Solstheim from one Erik the Slayer, a renowned warrior of the Thirsk Mead Hall. Its arrival had changed everything for the young Sigrun. She became giddy with joy and could speak of little else but what awaited her on Solstheim. She told Jonna that when she came of age, she would take a ship from Skyrim and set sail to Solstheim to be with her love again.
Jonna Strong-Voice. There was no other person in all of Skyrim who understood her quite like Jonna. Her mother Jordis was now captain of the city guard of Solitude, and a personal huscarl to Jarl Elisif the Fair. Though they hadn't grown up together, as before, they were exposed to each other through her Father's constant business in Solitude. By and by they became fast friends, and soon they shared with each other a secret that no one else could have known. The secret of their old lives together. Most thought them crazy, but they had been best friends and had grown up together in another life: a life that only the two of them remembered existed. How they still had memory of it, they could not guess. But the meeting of the two was such joy that their parents permitted the two of them to spend time together: even when they were naughty and got into mischief, they were always in it together.
While she stood out in the water, pausing to enjoy the beauty and serenity of the Lake one last time before her departure, a voice called out her name behind her. Turning about, she saw three figures that brought a smile to her face. One, of course, was Jonna: they were never parted for longer than a short while. The other was Lucia the Kind, wife of Fralki Grey-Mane, Jarl of Whiterun, and Bjorn the Wise, apprentice court wizard to Jarl Bram of Winterhold: together, the four of them were the Children of the Dragon of the North, Eirik Bjornsson, the High King of Skyrim.
"Still out here, Sig?" Jonna asked, a knowing smile on her face.
"Always, Jons," came Sigrun's answer. "And Lu! Shor's bones, I'm amazed to see the Jarl's wife out and about, especially nowadays."
"This baby won't keep me from seeing my baby sister off," Lucia replied, her left hand cradling the bulge beneath her fine clothes.
Sigrun waded out of Lake and approached Bjorn. "And you, still with your nose stuck in a book!" She plucked the book from his hands. "The Voyage of the Red Dog by Emperor Servius Crixus. Still reading this piece of junk?"
"It's not junk, Sig!" Bjorn retorted, taking back the book. "The ending's changed!"
"That book is over seventeen years old," Sigrun said. "It's not changing at all."
"It has!" Bjorn insisted. "It goes from detailing what happened on the Isle of Artaeum to...'25th of Sun's Dawn 4E202. I awoke in the hull of the Red Dog. I remember nothing.'"
"And I suppose you're going to regale your friends at the College with this little bit of knowledge, aren't you?" Sigrun asked.
"Something's happening, I can feel it!"
"I definitely feel something!" Lucia groaned, rubbing the underside of her stomach.
"Is my nephew giving you trouble again?" Sigrun asked. She knelt down and, very authoritatively, wagged her finger at Lucia's belly. "Now you behave yourself!" Lucia laughed, Jonna covered her mouth with her hands, and Bjorn rolled his eyes and returned to his book. Sigrun rose to her feet and embraced Lucia, then walked over to Jonna.
"So, are you my royal escort?" Sigrun asked.
"Bjorn and I are here to escort you," Lucia replied. "Jonna's presence is a surprise."
"Well, come on, then!" Jonna said. "Put your shoes back on. We're meeting at Riverwood for the going away party."
"Shall we ride, then?" Sigrun asked, as she reached for her horses.
"You can ride," Lucia replied. "I'm taking the carriage."
Sigrun chuckled. "Our big sis, growing soft in her old age."
"Hey!" Lucia retorted. "I may be a mother-to-be, but I can still outdraw any of you! Once he's born and weaned, I'll be championing the archery lists again."
Lucia made her slow, tottering way back towards the horse-drawn carriage on the side of the road near the shores of the Lake, and Bjorn followed with her. Standing guard over the carriage were men in steel lamellar armor with yellow cloaks, leather shields, and horse-emblems upon their helmets: these were the soldiers of the hold of Whiterun, who always accompanied the Jarl and his family on their journeys to and fro. Bjorn went for his gray horse, while Jonna sat with Sigrun as she placed her boots back onto her feet.
"It's so strange, Sig," Jonna said. "It's like we never left, but...we're different people."
"Yeah?"
"Do you remember how this all began?" Jonna continued. "Our journey, I mean. It was on this exact same spot."
"And we took the long way of getting back here," Sigrun replied.
"How did it happen?" Jonna asked. "I've been asking myself that same question for as long as I can remember. And I don't have an answer."
"Neither do I," Sigrun said. "But, Kyne be praised, we've made it. Now, let's get to the horses."
They made good time on the ride to Riverwood. As they arrived, they saw a great company of people gathered to meet them. Chief among them was Gerdur, the chief citizen and master of Riverwood. With her also were notable ones of the Royal Court: King Eirik's five golden huscarls, each of them glad in gilded armor befitting their station and bearing thick cloaks of bear's skins - Lydia, Rayya, Iona, Calder, and Rikke. Serana, court-wizard and Master of Whispers, unchanged even after seventeen years. The Inner Circle of the Companions - Farkas, Vilkas, and Aela the Huntress - each with a wolf's skin cloak. The Grey-Mane Family was present as well: Thorald the Old, Olfina the Wise, Avulstein the Reclaimed, and Jarl Fralki. At the head of the company were the High King and High Queen of Skyrim themselves, Eirik the Dragonborn and Mjoll the Lioness; they were showing signs of age, but venerable just the same. They bore cloaks of snow cats upon their shoulders, and gold chains were about their necks and golden rings upon their fingers. Upon Mjoll's head was a circlet of gold set with green gems, and upon Eirik's head the Jagged Crown of legend.
Beyond them Sigrun saw, standing taller than all the folk of Riverwood, a familiar face standing before her seven lofty sons: Talvi, the High Chieftain of the Giants of Skyrim. She bore her mammoth's tusk spear in her hand, and her hair was long and pleated on both sides of her head. She had survived the siege of Dragon Bridge and, in the following months, had rallied the remaining giants and led them into the wilderness. It was said that she single-handedly saved the race of giants from extinction following the Civil War, though if that were true or not, none dared ask her to her face. One of her seven sons bore her standard: the tree with the ancient's skull upon it. Six others held the ship that would take Sigrun and her companions down the White River and out into the sea.
Sigrun approached her Father and Mother and knelt before them.
"Father, Mother, Your Royal Highness," she said. "I ask permission to travel to Solstheim to prove myself in the Hall of Hrothmund the Red."
"Skyrim will miss her finest daughter," Eirik replied. "But I give you permission to leave. Return safely and covered in glory and honor." Sigrun rose from her feet and threw her arms about her Mother and Father in a warm embrace.
"I'll be back soon," she said.
"Kyne speed you back to us," Mjoll prayed.
Sigrun parted from her parent's embrace and Eirik gestured with his hand towards the ship. Sigrun saw her motley crew waiting for her: Braith the Sword-Singer, Sofia the spell-sword, Ralof of Riverwood and his grown nephew Frodnar, Roggi Knot-beard, an old and haggard but still very virile and strong Durak the Orc chieftain, and the old wandering wizard Havi. Sigrun came to them and accepted from the hand of Ralof the horn of departure. She drank from the horn, and then offered it to her Mother and Father, who also drank from it. Each of the other seven sojourners took the horn and drank therefrom; though Sofia had to have the horn taken from her to prevent her from drinking the entire horn dry. Sigrun then prepared to pour the rest of the mead over the bow of the ship, then halted as someone else ran up the gravely road to the side of the moored ship.
"Sigrun, wait!" Jonna cried out. "There's one more place on that ship."
"What?" Sigrun exclaimed. "You're coming with us?"
"Why else did you think Roggi was there?"
The two of them laughed and threw their arms around each other, then Sigrun gave Jonna the horn and she drank from it. With what little was left, she doused the bow of the ship and sent peels of praise from the crowd. Then, together with Talvi and the giants, the nine of them lifted their ship - a small drekkar with a shallow draft - up off of the ground and placed her in the waters of the White River. The crew of nine then climbed onto the ship, took the oars, and began sailing down the River. They waved and cheered back at those who were seeing them off and soon were lost to their sight.
The journey eastward would take at least six days: at best, one day of traveling the White River, factoring in the time taken to fording every waterfall they encountered, and then five days at sea to reach the eastern side of Solstheim, where the Thirsk Warriors had built a small dock called Bujold's Retreat. During the journey, they were all of them busy working keeping their ship intact and on course: but Sigrun, meanwhile, was thinking about what she had bought. It was indeed a different world to the one she had left. Skyrim and Hammerfell were now allies under the Dragon-Crown Alliance, a union between Skyrim and Grandee Fayyiiq, the leader of the Crowns, an opponent of the Dominion and current High King of Hammerfell. The Crixian Potentate, led by Emperor Venerius Crixus, ruled over Cyrodiil and High Rock as the spiritual successor of the Empire, which had nominally dissolved when the Dragon-Crown Alliance ended all hopes of a return of Skyrim under the remnants of the Medan Empire.
What had resulted from the end of the Civil War was a reversal of roles. Nords and Redguards now led regular sea-raids to Alinor to put pressure on the Dominion and prevent their numbers from growing. The booty from these raids had enriched both of their nations, and more than made up for Skyrim being cut off from trade with Cyrodiil and High Rock. Beyond this, a certain Altmer mage by the name of Olynnswe had been sent back to Summerset at the recommendation of huscarl Rikke Strong-Arm to serve the High King as a spy. While elves were still distrusted in Skyrim, they were allowed to move freely and even settle in the Fatherland, provided they swore allegiance to the High King first: Thalmor, on the other hand, were forbidden entry in either Skyrim or Hammerfell on pain of death.
Half a decade of almost endless conflicts, subterfuge missions to Hammerfell, and trade disputes with the Potentate had led to this era of watchful peace. All eyes now looked to Skyrim to lead humanity against the Dominion: mankind would live or fall with Skyrim. As such, Jorrvaskr and Thirsk were in high demand among the sons and daughters of Skyrim, as well as the Fighters Guild halls in Sentinel and Rihad for the Redguards. Warriors were sent to train with their arms and hone their skills in preparation for the war to come, or for raids into the west.
It had been a hard life, and Sigrun rarely saw her Father, for he often led from the front. But they were safe and strong, and men praised the name of the Dragonborn and sung songs to him once again. No voices cursed him now.
At the end of six days, on a cold morning when the Sea of Ghosts was filled with ice, the little ship finally made landfall off the eastern coast of Solstheim. The crew leaped off the side of their ship and hauled it onto shore. Immediately they made their way up the hill towards Thirsk: Sofia led the group, for she was eager to taste the famous mead of Thirsk. As they approached, three warriors came down from the hall to greet them. One was Bujold the Half-Hand, the one-handed disgraced former chieftain of Thirsk. Next to her was Nikulas Sharp-Eyes, one of the finest archers of the hall; in his hand was a great bow made of the horn of a grahl. And on the far right, still red-haired as before, was Erik the Slayer.
Sigrun's breath caught in her throat when she saw him again. He looked as she had seen him in the plains of Whiterun all those many years ago; he smiled, for she looked as though no time had passed - though she was thirty-four in spirit - full of strength and vigor. Placing her sword, the Hawks-Cry of Bjornvik, in Jonna's hand, Sigrun ran up the rest of the way and threw herself into Erik's arms, kissing him deeply.
"I said I'd come back," she breathed once they parted for a moment.
"Sigrun?" he asked. "Is it really you? Am I dreaming?"
"No," Sigrun replied, shaking her head wildly. "No, you're not dreaming! It's me, I've come back for good!"
From behind came Jonna, a smile upon her face. She alone of all the people in Tamriel knew that this had been a long time coming for Sigrun. She had been privy to their great secret all of these years, and now, it had been fulfilled. She turned then to Roggi, nudged his shoulder, and had him lean down so she could speak in her ear.
"Tonight in the hall," she said. "Let's see if you can drink me under the table."
Roggi let out a hearty laugh. "I'll take you up on that!"
So they made their way up to Thirsk Hall. Days of hunting and fighting, and nights of drinking and feasting, lay before them. No matter what other trials may lie ahead, or what other dangers may await them, they cared not. For Jonna Strong-Voice, the Reborn Warrior-Priestess of Kyne, and Sigrun Stormborn, Godsbane and Twice-Lived, they had faced many dangers and triumphed. The gods - Shor, Tsun, Jhunal, Kyne, Mara, Dibella, Orkey, Herma-Mora, and Ysmir - had been with them. From the west a favorable wind blew upon the island of Solstheim, and Sigrun, Erik, Jonna, and Roggi looked towards it. The southern half of the island of Solstheim was obnoxiously green with vibrant life. The scars of the Red Year were almost completely gone. Sigrun breathed a sigh of relief, and followed the others into the Thirsk Hall.
The End.
(AN: And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the end of the tale of the Children of the Dragon, and the conclusion of this exhaustive saga. I really didn't want to end the story on a sour note of everyone dying, even after I did the rewrite, so that's what this chapter was for [as well as having Kyne finally reveal herself to be the white hawk]. In the original draft, as I said before, it was going to end on a cliffhanger for Elder Scrolls VI, but since that's not coming out any time soon, I decided to give our heroes a well-deserved rest [well as much as could be said]. As I name-dropped Vilja several chapters ago [she's Oblivion Vilja in Sovngarde, don't judge me], I also name-dropped in this chapter everyone's favorite drunken derp Sofia. Hope you liked that nod and wink to everyone's favorite follower mod.)
(It will likely be a long time before I start another Elder Scrolls story. If I do, it will either be an AU or set during Llevas' adventures [Morrowind] or Valeria's time before becoming Sheogorath [Oblivion]. Crixus' book, the Voyage of the Red Dog, is also on the table: especially once Elder Scrolls VI gets announced. It will hopefully tie up any loose ends between this story and that [which, I fear, will not have a Stormcloak victory]. Until that time, I shall begin work on a story set in the Fallout universe.)