Waiting was horrific. Rena had been assigned to lead a company for the Empire's security at this conference. She didn't peek in and try to see what was going on; she had a job to do. Between the Stormcloaks and the Greybeards and the Blades, she had her hands full with everything.

She stood outside the temple, deliberately trying not to disappoint herself. She figured Ansgar would burst in and dictate terms and murder Ulfric if he disagreed. She didn't want to be an Ansgar. The last time she was witness to a treaty, it was overturned within the week. She hoped the troops back in Markarth were doing okay.

Rena was getting tired when suddenly General Tullius came out with Legate Rikke and Jarl Elisif. The general looked just as tired as she was. Must have been an exhausting discussing, but she supposed that's what happens when you talk to Stormcloaks for so long.

"Good news, captain," Tullius stated, "We're getting Riften and Ulfric to pay some reparations to the Reach." Rena sighed before Tullius gave the bad news, "But he's getting Markarth."

Rena was shocked and disappointed by this. She had fought for the Reach, bled and done her duty, but now it was in the hands of those she fought against. It felt like they stole the land she won fair and square. Many moments in the fairgrounds with her young cousins and overbearing aunts came to mind.

But the Rift was good news. Through the hold was a road to Cyrodiil, so they could possibly get the reinforcements they needed. It would precarious, relying on the Stormcloaks to keep away from their ships, but it was better than no roads.

Rena began to prepare the troops to move out. They had gotten spread out and comfortable when they were there, so it would be a small while before they could head home. In that time, Skathi came up to her in the Dragonborn's special robes.

"It's been a while since we've seen each other," Skathi remarked.

Rena put her work aside to talk to her. "Actually, it's just been a few days," she stated, "I was in the war room when you summoned General Tullius."

The Dragonborn looked embarrassed. "I didn't see you," she admitted.

"It's okay," Rena assured, "I'm just happy to see you again."

Skathi looked flattered by the sentiment. "I hope I did right by you here," she remarked, "I would hate to disappoint you."

"It's fine," Rena assured, "I would prefer different results, but I'm good with what we have."

That didn't seem to be enough for Skathi to seem comfortable. It was like she was crushed she hadn't done enough, but that fact she did all this was enough to impress her. She couldn't think of anyone who could do this, save Tiber Septim himself, and what she did today would surely be enough for now.

"Don't worry, Wolfy," the Imperial reassured, "I don't hold anything against you for what happened today. You've done more for this than I could ever imagine."

To be honest, Rena saw Skathi as a tall, awkward child that needed some love. She was surely over twenty winters but was still uncomfortable with other people. She was far from the Nord ideals of comradery and pride, but she saw things that she had never seen in another Nord. She didn't boast, she was unafraid to admit her fears and she fought a dragon without ego. She would like to give so many people a personality like this, even if it wasn't wise.

Skathi looked like she was about to cry. "Is alright if I give you a hug?" she asked.

Rena nodded and the tall woman gave her an embrace with the strength of a bear. It felt like she missed these things, hadn't an opportunity in years. It was clumsy, but the Imperial still gave her a hug in return. She needed this. She missed these too.

"I still have a lot to do," Skathi stated, "What I must do, I don't wish on you."

Rena broke away. "What have you been up to since we last met?" she inquired.

Skathi told of so many things. She fought vampires in Morthal, necromancers and draugr in crypts, more dragons, Dwemer remnants, Thalmor justiciars, and even a Nord dragon god. She explained it was such enthusiasm, even if she was sidetracked a few times to go into more detail. Rena didn't understand it all, but she was just happy to hear the tall woman in such intense care for these things, even if it was obvious that there were a few things she was holding back.

It sounded as though she had been fighting many foes and found victory every time, but it all sounded truthful. Veterans she'd met would exaggerate for more glorious stories, but Skathi just said it as it was. Maybe she was lying here or there, as some of these things sounded too outlandish for her, but it sounded like she was being truthful. She kinda hoped she wasn't truthful.

General Tullius interrupt these stories. "Captain, we need to get going!" he barked. Skathi was clearly spooked by the shout.

"I'll be right with you," Rena replied and turned to Skathi, "I've enjoyed our time together, but I have to go."

Skathi nodded sadly. She was clearly unhappy to see her go.

Rena put a hand on the tall woman's arm, though she seemed a little uncomfortable to have it there. "Don't worry, sweetie," she reassured, "You have a lot of do and it will surely be something that will be told by bards for years to come. Just know, I'm proud of you for it."

The tall woman was flattered and uncomfortable with it. "Anyone else would do the same as me," she muttered.

"Anyone else would intolerably brag until the brave lass Matilda came to prove the worth of silence," Rena replied, "You deserve this glory. No matter how much you don't think you do, I'm happy you're the Dragonborn."

There were tears in Skathi's eyes. "Thank you, Rena," she cried, bring her head in a soft hug.

"I should be thanking you, big sweetie," the Imperial replied.

Rena broke away and followed the company to move out, giving a goodbye to the Dragonborn. She meant what she said. With the warriors that abuse that power or never use it, she knew that Skathi was a better choice than other she's seen. Better than a Legionnaire or Stormcloak. She had to save Skyrim; that meant she could let politics get in the way.

Meanwhile, Rena chose to fight for the Empire. And she would. Until her last dying breath.

Jeanne almost coughed on her drink. Apparently, the Vilemyr Inn only stocked mead, particularly some Black Briar brew. It tasted of piss just as bad as the rest of the mead in Skyrim. The other Stormcloaks at the table were clearly surprised, not expecting the adopted Nord to find the most common liquor in Skyrim disgusting. That didn't matter; all Nord brewed mead tasted like piss.

When Ulfric came to this conference, he brought a hundred of his best warriors to protect him from any threat to his life. Mostly the Empire, as he noted the Dragonborn and Greybeards could easily kill him if they wanted to. Jeanne was surprised to hear Skathi was Dragonborn, like unto Tiber Septim. Hopefully, the need to conquer the whole of Tamriel wasn't inherent.

Right now, Ulfric's Stormcloaks were taking a rest in Ivarstead before heading out to Windhelm tomorrow. The Legion's security was given orders not to enter the town, give the new truce some breathing space. Still, a few familiar looking individuals were patrons at the bar. They looked like they'd never had to drink the goat piss they called mead. Then they did. Was Jeanne the only one that didn't like Nord mead?

Well, also Eoni. Jeanne wasn't sure why she was here. Out of the best warriors of the warband and hold guard, she wasn't really among them. Those Ulfric had brought had titles of their great deeds, like "Troll-Slayer," "Bone-Breaker," "Snow-Hammer," or "Stormblade." All Eoni had was Half-Good. Just odd.

"So, the war's on hold," the half-elf remarked, "How are you gonna spend your time?"

Jeanne shrugged. "I came to Skyrim to liberate it," she stated, "I didn't have much of a plan after that."

Eoni smirked. "I know what I'm doing," she explained, "I'm going to train battlemages for when this truce is over."

That was inevitable. Sure, it would be nice if this became a peace treaty, but it just wouldn't work like that. The borders were left in such a way that it could only lead to more war. The Legion could replenish their numbers with the road through the Rift and the Stormcloaks' goals weren't met. It didn't help the new borders were too uneven to rely on. War would be on again before they knew it.

"I could do a little adventuring," Jeanne speculated, "maybe a pub crawl."

Eoni raised an eyebrow. "From where to where?" she asked.

"I don't know," the Breton shrugged, "Maybe Windhelm to Falkreath."

The half-elf gave a surprised and concerned look. "Why don't you do a pub crawl across the whole of Skyrim?" she sarcastically asked.

To be honest, that's about where she was. Whiterun gave her the impression she wouldn't live through the war, so she removed her plans for after the victory from her minds so well that she forgot what they were. She still didn't remember them. Maybe they were to finally settle down and make a family or join a mages' college or find another war to fight. She wouldn't know.

Perhaps now she would become an adventurer. She knew that life was harsh, unpredictable, unwise. The pay was amazing, but finding work was difficult. Nobility could scrounge up the payment for these deeds, but commoners weren't so lucky and would give as much as they could. Of the two, commoners had a lot more problems, but not the money to throw at it.

"Maybe you'd make a decent instructor," Eoni remarked.

"Nah," Jeanne replied, "I'm not much of a teacher."

"Yeah," the half-elf agreed, "I can see that. But it's not like I'd be much either. I'm going to end up doing so much terrifying shit."

"I hope you don't know illusion magic," Jeanne chuckled.

Eoni laughed. "That would be glorious!" she cheered.

And Jeanne felt the need to leave the inn for a walk. The night was calm, and the town was small. There was no need for fear here. It's a shame it was in the Rift. Ivarstead would be a nice little burg to live if it wasn't under the Empire.

Jeanne wondered where that thought came from. Had she been with the Stormcloaks so long that her immediate thought was to how the Empire was terrible? When she started this, she was simply a Breton girl who wanted to do her part. Now she was practically a Nord which her ferocity in battle and list of glorious deeds. Where did that Breton girl go?

She walked by the river and found Ulfric and Skathi discussing something. She didn't listen in, but she assumed it was interesting. These two were masters in their own ways of a discipline lost to the ages and both had taken very different paths in life. A warlord and a savior, far from what anyone would consider similar. She wondered if Ulfric wouldn't have gone down that path if things were different.

Yes, perhaps an adventurer was the only life for her. Her craft was violence. These two's lives were built solely around violence, as they were their craft, even if they were different from each other in their applications. Jeanne had no war to fight and knew only how to fight. Leaving it might not be easy.

And then something strange happened. There was a man in rags who was scruffy and balding. He lacked recognizable hygiene, but that was the least of his concerns. He looked panicked, his eyes moving around like he was looking for enemies. Jeanne didn't know where he came from but neither what he saw that made him like that.

"Narfi saw them!" he blubbered, "Narfi saw something he shouldn't have!"

He put his hands onto Jeanne's arms like he was trying to find comfort. "What did you see?" Jeanne asked.

"Elves! Two elves talking to each other, but they shouldn't have!" he explained his madness, "No one would like it if they were talking to each other!"

"Excuse me," a guard interjected, "is Narfi troubling you?"

Before Jeanne could say anything, Narfi grabbed his arm too. "You! The gold elves are conspiring!"

That could only mean the Thalmor, but why would two of them talking to each other cause him such grief. They came here with the Empire's entourage as observers but were quickly kicked out. Sure, they'd be stewing, but why would their conversation immediately make Narfi scream bloody murder. It didn't make sense. Well, unless he was racist, which wasn't out of the ordinary.

"Come on, Narfi," the guard fake cooed, "let's go talk to Wilhelm."

"Good, maybe we can get him to sort things out," he remarked as he was being led away.

Strange. Perhaps there was something Jeanne had she could spend her time on.

When she was a child, Ravani almost died. One day, when she was fed up with life in the Gray Quarter if one could call it life, she threw herself in the White River and tried to swim away. She didn't know where she'd go, maybe Solsteim, but it didn't matter to the child that never swam in her life. If a kind sailor hadn't gone after her after she fell under the water, she wouldn't have to opportunity to stay in the in someone's house with a cold for weeks.

Since then, Ravani learned to swim. Every day, she practiced in an abandoned bathhouse, though the early days led to many close calls. When she was certain she wouldn't drown just yet, she started practicing in the White River. Only small distances at first, but her routine would eventually involve a mile in the river once a week. Lately, she hadn't been able to practice in the White River, so she wasn't sure the task ahead of her was possible.

The Legion fleet couldn't receive word of the treaty's results. They could see when the land party made camp by the water that they couldn't move forward, but elaborate news of the peace treaty wasn't to their knowledge. Ravani just heard word that the fleet was to divide and Legate Fasendil was to be stationed in the Rift to secure additional Legionnaires. There was no way to tell them this, as the daily supply run already went through, save someone had to swim.

Ravani volunteered to do this, but it wouldn't be an easy feat. This was further than she'd ever swam before. Her lack of practice in cold water of late was a distant second to her practice in open water. But still, any military force in deployment for armed conflict wouldn't be tolerated and they needed to clear out. They needed to hear this or Ulfric might send a fleet to wipe them out and the Empire would need to agree. It wasn't really a choice; it was to keep something stupid from happening.

The preparation for swimming was odd. First was stripping down to her skin, as nothing would be useful for keeping out cold water, and a lot of things would just weigh her down. Next was applying troll fat to her entire body, even though goose fat was better, a cheaper alternative was acceptable to keep from chafing. Finally, a potion to keep the cold from dropping her body's temperature, easily bought anywhere but specialized in a select few places. She picked some of this up from sailors, others from personal experience.

Once Ravani was naked, covered in gross animal fat and almost feverous from the potion, it was time to swim. She took a few steps into the water and then went into a breaststroke. Once she got used to the cold, she went into forward facing backstroke.

In the open waters, she found it harder to control her speed at first. The waves kept forcing her to the beach, but she wasn't keen on going back there just yet. Long ships could weather these waves easily, but a smaller swimmer didn't have that control. Against the winds though, she had more. It was only a matter of time before the open waters didn't force her to the nearest sources of land; it was just waiting for that time that was hard.

With the tedium of swimming this far gave Ravani the need to think of random things. The fleet had managed to get through the Sea of Ghosts fine, so it wouldn't be too out of the question that go along the same path back. The average Dunmer and Cyrodiilic Imperial have the same height at 5'9". Imperial light armor has layered vests of gambeson and mail that protect the wearer from most injuries, but these layers are hidden. The average Nord consumes more milk than another civilized race in Tamriel.

These random thoughts distracted her from her strokes, and she didn't see the iceberg ahead of her. The second she saw it, she knew slowing down would kill her momentum, but this pace would make her smash into the ice. She tried to turn as fast as she could, but it was too slow, and it clear her body would make contact. In a moment's time, she put her hand on the iceberg, sending searing chill and pain through her, and pushed herself around it. It was something she practiced, so she would need to check for any damage later.

Pushing through the sea, the fleet was getting closer and closer. At the same time, the water was getting colder and colder. It wasn't obvious if it was the potion wearing off or the water getting worse, but she did feel a lot less sweaty. If the potion ran its course before she made it to the fleet, she could die of chill. Going faster would make it work faster. She would need to keep pace as best she could and hope for the best.

Through her strokes, she submerged her head a few times, but found something worse than a chilly head. She saw something following her. She hadn't the time to look closely, so it could be a shark for all she knew. Her speed increased for fear of being eaten, but that meant the potion was running its course sooner. It didn't matter; the ships needed the information and she would die if it was big enough to eat her.

The vessels became less than thirty feet away, her heart in cheer and relief, when a sudden chill hit her. That chill always meant the same thing: the potion wore off. The cold was seeping into every inch of her body as she got closer, her strokes became slower with it. Her vision was fogging, and the beast bellow her was surely approaching.

The moment she was sure she would die, that's when a rope was thrown her way from the nearest ship. She scrambled up the rope. She was alive. She would live for a few minutes more. Her sacrifice was worth it. Must be the cold if she was thinking thoughts like that.

Ravani emerge on the deck, the crew shocked by her lack of apparel, and said, "News from General Tullius. The war is off for now."

After a brief trip to the Skyforge, Skathi went straight to Dragonsreach. It was time to trap a dragon.

It was surely not a task taken lightly. A dragon in the wild was dangerous enough but trying to draw one into a trap was madness to many. Of course, she had few other choices than this, as they wouldn't answer her questions when they could just burn her alive with a word. The Dragonborn's path wasn't an easy one.

Upon entering Dragonsreach, a solemn atmosphere permeated the hall. Everyone carried a dagger at least; a mass of guards was assembled and men with sweat stained shirts drank quietly at the table. Everything here was for the dragon and everyone knew it. Everyone knew one wrong thing would drive it into the city and Whiterun would burn a second time. Skathi was determined to not let it happen again.

As the Dragonborn approached Vignar, he reported, "We're ready, Wolf-Runner. As I promised, my men stand ready. The chains are oiled. Just say the word."

Skathi nodded, "I'm ready," she stated, "Let's go trap a dragon."

Vignar rose from his throne. "My men know what to do," he gestured, "Make sure you do your part. I'm putting my city in your hands."

Skathi and the Jarl walked up the stairs behind the throne, followed closely by the guards. These men were Stormcloak soldiers. They joined for Ulfric and his cause to get the Empire out of Skyrim. They'd die for their home. This wasn't their home, nor did they owe anything to this Jarl. May they live for the Jarl but die for Skyrim.

The Dragonborn and Jarl entered the great porch and the guards took positions around the room. It was large, so big that it might hold five dragons and still have plenty of space. Most of it was built with stone, an inflammable material. Looking up, there was half a wooden muzzle held one the ceiling. There was nothing here that didn't seem perfect for a dragon trap.

Vignar turned to Skathi. "Let's do this," he mumbled, "Summon this dragon of yours." He was uneasy about this business, as he should be.

Skathi walked to the balcony. There was no turning back from this. They had already worked so hard for this moment, to never do it was cowardice. But she was still afraid something would go wrong. Considering the magnitude of what they were doing, it could be nothing else. Skathi remembered the words and prepared to Shout three times throughout this.

"Od Ah Viing!"

And then they waited. And waited. And then like a strike of lightning, a red dragon shot down onto the balcony, picked up a guard and took with into the sky, leaving just his shield.

All the remaining guards drew bows and loosed many an arrow as Odahviing returned. They bounced off his scales, but one of Skathi's black arrows hit him straight in the chest. That angered him and he Shouted fire onto them. It only scorched a few guards and had no effect on the Dragonborn. He looked confused by this resistance.

"Joor Zah Frul!"

Skathi shouted and stepped back into the porch. Odahviing shuddered, eyes shot wide. He crashed into the balcony and the guards fell back with the Dragonborn. They loosed another volley, this time piercing the scales. That added with another black arrow meant his existential crisis was compounded by great physical pain.

The dragon start losing sense and started acting like a rapid dog, biting and clawing at anything close by. As soon as he found Skathi again, he charged her, and she led him further into the porch. Guards ran too, some flung across the room with disregard, others screaming to the base of crackling fire.

Skathi was running scared of this, hopeful it wouldn't kill her. Then the sound of mechanical movement shot her from this panic. She turned around and saw the muzzle fell onto Odahviing, holding him down. At the sight of her, he gave another burst of fire, but it did not burn her. Dragons always seemed to try that; despite the fact it didn't work.

"Yol Toor Shul!"

Skathi roared that Shout at the end and flame came upon his face. It didn't burn him, nor did it burn the muzzle, but that wasn't what it was meant for. As Paarthurnax told her, it was tradition for dragons to great the other this way. This was the respect Odahviing was getting while he was caged.

The red dragon seemed to smile at the gesture, or maybe it was just Skathi's existence. "Zu'u bonaar," he remarked, "You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this," he paused, looking around the apparatus, "humiliating position. Hind siiv Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?"

"That's right," Skathi hoarsely confirmed, "Where is he hiding?"

"Rinik vazah. An apt phrase," Odahviing smiled, "Alduin bovul. One reason I came to your call was to test your Thu'um for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin's lordship, whether his Thu'um was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course. Mu ni meyye. None were yet ready to openly defy him."

A dragon rebellion could be useful, but not what Skathi wanted to know. "You were telling me where to find Alduin?" she asked.

"Unslaad krosis. Innumerable pardons," the red dragon apologized, "I digress. He has travelled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the sillesejoor," he paused, "the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards,"

A shocking thought to have Alduin feed on the honored dead. They had already earned their death with their sacrifice; they didn't deserve to be devoured by a monster. Skathi, however, was less affected by this. She wasn't quite sure how to process Sovngarde, or even death. She just couldn't comprehend the concept of it.

Odahviing continued, "His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldalfn, one of his ancient fanes high in in the eastern mountains. Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til. I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshalled there."

"Zu'u lost ofan hin laan," he asked, "now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?"

Skathi sighed. It was a lot. But there was one thing she was certain one. "Not until Alduin is defeated," she answered. She couldn't trust a dragon now.

"Ah. Well," he replied, "Hmm, krosis. There is one," he paused out of embarrassment or to find the right word, "detail about Skuldalfn I neglected to mention."

"Spit it out, then," the Dragonborn sighed. There was always something.

"Only this," he explained, "You have the Thu'um of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn." He continued, "Of course, I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this."

An impasse then. Was it worth trusting this dragon to carry her to the door of Sovngarde? He could just be lying to get himself out, but he could also tell the truth. What madness he could do if free? Well, not much, as there were two reasons he shouldn't be lying, both dragons. If he did lie for his own freedom, Skathi would just kill him. It was the only thing for it.

"Fine. I'll set you free if you promise to take me to Skuldafn," the Dragonborn proclaim, "But I need lunch and a packed dinner before we head out."

"Onikaan koraav gein miraad. It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice," Odahviing remarked, "And you can trust me. Zu'u ni tahrodiis. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn."

And so, she kept her word. After an apple pie, Skathi prepared some beef stew and baked potatoes to go. When she was ready, she shooed away the curious Farengar and set Odahviing free. He almost looked like he would bolt, but only reached the balcony, waiting on the Dragonborn.

"Saraan uth," the red dragon stated, "I await your command, as promised. Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?"

"I'm ready," Skathi answered, "Take me to Skuldafn."

And she mounted the dragon and flew into the sky. Sovngarde awaits.