Jul

Octavian

Marching for war is, despite what the books and theaters say, not all that fun. You are on your feet or a horse for sixteen hours a day, if you're lucky, spend the rest of the time setting up camp, shutting down camp, or eating. I only stopped riding the horse because I was starting to get blisters. I only started riding again because the blisters on my feet were worse. Some of the older soldiers were laughing at Tora, Athyn, Nir, Fen, and me for how uncomfortable we were the entire time. I believe their exact words were 'soft' and 'infants.' To be fair to them, most of us were barely of age for our respective races. My father allowed the joking and, despite my protests, even joined in on occasion. It was clear to see why he was so popular with the people.

Equally clear was the fact I had no respect in this army. An unproven child who was publicly known for nearly burning down every other bar I passed through? I got to ride a horse and travel with Tora and my friends? Even I wouldn't respect me. It looked like daddy had just brought me along!

"This. Is. Awful..." I groaned as we were all sitting around the one of the many small fires dotting our line as the army – ever growing as we passed through forts to pick up more men – rested for the night.

"What, you actually want to make your own tent?" Fen asked, gesturing with his chin at Dorthe and a servant making mine.

"They won't even let me help! It's like he's afraid I'm going to slam the hammer down on my foot for fun!" I hissed back at him, making sure to keep my voice low so she couldn't hear me. "I was raised by the Skald, I can make a Divines-Damned tent!"

"Calm down," Tora patted my head heavily, each blow forcing my head down slightly. I turned an annoyed eye on her and caught her grinning at me. "At least you get to spend more time with us!"

"Yes, I must say I am quite enjoying the chance to learn about human and Imperial customs," Athyn exclaimed over his food. And, indeed, he was certainly the most happy out of anyone nearby. Fen and Nir only grinned to make fun of me, exhausted as they were, while Tora grinned for that and – well, other things. Athyn seemed genuinely happy to be there, exhausted, with the occasional rainfall making marching miserable. Of course the gods would throw the weapon that decided the fate of the world in the middle of Skyrim's rainy season. "For instance, some of the soldiers told me of your custom to wear another pair of socks on your hands to keep them warm as you sleep!"

The rest of us traded a glance. "That's... not a thing," Niramo said cautiously.

"Really? But it keeps my hands so warm!" Athyn shouted in utter disbelief. He shook his head. "You really should think of doing it."

I chuckled and brought another forkful of beef up to eat. "How can you be over a hundred and this naive?"

"You would be too if you were an elf. And if you hadn't been raised by the Skald," Fen pointed out through a mouthful of beef. He swallowed and shook his head. "Remember, we're kids too, even if we did see the last great war."

"It's been a fun sixty years," Niramo grumbled dryly.

"Well it's almost over at least!" Athyn exclaimed. "This battle will likely decide the fate of Tamriel. Vampire or Mortal, Thalmor or Empire." He turned to me. "Your father or his mirror."

"Dramatic much?" I mumbled. I shook my head and sat up straighter. "More likely this is just another battle in a war that's been going on for an entire Era."

"Or the end of that Era," Tora pointed out. "War's can't last forever, and I think Athyn is right. It all just feels... different. Heavier."

"We've never been to war before, that's all," I responded. I dropped my fork into the meat and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "It's just nerves."

"Certainly better to assume that. It avoids disappointment." I turned to see Dorthe standing straight as a board above me. She nodded. "Secundus Octavian."

"What do you mean, Dorthe?" Tora asked, one eyebrow raised.

"I have seen your father's heart break with a thousand victories," she explained, keeping her eyes locked on mine. "Too many times he's walked into a fight with her, expecting it to be the last. Every time he has squeaked out a victory, the best one he could manage. And the battles have continued. If this is not the last battle, Octavian..." She trailed off, but I understood. My father was old. Injured. Half dead. This was his last fight. Win or lose, live or die.

I looked over at the Emperor, who was quietly eating with his generals discussing strategy. "You should consider that," Dorthe said, again leaving the truth unsaid but understood. She nodded at me and my friends. "Secundus. Princess. Assistant Councilor. Privates." Then she turned and left, though I knew she was always watching.

"That was weird," Fen muttered coolly.

I kept my eyes trained on my father. "Hm..." I grunted before turning back. I poked at my food. "She's not wrong, though. We can't afford to be disappointed if this isn't over after this fight. We'll need to keep going. Keep fighting. Wait to celebrate until we've actually won or have been lucky enough to die."

Tora scoffed. "You sound just like her."

I shrugged and tossed my plate to the ground. "She raised me, Tora. Of course I sound like her."

"You've even got the empty and depressed bit down, sometimes," Fen said mockingly. He bit his cheek. "Look, we'll cross that Dragon's Bridge when we come to it, Oct. We're just pointing out that it feels different, you know."

"Different than what?" I growled. I surged to my feet. "Just... I need a minute." I stepped past the fire and yanked Dragonbane with me. "I'll be back," I told them as I faded into the shadows past the tents. Without hearing or seeing her, I knew Dorthe was somewhere on my tail. She wouldn't interfere, though. She knew why I avoided my father.

When I was about fifteen minutes away from camp, I drew Dragonbane and began to slowly move through the sword forms that Dorthe had taught me when I was seven. I placed the katana in both hands and slowly slashed in front of me, then again, and again, moving faster and faster each time. I increased my speed and the variance of my slashes, some with one hand, some with two. I tossed in a fire spell or a ward every so often. Occasionally, this part of me – from when I was four and my mother told me a story about my father, about his Voice – would whisper words I had heard him speak. It did nothing, but... I still did it. Whispering those words, imagining sending thunder and fire from my lungs.

"Dreaming of being your da, eh Lad?"

I whirled on the voice, directing the tip of my blade towards Brynjolf. "Does everyone just want to cryptically sneak up on me today?" I growled at him, and a little at Dorthe. "Please, I want your advice. Really. It's why I asked for it!"

"Ah, the fiery rage of youth," Bryn scoffed. He shook his head. "Ha. It really is wasted on the young."

"What do you want?" I growled before slowly lowering Dragonbane.

Bryn scratched at his eyepatch. "Pesonally? Gold. Lots of it. A nice fence." He grinned evilly. "And Delphine has definitely aged gracefully."

"Ew."

"Ah. I wanted to be like my da, too. When I was young." He shook his head and scoffed. "A guard. And not the corrupt kind, interestingly. Just a guard. It's funny how rebellion as a young man can change everything. My da died thinking nothing of me." Bryn shrugged. "I'm good at what I do. I like it."

"So you're saying, what? I shouldn't be like my father?"

"I'm saying that, even though my da and I became very different men, I still wish I'd been there when he died. Said goodbye. That anger was there, so I didn't go. That youthful fire. It kept me alive, many times. It cost me a lot. Blinded me to betrayal and stupidity. Cost me a goodbye with my da." He shook his head and pulled out his own sword. "Maybe I'm saying be your father. Maybe don't. I don't care. But I'm a thief, so I know lies. And you're lying to him. Maybe get it off your chest before he dies. He ain't as good as he once was, and you'll always feel like you live in his shadow if you don't. You'll keep making dumb decisions until you're old, have one eye, and have lost everything." He raised his sword. "Now, I could use some practice and it's the best way to think, Lad."

I raised Dragonbane and readied for a spar. "I'm not hiding anything."

The thief shrugged. "Maybe I was wrong." Then he jumped forward and stabbed at my chest with his magickal blade.

Fahiil

Thera

It had been over a decade since I had set foot in Skyrim, a land filled to the brim with that infestation of humanity. Its birthplace, its homeland. By all accounts it should be the most disgusting land that has ever existed, one that causes bile to rise in the throat of any pure minded Mer. It was a land of cattle good for nothing but blooding.

And yet my first step on that land filled me with pure, unrelented joy. There was a song in my blood, the song of the Volkihar, of the Dragonborn. Despite the infestation, it was the call of home. A home I had apparently missed.

"I thought it would be another two centuries before I returned here," Babette aid beside me, a frown on her face. "Do you think the Night Mother is still here, in Dawnstar?"

"Undoubtedly," I replied coolly. I scoffed. "I doubt that idiot was intelligent enough to find the Sanctuary. Once we have crushed his armies and can lay waste to this land, the Night Mother can safely return with us to Alinor. To move her now, though, would be too dangerous. She would get caught or destroyed during our march."

"Abandoning her when we fled Dawnstar is one of my greatest regrets," Babette said earnestly. She shook her head then looked over at me. "Unavoidable, though."

I looked up at the buildings of the port we had just taken, the humans screaming and burning, and dying by our hands. "Once this is over, we should visit Markarth. Perhaps we could create a Daughter of Coldharbour if any human women survive our... hospitality," I said simply. I crossed my arms and watched a Dark Elf priest of the Divines be pulled from the tavern, struggling against my soldiers. He threw one off and went to attack. A blade through his throat ended that.

"How long until a supply train can be set up?" I asked my adviser. I turned towards her and clasped my hands behind my back.

Babette frowned and tapped her chin. "If the mortals keep struggling like this, two days. Maybe less," she said, cool and collected. She shrugged. "If we exterminate all resistance today, at latest tomorrow."

"Then order them all dead or drained for blood. We can focus on prisoners later," I ordered. I placed one hand on the hilt of my sword and nodded. "We need to get to the Throat of the World as soon as possible. No delays, even for amusement."

"Understood. I'll have the word sent out to the commanders. We'll be done by dawn and can begin our march a few hours before dusk," Babette replied instantly. "Shall I have a bottle sent to your room."

"Breton. 4E222," I told her. I turned and began to walk towards my ship's personal cabin, where I could begin planning strategy with my generals for the assault – or defense – of the Throat of the World. "And tell the commanders a similar bottle is there for whichever squad removes the most resistance."

"Yes, Empress. I will also send out scouts to head south and raiding parties to resupply on blood."

"Good thinking, Babette. I knew there was a reason you were my adviser."

Jul

Octavian

The Throat of the World was – is – massive. The tallest point on Nirn with connections to a thousand different myths, legends, and battles throughout time. Alduin, Paarthurnax, Alduin again. The birth of Man, the Greybeards. And now, this.

We had arrived moments before our enemy, and had spent the past two days parked on one side of the now empty village of Ivarstead. The people had been taken from their homes, and transported by our people to Riften. "How long until you think they'll attack?" my father asked Tullius and Rikke.

"It will be very soon, Primus. They are simply waiting for the sun to fall and their strength to reach its peak," Rikke responded dutifully. She raked a hand through her graying hair. "Maybe an hour before dusk to maximize time spent at night."

"And there's been no movement up the mountain?" I asked worriedly.

Tullius shook his head and said, "So far, every side of the mountain has been clean. No one's made any advances," the old man said. He shook his head. "Though I wouldn't expect it to stay that way."

My father's hoarse whisper cut in. "If Thera hasn't headed up the mountain, we're safe. She wouldn't trust anyone else to get it." He frowned and took a deep breath, his left hand glowing with healing magicks. "We attack at midday. We get to the bow, we use it to burn the Vampires with the Sun."

Queen Elisif frowned. "They'll be at their weakest then. But we won't get a rest tonight if it drags on."

My father shook his head. "Need the sun when we have the bow. Or else -" He stopped and softly cleared his throat. " We won't be able to kill their army. Midday."

Tullius and Rikke traded a look. "Yes, Primus."

"Good." My father sighed and turned to me. "We have to speak with someone. "

"I – Yes, Primus," I said with a slight bow. He nodded and walked silently out of the tent, a wordless demand for me to follow him all that he left behind. I nodded to the generals and the Queen in turn. "Tell Tora not to do anything stupid?"

"She reminds me of myself at her age," Elisif said with a sigh. I raised an eyebrow. Elisif was that crazy when she was younger? That was hard to imagine. "Of course. Thank you for worrying."

I nodded, then followed my father out of the tent. He was standing a short distance away, his armor gleaming in the sunlight. He almost looked like the man in the stories. The ones Jordis, Aela, and everyone else told me. A hero. He nodded at me, then turned and began to walk towards a pair of horses. I followed and we silently un-tethered them from a post, then rushed off. We rode at a gallop for half an hour, until we were far enough from the Vampires' camp that we could not be seen. My father pulled up on his reins and slowed. I yanked up on the reins of my own horse as quickly as I could and mine trotted a few steps pas this. "Here is good," he whispered hoarsely. He jumped off of his horse, me following suit, and we led them over to a large boulder where we tethered them so they would not run away.

"Don't be scared," My father commanded. He took a deep breath, then exhaled. "He looks worse than he acts."

"Who?" I asked.

He grinned. When he spoke, the ground shook. Purple energy swirled in front of us, and I could feel Oblivion leaking into Nirn. "Durnehviir." Within that circle it appeared, one wing tearing out of the dirt and a claw dragging the creature up and into the air of Tamriel. Its flesh dripped from its body, its body gave off the feeling of death, and I could see ancient, forbidden knowledge in its eyes.

"Ah, Qahnaarin, I was beginning to believe you had forgotten about me," the melting dragon in front of us said. He looked around. "Where is your wife? When we last spoke, you had found her."

My father mumbled something even I could not catch. "Ah," Durnehviir whispered. "Unslaad Krosis. I did not know. You have not returned to tell Valerica."

My father shook his head. "I was injured. I can barely summon -" He stopped and coughed, throwing his hand up to his mouth. I watched him, frozen, as globules of blood flew out from between his fingers. He slowly stopped and began to breathe heavily. "I... cannot shout." He gestured to me. "My son."

Durnehviir's eyes turned to me. "Ah, sosnaak hef. I have not met your kind since before Alduin first fell. You are rare breed, and you..." He turned his head to the side. "Ah, perhaps it is not my place to tell you. Bormah saag nii los ni dii wah fun. Your fate is not mine to reveal."

"I see many avenues your future could take. Bormah hides your truest future from my eyes, amongst possibilities I hope never come to pass." Durnehviir turned his eyes to my father again. "Certainly, Qahnaarin, he is your son. And hers. She is not truly lost if he survives."

"I know," my father whispered. He gestured towards the Throat of the World. "At war. Thera. Will bring Odahviing. Fight with us?"

"Ha! That child of a Dov? His arrogance was always... entertaining," Durnehviir said. He sniffed the air. "This was praav Paarthurnax. Staavek rok."

"Yes. Always."

"I will fight with you. And your son."

"Thank you. And, if I can't, tell him -" my father swallowed to soothe his throat "- how to find Valerica. She's his family."

"Do rahlo, Qahnaarin."

The dragon's eyes turned back to me. Flesh dripped from its chin , then disappeared before it could hit the ground. "You... fight with the soul of a Dovahkiin."

I swallowed the pit of fear in my throat as this creature stared me down. "I... I will."

The dragon cocked its head to the side. "When do we attack?"

"Midday. Free until then," my father told the dragon.

"Many thanks, Friend. May Bormahu's tides be your ally." The dragon took a deep breath. "I think I wish to simply be with you. Too long without a friend has been... torture."

"Of course. We shall stay."

"Then so shall I. Until the end, Qahnaarin."

I frowned and stared at the horizon. The end. I frowned. Maybe Fen and Nir, those idiots, were right. But that isn't what it felt like. It felt... Like...

It felt like Brynjolf was right.