My Dear Fathers Chapter 12: But we shall all be changed, an elder scroll series fanfic

Chapter Twelve
But we shall all be changed

If I am honest, I hardly remember you—I was so young, and it has been a very long time since you left Riften. I even had to ask my father to remind me who you are. I hope that does not hurt you—that is far from my intention. I wasn't originally going to write back to you, but since I loved that book so much, I figured you must know me well, even if I don't know you.

Father and Mother are well. They are busy at the temple, praying to Mara for more children which we all know will not come. Though they have had hopes that their only child would have more of an interest in their religious practices, I have been far more absorbed in the studies of magic and alchemy—the science of it all. I am learning more and more about magicka, and what it is. It is more complicated than stamina and health, though all three share similarities; all are depleated with use, and all regenerate with time. There are many theories about magicka in humans, how it originated and how it works. Mother and Father believe that the gods have given man all, including his abilities. However, it is not cynical to believe that an explanation as such is too simple. However true the divines may be, and whether or not it is them who have given us the ability of magic, the world remains an article of science. All must be questioned, and no answer, especially one so vague should be accepted. To think so many people refuse to explore their curiosities and pose questions seems strange to me. Still, so many—High Priest Maramal included—believe that authority, especially the divines should never be questioned. Except, if they are the all-creators, then they would not have given us curiosity, and they would not have built us with the ability to question, to learn, and to build as they have, if we were not meant to use them.

Anyhow, the other theories about the source of magicka involve far more complex formulas, or they are ridiculous stories and tales of lore and fiction which even my father would put aside.

If you don't mind, I am also curious in things other than magicka flow… though it's magic in another way, I am curious about your mother's Dovah Sos ("dragon soul"). I have questions, and I thought I might as well ask you: who better than someone who knows the Dovahkiin (if not the Dragonborn herself)? I have done very little research on the topic, but like everyone else in Skyrim, I know of the legends, prophecies and songs and histories. Still, even if I did look, there is little to no concrete knowledge or history texts concerning any science of the dragonborn.

What I do know is the general essence of the dovahkiin—a human born with the soul of the dragon, which enables them to absorb the soul of a slain dragon, ending forever its life, while it would have otherwise been able to be resurrected. This power also enables the dragonborn to 'shout' without training—all this is general knowledge. These are my questions: if the dragonborn (your mother) is slain, could she be resurrected? If she is slain by another dovahkiin, or if the other dovahkiin is present during her death, could that one absorb her soul? Finally, is the dovah sos hereditary?

Of course, those first two questions are morbid, and likely without answers. I also don't expect you to know the last, but I thought I might as well ask.

I hope you and your daughter are well, and I wish good luck to your mother in her endeavors. Please write to me; I would love to learn more about Falkreath as well as your family. Perhaps one day we might meet, and we will know each other as I am told we have before.

Sincerely,
Evesa, Riften Hold

20th of Second Seed, 4E 214

Loralei,

I am so glad you wrote back! When I received your letter, I was so surprised and delighted that I nearly ripped the envelope apart in my haste to read your words. I'm certain my comrades thought me mad!

Vittoria sounds so lovely, and smart. Your home in Falkreath sounds beautiful. I can just imagine you sitting on that balcony you speak of, overlooking the twinkling lake water, sipping on expensive wine from your mother's travels. It must be extraordinary! You complain of rain, but that seems only funny to me. It seems to follow you where you go…

Your mother once told me about the day you and your brother were born. It was raining; she put a lot of emphasis on that. It was raining, and everything stopped—the whole city and the whole world had stopped. She told me that your brother was born first and his wails were so much like a lion's roar, that she named him Hroar because of it. She said that when you were born, you were so silent and so still that she wasn't sure you were alive. But you blinked, and your eyes, they were green, like hers, only they were not the same at all. "Not green like envy nor like grass or trees—it was green like the colour of wildfire and emerald, burning, expensive and pure." She named you Loralei because of an old fairy-tale her Aldmeri mother had read to her. I don't remember it now—perhaps you should ask her.

Is it weird that I know so much about your birth while I know nothing of mine? I know you might as well have been motherless, but as much as we pretended, I don't think you and I are much of the same. When we were in Solitude, I was so convinced that Elaira and I were alike. She was an orphan, and she was misunderstood, disloyal, successful, and rich. She was beautiful, like me. I wanted to be like her, because I thought it was the same thing as wanting to be myself. Perhaps I am too changed and too broken to have a definition of myself, but travelling these provinces has changed me in a way. I meet so many people, and live so many lives, and learn so much, that change is inevitable. I am still selfish, and still unwilling to better myself even though I know my own flaws. Only, I do not crave the world any longer. I do not want all which was too far out of reach. I want nothing now, a nothing that is unlike the one I felt in Whiterun. This nothing is easy, and sterile, and I think perhaps it is the nothing you have always craved.

I'll be in the Imperial City by the time you write back.

Signed,
Runa

P.S. I hope you feel better soon. Some Blue Mountain Flowers may not ease the pain, but should be beneficial in the long run.

4th of Mid Year, 4E 214

Loralei,

Children are quite the hassle! You are very fortunate you were blessed with a daughter. My son, Lorgren, was born last year, the 20th of Rain's Hand. I was sure you had heard, but how could you have, living so far away from the big cities now? I chose the name Lorgren because my husband insisted on an Imperial name, even though we all know our Nord blood is dominant. The name reminds me of home, and it makes me swell with happiness, the way I swelled with him, my Lorgren. He has dark hair, and even darker eyes, but his skin is as pale as Nelkir's was, and I can tell by the shape of his chin he will be a tall, Nord man; strong and courageous in all his endeavors.

Anyway, the reason which I am sure your life is much easier with a lovely daughter is my little prince's obsession with destruction. A few nights ago, I went into town for some new dresses, and I stumbled upon this beautiful twin set of Aldmeri hand-crafted horses, made of the finest, rarest wood and jewels a dear mother could wish for. Naturally, I bought them, and I thought it would be the only appropriate toy for my rascal of a one-year old! But after only minutes of playing with one of them, the masterpiece was destroyed; the little rubies fell out instantly. The servants stole him away, and had the audacity to tell me that he could choke on the little gems. If they had done a better job at tutoring him, then perhaps the toy would not have been broken in the first place!

I trust that you do a far better job of rearing your girl, so I've sent with this letter the horse's twin. It pains me to send it off without the other, but I know that if Lorgren does not appreciate it now, he will not later. Still, I'm sure one day I'll come across something he might learn to love and cherish. But let me assure you, despite this little fault, Lorgren is amazing and I'm surprised at what can be created between two people. He is so energetic, always running about, frowning, and smiling, and getting into trouble. He reminds me of Mila and Lars. Those two always were like brother and sister.

I am sorry to hear that Lars has left for war. If I do say so, you shouldn't have stayed at that inn with him—forgiven him, whatever you want to call it. He might be off to war, but it is his decision. I know I should support the soldiers going to fight for the Empire, but I don't support using it as an excuse to climb back into your bed!

You're probably still under the weather from all that rain, too. What were you thinking, going out and parading in the rain? You have a child! What if she were to fall ill?

Just in case, I've sent you some medicine… It's completely natural, and was smuggled from Valenwood. They have the rarest plants and substances there—if only those goddamned stubborn Bosmer would see the uses of the plants rather than waste it all. Everything and everyone was put on this Earth for a reason, and not to use our resources it to dishonor them.

Also, I have forgotten to mention—Tobias and I are trying for a second child. I know it is my duty, and of course I love my Emperor—my husband—but I'm not sure I'm quite ready. Sometimes I feel as though Lorgren is all I need. He is my son… It still is a peculiar feeling to be a mother. I was never meant to be a mother, I'm sure of it. But somehow I am, and it was Lorgren who made me so. I don't think I could love my second child the same way I love him. Perhaps it's only because I don't quite believe in second loves.

That's why Tobias and I will be forever!

Please use the medicine I have given you, I promise it will aid you. Save some too, just in case. I cannot fathom the idea of little Vittoria being ill for even but a second. You know, I still have hopes she and Lorgren might marry. I know you say it will be disgraceful, or that we cannot force a marriage, but I say nay. I'm the empress—I can do what I wish! I love your Vittoria already, and I know when you meet him, you'll love my Lorgren as well.

Signed,

Dagny
wife of Emperor Tobias I
Empress of the Imperial Empire

P.S. Runa and her travelling bards group are supposed to arrive to the city in a week or so, just thought you might like to know!

12th of Mid Year, 4E 214

Lorie,

You'll never believe it! (Well you might) We were passing through the Imperial City, like I mentioned a few letters ago and we were asked to play at the palace! Our band has become renowned all throughout Tamriel, but still, this honour is baffling, but that's not the most surprising part!

I was so excited to see Dagny—I hadn't even spoken to her since Whiterun, Gods know how many years ago. But she recognized me, and invited us to stay at the palace.

I met Lorgren; he's about one and a bit now. He's adorable! He looks exactly like Dagny, and I can tell even now that her boy's going to be one serious heart-breaker. He is always messing things up, and getting into things he's not supposed to. When he talks (he knows quite a few words now), he says almost exclusively "No!" or "More!" or "Mommy!" He's so manipulative in that way only beautiful people and children can be. Dagny loves it though, and she knows it too, but she takes pleasure in teasing him and asserting her superiority. Even with her son! I'm sure many people assume Dagny would spoil him, but no. Dagny doesn't do charity.

She and I have taken to shopping a lot, and buying and gushing over all the finer things. Palace life is fabulous, but it gets tiring, and often I still wonder why I wanted it so badly. Travelling has made me restless, and I become so stir crazy with each moment that passes—which reminds me to tell you the "you'll never believe it" part!

Since the Emperor and his household loved our music so much, he has requested that I, as well as some others stay for the remainder of the year to be his personal band!

The pay is unbelievable, and an entire wing has been given to us. Dagny, though she was composed as always, is happy that I am staying. We were never so close, but I think that she misses Skyrim, and Whiterun, and you and Mila and even Lars, and I remind her of that time. She speaks about her brother a lot, and she has even mentioned Nelkir and her father. It's strange to think we might have been sister-in-laws…

Dagny surprises me a lot, not in the sense that she does surprise things for me, but she acts in certain ways and does certain things which are so unexpected. She spends a lot of time with her son, even though I assumed her servants did the raising. Of course, they help her, but she doesn't give herself enough credit. She jokes with her husband a lot too. I had thought she would have had to be composed and silent with her husband the Emperor, but no. They dance and laugh in the kitchens, and when they steal time with their son, they are a true family, hidden beneath a curtain of riches and royalty.

She loves him, and him her, but I still do not think it is as it should be. There are no stolen glances, or knowing smiles. There is laughter and comradery, but I am afraid that is all there is. I'm worried his eyes may start to wander, no matter how beautiful Dagny is. I cannot imagine how she would feel if another woman bore Tobias a bastard. Not heartbroken, but ashamed, angry, betrayed.

Dagny speaks of the war a lot too, though only when we are alone on the balconies, curtains swaying in the wind while we drink our tea (dramatic, I know, but when you ever visit the city, the fabric flowing in the wind high above the city is all you will ever notice). She hates it all. She says that too many have gone off fighting, too many have died.

Mila is alive, you know. At least she was a few months ago. She sent me a letter, which is strange since we barely knew each other. I told Dagny, but she only shook her head and called for her son.

I know, I have been rambling on about her. It's only I have not a lot to say for myself. The city is beautiful, and tall; splendid in ways our Skyrim will never know. Imperials are all beautiful, in their own foreign way. They belong in this city. It is white and gold, in my brain, and I know it would be the same in yours. White and gold—perhaps like Whiterun's white and yellow (only more ironic).

I've been here so little time, but I feel as if I have been here for a million years. My hair is long now, and my skin is dark. I feel strong and light and nothing. No one else could understand that but you, Lorie. And if you don't, then I fear I'm all alone, I fear that I always have been.

It is a bad habit of ending letters this way now, but I can't help it.

I think I'm going stir crazy. You are too, by the way. I know it because I have an All-Knowing sixth sense. Go to the Hall of the Dead. You need your divines and prayers like I need my lute and one hundred percent Imperial cotton.

Love,
Runa

P.S. Someone told me that if you climb all the way to the top of a mountain, in the south of Skyrim, you can see the White-Gold tower. We are closer than you think, Lorie.

P.P.S. While you're at the temple, get checked out. You shouldn't be sick for this long.

15th of Mid Year, 4E 214

This is insanity. Your mother will be furious! Have you told the father? Who is the father? When did this happen, and why didn't you tell me! By the gods, are you alright? I never even suspected…

I just got your letter, and I am still in shock. I feel like laughing and crying and I have no idea what to say right now. I apologize if I am being insensitive, but what else is there to say?

-Runa

16th of Mid Year, 4E 214

Loralei,

Runa finally told me the news. You're with child again! This is excellent news, I promise you. Though I may not approve of Lars, you have obviously proven yourself a wonderful mother, and this child was meant for you.

I know it isn't my business, especially since you told Runa, and not me, but I have a knack for caring nowadays. I think you should tell Lars. I know he has not proved to be the most loyal and honourable man in the past, but maybe war has changed him. Maybe he will come back and marry you; raise your family together.

That is what you want, isn't it? For him to come back? I don't know much about lost love, but I'm sure I would do anything to reunite with the love of my life (if I was in a situation where we were separated). I don't say this to hurt or insult you, but I can only assume it is what you would want for yourself and your children. Whatever you choose to do, I know it will be the right one. I can only tell you what I believe, and if it is not right, then I'm sorry.

I still don't think what you did with him was wise, but it has given you this gift, a gift to both of you. Parents are meant to stay together, I think.

Anyhow, Vittoria will do well with a younger brother or sister. It would get lonely for her eventually. I loved my siblings, both of them. You would not want her to grow up alone, like you or Runa. This is a good thing, and I know it. I know it in my breast, and as a mother now, I know it in my womb.

Tobias is ever so jealous of you, you know. We have been trying now for months, to no return. I think it would do well if you came to visit us, with your daughter. He would not mind—he's a good man, and would accept you into our home warmly. Perhaps if Lars rejects you, you might even find a nice suitor here.

I've enclosed some more medicine and herbs for your gestation.

Signed,

Dagny
wife of Emperor Tobias I
Empress of the Imperial Empire

28th of Mid-Year, 4E 214

Daughter,

I hope you are well. I've tried speaking to Isran about taking an absence, but since our mission against the vampires is becoming more and more critical, I cannot commit to coming back to Falkreath at this moment. If ever I am heading in that direction, I will come to visit. But I know you are an adult now, and I trust you know how to bring a child to term. Perhaps not quite grown up when it comes to decision making, but at least you won't get yourself killed—Gods know I've aided in your "independence".

If you're still interested, we found the Moth Priest a month or so ago. All clues led us to Dragonbridge, where a man told us that a man in a robe had recently passed over the bridge. We hurried along, heading southeast towards the old bridge, but instead of finding the Moth Priest and his travelling party, we saw signs of an attack: overturned carts, dead horses, and the corpses of vampires. We searched the bodies, and on one of the vampires, we found a note which informed us of where they had taken the Moth Priest (Bloody stupid to leave a note which gives strangers your location. Skyrim absolutely needs more guards). We followed the blood splatters northeast until we reached four standing stones and an entrance to Forebear's Holdout.

We headed down a slope and around the corner. It's strange how well vampires can sneak. They have no breath, no heartbeat; no sign of anything to indicate they even exist. The only thing that reminded me of Serana's presence was her footsteps, which even I strained to hear.

Before long we reached a balcony in a huge chamber with a river. It resembled an old interior fort, but there was a single patrolling vampire. On the other side, a bluish orb glowed. It made me dizzy and unnerved. Rather than attack, we snuck down the stairs to the south and passed two patrolling death hounds on the ground level.

Across the narrow bridge leading west and following the wall, an opening revealed a huge bonfire. Even in the shadows, four ugly vampires immediately attacked. Serana's ranged attacks have become more and more powerful, and I was only half done with killing one when she had disposed of the other three.

Upstairs, we found Malkus, the vampire who had carelessly written that note. We listened in the shadows while he attempted to enthrall the Moth Priest. The dialogue was ridiculous, the cliché of a vampire with his prey.

"The more you fight me, the more you will suffer, mortal."

"I will resist you, monster. I must!"

"How much longer can you keep this up, Moth Priest? Your mind was strong, but you're exhausted from the struggle."

"Must... resist..."

I was sure it was just a rouse, but when Serana looked at me with wide, anxious golden eyes I knew that whatever Malkus was doing was somehow working. I never knew vampires could actually take over someone's mind like that. I nodded to her, and we flanked the vampire. She ran in front, and as he was about to draw from his magicka, I was already behind him. I sliced his throat open, and he fell like a sack of potatoes.

It's sick how easily life is stolen.

It was too late though, and the priest was already enthralled. I stole the Weystone Focus from Malkus' body and ran up the stairs. Only, when I activated its source, and the priest was released, he grew hostile. He started fighting us, and the fight lasted a surprising while—he must have been very well trained in combat, perhaps it is normal for Moth Priests to be trained in battle—I don't know much about monks or priests.

Still, Serana and I were stronger together, and he was on his knees with my dagger on his throat soon enough. I was afraid we might have to kill him; how long would it take us to find another Moth Priest? Months? Years? Would the Imperial City, the Empire let us employ one?

But my fears were in vain—he conceded, and he was released from his late master's maw.

After introductions, I learned his name to be Dexion Evicus, of the White-Gold Tower. We escorted him back to Fort Dawnguard, where he read Serana's Elder Scroll.

I have it written down, what he read, so I'll take the liberty of copying it in this letter. I trust you will tell no one, not Lydia, not Adelaissa. These are Dexion's words: "I see a vision before me, an image of a great bow. I know this weapon! It is Auriel's Bow! Now a voice whispers, saying,

Among the night's children, a dread lord will rise."

In an age of strife, when dragons return to the realm of men, darkness will mingle with light and the night and day will be as one.

The voice fades and the words begin to shimmer and distort. But wait, there is more here.

The secret of the bow's power is written elsewhere. I think there is more to the prophecy, recorded in other scrolls.

Yes, I see them now... One contains the ancient secrets of the dragons, and the other speaks of the potency of ancient blood. My vision darkens, and I see no more. To know the complete prophecy, we must have the other two scrolls."

That sounds exhausting and unappealing, but naturally the job was handed to me.

When I can visit, I'll send a letter beforehand. If there is anything else you might require, let me know. I should be back in Fort Dawnguard by the fifth of Sun's Height.

Elaira

To: Loralei
From: Evesa

14th of Sun's Height, 4E 214

I've been considering heading to Cyrodiil in a few years. The province is rich with knowledge and luxuries, and I feel as though I could prosper among the Imperials. I wish to travel to all of its remaining cities and learn from them. After that, I think I'll make my way towards the Summerset Isles. I can't say I've ever been a fan of the gold elves, or their reign, but their knowledge is ancient and sacred. I have no patience for pride or egoism, which all of Tamriel knows the Aldmeri are rich in, but I am no fool to think that they do not hold great knowledge.

I'm surprised with my parents' reactions, though. My father has always wanted me to be a servant to Mara, and to keep the temple once they are gone, or retired, or whatnot. My mother wanted the same too. I don't blame them for wanting their only child to follow in their footsteps, but I had always thought they were ignorant or blind for not seeing what I want. But they only told me they would start saving for my accommodations in Cyrodiil, and they would begin acquiring contacts in the Imperial City for me to start my pursuit of knowledge.

I wonder if I have been seeing them all wrong, in all the wrong light for all these years. Even if I have not, at least they are beginning to see now.

Did I tell you? They have decided to adopt a young girl from the orphanage here in Riften. Her name is Sofie. She is a Nord, no older than six or seven, and was brought here from Windhelm. She was found selling flowers in the streets, by a traveller in Windhelm, and he brought her to the orphanage not two months ago. She is kind, and pretty. She has taken to the beliefs of my parents very well.

At first I had thought to be jealous, or frustrated that she could be what I could not, but I know deep down that those feelings are false. I am glad I am the way I am, and I am glad Sofie is the way she is as well. My parents deserve what they have always wanted, the same way I do as well.

I am only twelve years old and in no place to give you advice on raising your children, but I hope you are smart enough to learn from the selfishness of other parents. I am enough for myself without Maramal and Dinya, but I don't think your children will be strong enough without you.

Mara blesses you and your children. -Evesa

30th of Sun's Height

Dear Loralei,

I'm not sure what advice I can give about Vittoria eating dirt. I can't say I'm having the same problems with Lorgren, but that's probably because his servants are watching him all the time, and I doubt he has even had the opportunity to sit in the dirt. I'm sure most children eat whatever they see. Your daughter must have started it one day when no one was paying attention, and then couldn't stop.

She'll most likely grow out of it—like picking snot and sucking thumbs. It's ghastly and gross, but most things involving infants are. Toddlers, is the right word now, I guess. It's strange how fast they grow. I remember when my son was just a wee thing and I could plop him onto anyone and he'd sleep his days away. Now is far from that easy. It's exhausting chasing around a one year old, and I would be dead if it weren't for the help of my household. But in some ways it's so worth it.

Sometimes, when I'm speaking with Runa, I'll burst out laughing, and Lorgren will turn to me and laugh too. It's really cute if you see it in person. He has absolutely no idea why it's funny, but because he sees his Ma laughing, it must be what he's supposed to do too. And his kisses disgust Runa. He thinks he's puckering his lips, but really his mouth is wide open, and he'll lean towards you, his whole mouth wide and wet, and it's the most terrifying thing. But for some reason it's still cute.

Most children probably have those oddities, but he's the only one I've ever been around. He's still amazing, exceptional, no matter how normal he is. You probably feel the same way about Vittoria. Someday they'll be friends, or more. I wish them to meet, even already.

I know we've both invited each other to visit, but you know I can't leave, not without my whole household. If I was allowed, I would bring a nurse, my son and myself, and be fine without it all, but I'm not even allowed to visit the market without a whole party. Perhaps one day I'll buy a place near yours where I could travel to with all my party, but currently it's not an option. However, I live in a palace—there's plenty of room for you and your soon-to-be litter, and would require far less accommodation.

If that's not enough to convince you, I might remind you that Runa's here, at least for the rest of the year. I'm sure you get lonely, like I do. You might think I have a million friends here, but the truth is I feel very lonely, and only my son and Runa have saved me. You and your family's presence would bring me so much joy. I promise I am not the spoiled young girl I was—I'm the spoiled but appreciative young woman now.

I don't know how much you have heard of the Jarl of Whiterun, but Frothar has even been distant from me. We were so close growing up, but I have not spoken or written to him in months. He has children now, I'm not sure you'd know. Two boys; their names are Balgruuf for our late father, and Hrongar for our uncle. I had thought he would name one of them after Nelkir. We did not spend as much time with him, but I know we both loved him, even if Nelkir never knew it. I wonder if Frothar thinks of our brother like I still do.

I was always ashamed of Nelkir, but I miss him now. I never understood him; who he was and what he was, but I don't think I needed to understand him to have treated him better. It's different with Frothar. I understand Frothar because we are alike; we are dutiful and selfish, beautiful and cruel. We are so identical, even now, but it's not him I miss; I miss Nelkir…the bastard. He has always seemed so relevant and irrelevant all at once. I never thought about that until he killed himself.

Did you know he used to bring me little gifts from his business travels? Once it was a wooden boat made from Valenwood bark (dead bark of course). It was dark and fragile, but he kept it safe all the way home, just to give it to me. I still have it in Dragonsreach, since I was too afraid it would break during the journey to Cyrodiil. Another time he gave me the most beautiful necklace from Elsweyr. The silver chain was so fine that from afar, it was only visible by the sparkle of light. The jewel was raw, a naturally formed rainbow gem. That I brought here, and I stored it away in my jewellery box. I planned on giving it to my daughter if I ever have one; I think he would like it if it became a family heirloom of sorts. I want him to be remembered by something beautiful like that, even if it is so far from home.

He always loved beautiful things. He loved Runa; I think he did until his end. He told it to me, plain and clear, but I don't remember where or when. I don't think I cared very much to be honest. I must have been happy for him or maybe jealous because Nelkir was allowed to marry for love or lust or for his own desires. I wonder now why he told me. It never seemed relevant—when we did ever speak it was about nonsense or politics or chores. We never spoke of feelings or regrets; never anything so serious or personal. I was too blind to see it, but maybe he wanted to change that.

He must have been so lonely. I was too, you know. In a different way than now, but all three of us, Frothar, Nelkir, and I were alone.

Dragonsreach is a nice place, and it's cozy, wooden. It could have easily been home. It wasn't cold or grey—it was warm and welcoming. Balgruuf was a good father, doting. I never wished I had a mother, and I never wanted much from my father. I had friends, like you and wealthy Lars and even poor Mila. So I can't understand why we were all so lonely. Our desolation makes no sense; we had everything that could have made us the happiest people in the world. But I'm scared that the loneliness won't ever go away. I'm scared that my own son will be lonely, that no matter how many people are around him, he will feel like he is walking down endless hallways, passing doors which could all lead home, doors he will never walk through.

You know, I think I understand what you meant when you told me how you see the world. Maybe we all have a veil of our own. I think that's how we're able to go on, that it protects us from the intensity of feelings, of cruelties, of love. I envy Nelkir sometimes… how he was able to feel so powerfully that it was too much.

It's selfish of me to think such things. And I'm lying if I say I don't love well. I love my husband and my son, and my Empire. Maybe our loneliness, our distance is just an illusion we made up. Do you ever think that? I can't feel bad for myself though, I've never condoned self-pity. Whatever this film over my soul is, I need to rip it apart, and soon.

When you visit, we can do it together.

Regards,

5th of Last Seed, 4E 214

Daughter,

I never knew you had learned of my past. It's not so much that I worked to hide it, but I have not even thought of my life before Skyrim in perhaps decades. It might seem cruel or at least strange that I have so easily forgotten my family, but it's easy to leave. It does not matter what roots have held you where you are, or how willingly you had once let them keep you. It doesn't matter how many or how important the ones you leave are. I miss very little, and I have never had regrets. I think of my son all of the time, and I miss you when I am away, but if I am honest, I could so easily never come back, and not regret doing so.

It's the same with how and when I left my family. They were not my blood, and that was never really a problem for me. I had four brothers who regarded me with respect and my adoptive mother and father raised me to be somebody great. Even now, so far away, I know they have heard of me, and of all the greatness I have accomplished. They might be dead, but I doubt it. Their race lives long and prosperous lives. I am proud that they are the ones who raised me.

I've never known my real parents, and I have never looked, no matter how curious I was. I'll never know how I was found on the shore of the Summerset Isles, and I'll never know why.

Anyhow, that's all I care to share about the more personal reflections of my childhood. I'm sure if Evesa would like, I could write her a letter, and any of my family would accept her into their homes. I do not know where they are now, but our name is Auvrea-Arnith. My family's ancestors were known for their proficiency in the destruction arts, particularly fire. This is how we were given the clan name, Blood of the Fire. It's ironic now, I think, or maybe it's just fate that the girl they found washed up on the shores would be the dovahkiin.

I know you never had a naming ceremony. You could take my family's name, if you wish. You have as much fire in your blood as I ever will. You may not see it, but you burn brighter than even dragonfire.

We have uncovered much about the Elder Scrolls, and we may have run into Serana's mother. I must go now, but soon I will tell you the details. I'm overjoyed that you enjoy hearing of my adventures as much as I enjoy living it. This way, we are connected, no matter how much our paths differ.

Just to let you know, I have been granted permission to visit you for my name day. And remind Vittoria of me, will you? I would loathe for her to forget me so easily.

Love,
Elaira, Auvrea-Arnith

To: Loralei
From: Evesa

13th of Last Seed, 4E 214

Loralei,

I'm relieved to hear that you approve of my plans. I never knew that your mother was raised in the Summerset Isles. I can't say I remember her well, but from the way the Nords around Riften spoke of her, one would think she is Nord through and through. Nords tend to forget that the first Dragonborns were Imperial, but then again, they tend to forget all remarkable history that does not belong to them.

Perhaps in my travels to the Summerset Isles, I might run into her family. I thank you for questioning her about it. I can barely imagine having one sibling, not to mention four. And brothers too! I've heard of the clan your mother has spoken of. Perhaps they will write it in their history books, and all will know she is blood of fire, far more than she'll ever be blood of the north.

Anyhow, while I wait out my years until I can leave, I must prepare. I've been teaching Sofia how to read and write, but she does not seem to appreciate it. I suppose she'll have other talents.

Write soon,
Ev.

20th of Last Seed, 4E 214

A BOY! This is incredible! I haven't told Dagny yet, but I'm sure she'll be bouncing with joy! I always thought it was so perfect when families have an even number of sons and daughters! Have you chosen a name yet? How about Soran, or Torbalt? They are strong, powerful names! Or Hroar perhaps; I think your brother might like that, for his nephew to share his name.

Maybe you could call him Rune, after yours truly? Whatever you name him, I'm sure it will be both regal and Nordic. If I ever have a son, I'll be certain to name him Lorle or something like that! A fair trade and all.

I hope you visit, like Dagny keeps begging you to. I promise that you'd love it here. Leaving might be easier than you think.

Love, love, love,
Runa

P.S. I just told Dagny! If it weren't for the audience, she would have squealed!

To: Loralei
From: Evesa

26th of Last Seed, 4E 214

I'm glad to hear that your mother has come home. I know it must mean a lot that you are still in correspondence with each other. The birthday wishes you have given to me mean a lot, and I am both glad and surprised you remembered. Is it strange, watching someone grow up? Or is it different, since you left when I was so young, and you know me now only through the letters we have written over the course of these few months?

Twelve seems so young still, but then again, I don't think I have ever felt like the youth I was supposed to be.

—Evesa

P.S. Please give your mother good wishes as well.

3rd of Heart-Fire, 4E 214

Loralei,

This is the twelfth letter I've written. I don't know why you choose to ignore my letters, but I'm sure you have a good reason. I would promise to stop writing you, but I don't think I'd survive. I'm aware that the chances that you even read these are slim, but I take immense pleasure in even pretending like I'm talking with you. Talking to you, I suppose, but those are just details that will go unnoticed, I guess.

I have finished training now, but I am still in Solitude until they have a place for us, most likely down south. I admit I'm glad that I'm not in the heat of the battle. Most men crave the scent of blood and the shine of steel, but I am not like that. Perhaps Braith has always been right; I am a milk-drinker. I was afraid to join this war, and I am afraid still.

I've recently reunited with Mila. She was here only briefly, and her name is becoming more and more renowned. She fights with a claymore, a two-handed weapon that is becoming more and more popular (think of it as a broadsword, but heavier). Only the strongest men-at-arms can wield it properly, and use it fearsomely in battle. She is strong now, like you wouldn't even believe. She was once tall and lanky, but now she is tall and great. She is as pretty as ever too, only with scars all over her neck, face, and arms. They suit her, however much that scares me. She is a warrior, that one, and her scars are proof of her strength. My mother told me long ago that scars prove the strength it takes to heal.

Mila is different now, but not just because of her new brute force—she was wicked, that one, I'm sure you remember. She would sneer and grin, send a wicked glance that would make the largest of men shiver. She was smart, witty maybe. She may not have been good at chess or cards, but she could think quickly. I remember her so well, the way her smile twinkled with mischief, and her eyes saw all of you, as if you were stripped naked in front of her. But now her smiles pass like ghosts, and her eyes are empty, and she sees nothing. She is distant, and dull, like she is nothing. She is not brave, only unafraid of death because there is no life left within her.

She is a broken shell of what she used to be, and I don't know what to do.

I've never been good at fixing people.

I can only hope that once she survives this war, she can find some way to fix herself.

As for me, well, just as the war remains unchanged, I'm still the same Lars. I'm still afraid. I'm still lonely. I'm the same as I'll ever be.

-L. Battle-Born

17th of Heart-Fire, 4E 214

My dear daughter,

I have settled back into Fort Dawnguard, after making a few detours upon heading east. Serana left when I returned, and has since disappeared. Everyone thinks she has betrayed us, and has gone to share her knowledge with her father, but I don't share this belief. Serana may be a vampire, one of the vampire lords even, but she is still human in the truest senses. She is brave, and strong. She can be grumpy, and she can make people laugh. She is dead, but she is also reborn, and can feel the burn of heat and the tickle of chill the same as us.

I don't know where she is, but I can only assume that she is in search for the scrolls. We haven't even had a single clue where either of the scrolls might be. We have gone all across Skyrim, in search. We have used violence, spies, lies, bribery, anything. But nothing has worked. I'm worried that Lord Harkon has already found the scrolls—that he is laughing at our sour attempts at finding that which is already in his possession.

I have used all my resources. My contacts in Riften only wanted to know more. I was insulted by that, obviously. I thought I had acquired enough respect over my years of work with them that no such questions would be asked, no matter the request. They're most likely bitter because of my resignation.

I even tried to gain information from Winterhold, but they knew nothing. I reached out to the Empire, but like my old associates in Riften, they were greedy to know more, believing my loyalty to them would surpass my loyalty to the Dawnguard, and the confidentiality which they were promised.

Our members have travelled all across Skyrim, and even the edges of our bordering provinces to learn absolutely nothing. We had three false leads, and lost good men in vain. There is not much else we can do, and waiting is not even an option.

I have faith in myself, and I have faith in the divines. I have faith in the Dawnguard, and I have faith in Serana. But it seems that right now, that is all we have.

I was glad to see you and Vittoria, and I'll visit again soon. With the way things are going, I might have a lot of spare time on my hands.

Yours Truly,
Elaira

To: Loralei Auvrea-Arnith
From: Evesa

3rd of Frostfall, 4E 214

Recently, I've been studying the birthsigns. I know in the recent century or so, birthsigns are less and less revered, and are said to be irrelevant, but I still think they're worth knowing about. Perhaps not quite scientifically proofed, they are still interesting, and since when has the world asked for much scientific proof?

I was born in Last Seed, which means that I was born under the sign of the Warrior. Obviously, this is horribly fitted for me, since the warrior represents strength, and bravery. The Warrior is the first of the Guardian constellations (the others being mage and thief), and he protects his charges during their seasons. During his season, he gives strength necessary for the harvest. Most born under my sign are prone to short tempers.

Your mother, though she was born in the same month as I, does not share my birthsign. According to this log I found (which contains nearly a century of information about astronomical changes), your mother was born under the sign of the Serpent. He, unlike any of the other signs, has no season, and travels through the months aimlessly, only somewhat predictable. Those born under his sign have no common traits. Apparently, those born under this sign have both the most powerful blessings, as well as the most treacherous curses. It's a good thing that all this is fictional, though, or your mother would lead a terribly tragic life.

Anyhow, your sign is the Mage, which makes sense since you use healing magic. Except, most born under the Mage are arrogant and absent-minded, which you don't seem to be.

Your daughter was born under the sign of the Ritual, which is often associated with restoration magic and resurrection. Coincidently, she is one of the Mage's charges! And your son, if he's born in Sun's Dawn, will be born under the Lover sign. They are passionate and graceful, one of the Thief's charges.

I doubt any of these really apply, but I thought you might like to learn about it. Evesa

18th of Frostfall, 4E 214

Thank you for the gift, it was beautiful. Even Dagny swooned! It is strange to be twenty. I feel as though I am both old and young, both lost and searching. I wonder if I have always felt like that, or if I always will.

Love,
Runa.

1st of Sun's Dusk, 4E 214

Loralei,

Serana returned a few days past, with new information. A lot is still unclear, but this is the gist of it: Serana believes that one of the Elder Scrolls is somewhere in her father's castle. Currently, we are preparing to infiltrate his castle, and we should be ready to leave in a few days. We have spent far too much time preparing, and we won't have time to make a detour to Falkreath.

The vampires' forces have nearly doubled, and fledglings are still being recruited. The Dawnguard is strong, and our numbers grow as well. They seem not to know what Serana does, but who knows what Lord Harkon might be hiding.

Serana and I will be going in alone, and I have experience in Stealth, thankfully. If all goes as planned, we might come out victorious just yet.

I'll write again as soon as I can.

—Elaira

8th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 214

Miss Loralei,

I'm glad to hear the nausea has finally ceased. I cannot even fathom so many months of sickness. I am so grateful that my pregnancy went smoothly, though I am afraid for my second. Speaking of which, I believe my husband is concerned that he will not get a child on me. I tell him not to worry so, but even I am concerned it is impossible. Evidently, I am not barren, but what if we must wait even longer?

Tobias has always wanted a large family. He planned on having enough to fill all the rooms of the palace! By the divines, I hope not! My womb would not survive! Iwould not survive! Still, I would be obliged to give him at least six children. But I am not getting any younger, and Runa's name day last month has aided in reminding me so.

I think perhaps the divines are giving me what I have wanted, but I know better than to ask for that. If my husband the Emperor wants six children, I must give them to him. I would far rather do my duty as his wife and as the Empire's second ruler than submit to my selfish wants. I know my place, and I know how to keep it, which is why I will grow with child.

They say that things only happen when you stop trying for it, but I'm in no position to rely on luck and faith. It goes against all of my being. If I have a goal, I shall achieve it, no matter what they say. If I fail, that failure is on me alone. Luck and faith, the divines and our destinies are not what guide us in life. Don't forget it, Loralei—we are in charge of what happens to us. I take no excuses, especially from myself.

On a happier note, I think the name you chose is an excellent one!

Love always,
Dagny

P.S. I apologize if I was preaching, but I needed to be reminded.

29th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 214

Loralei,

I'm with child! Only a few weeks, but it has been confirmed. Your letters of encouragement and faith mean more than I might try to convince myself otherwise. It seems we two live our lives always on the same page!

I've been trying to spend as much of my time as possible with Lorgren. He speaks in sentences now, you know. And yes, of course I'm jealous that Vittoria beat him to it, but what can we do about it. Don't forget, Lorgren did walk first (which surprises me, since most of his servants insist on carrying him everywhere).

On that pleasant note, I must be off. Tobias and I have a private dinner with our son.

The most happy,
Dagny

15th of Evening Star, 4E 214

Loralei,

I must keep this letter brief, but we have located one of the scrolls. Serana was right—it was right below Lord Harkon, and we managed to steal it away anyway! I'll be visiting for the Old Life, so I'll tell you all the gory details once I'm home.

Until then,
Elaira

To: Loralei AA
From: Evesa

1st of Morning Star, 4E 214

My mother made these for you and your children. She has blessed them in the name of Mara. Happy New Life!

Evesa

8th of Morning Star, 4E 214

Daughter,

I would have passed this day in ignorance, as I have for so many years now—this morning I woke up thinking it was any normal day—but then I decided to write this letter and I had to ask for the date.

I wondered if you remember that today was the day your brother died, thirteen years ago. I've managed to avoid it for many years now, forcing myself to lose track of the dates. It was easy though, since I've never had a good sense of time or dates. Months could go by and I would not know the difference, and sometimes days feel like weeks. I'm sure you've noticed that, though—how fast or how slow my life passes, how months can go by and I won't even realise. I don't know how I haven't missed your birthdays, or even my birthdays. Perhaps I have some sort of selective memory, and subconsciously I can choose what seems real and what to forget or remember. I guess I couldn't have gone all the rest of my life missing every 8th of Morning Star. I think maybe it was wrong of me to avoid it for as long as I did... I should have paid my respects; I should have honoured him in death as I did not in life.

Hroar would have been such a great man. He would be smart, wise, and strong in the ways unknown to a warrior, but well versed for a simple man. He would know how to face loss, and he would know restraint and how to balance money and crops and the things like that. I wonder if he would be some sort of farmer or banker or investor, if he would open a Meadery or be a priest like you. I think about him a lot—what he would do or what he would wish; which choices he would make and which goals he would achieve. There are so many moments that have passed in my life that I have wondered what he would say; which snarky remark, which question. I have longed to speak with him for so long now. I want to listen to his stories, and laugh with him. I want to meet his wife and spoil his children. He had so much life, even when he was dying he seemed so alive, with so much emotion and heart and loss.

I had always envisioned him living such an incredible life. Not like mine, though. He wouldn't be wild and adventurous; he wouldn't live through mysteries and battles and legends. Hroar's life would be built on his endless curiosity for everything. He would be remembered for eternity through the bonds he would make with the people he loved. He would love so well, I know. And the whole world would learn to love him in return. You and Hroar would have grown even closer than you were. You would have stayed together all your lives, in soul, in heart and in family. And me, well I would have come back in a week, in a month, in a year and the three of us would have continued like we were supposed to before I left you. Maybe even you could have forgiven me. He didn't, you know. In his last breath he said, "You took too long, Mama. You are late, Mama." And when I saw him one last time in Sovngarde, before I faced Alduin, I tried to speak to him, but he only repeated those last words over and over and over.

Sometimes I wonder what he would be doing if he were here now, in this realm instead of stuck in Sovngarde, where he can never grow or change or think. Here, he would be so tall and so handsome. He would be as curious as ever, asking all the questions in the universe. He would be rude and confused and understanding all the same. I wish constantly he were with me. I want to hear his voice, to ask him questions, to hug him, to feel his skin warm, young, I want to see it wear with time. I want to hold his hand and let the years pass by, watch and feel how they grew stronger and older and different.

Instead he is young forever, trapped in that place all Nords dream of going. But there is nothing in Sovngarde to want. The fire which grows tall and large in the middle of the hall emits no warmth, and there are no opportunities to do and learn more. There is no purpose to those dead Nords' lives, and they wander not lost and not found. They eat and drink without tasting the salt, without savouring the sweetness, without feeling the warmth.

When I am dead, I will not go to the Hall where the fire that burns will not warm my hands. I've made promises to do something greater with my soul—my dovah sos. I only wish Hroar had a chance to be someone great, like I have become, rather than the boy who died into emptiness and sadness. After I made my deal with Nocturnal, to be her servant even after death, I had been so regretful. I had always planned on meeting your father and your brother back in the dead world, but now I know I would have never found peace.

You know, I have been many things in this life—a warrior, a thief, a barmaid, a mother. I have always thought that being a sentinel was most like being a warrior—they both fight to achieve something or to fulfill a promise. Both require strength and power, strong will. But warriors are reckless and hot-headed, driven to battle by the intoxication of blood and adrenaline. They need to know how to kill, to win, and to conquer. But protectors are different. They need patience and loyalty, a drive to protect and shield. It is now I realise that sentinels are not like warriors, they are like mothers. I wonder if my path in death is a chance to learn what I could not in life.

These are sad things to think of, and I'm sorry if I have worried or upset you. It was selfish of me to write to you of your brother. I know your loss is equal to mine. I hope someday we can find it in ourselves to grieve together, and try to understand the loss I have for so long ignored.

Signed,
Elaira

5th of Sun's Dawn, 4E 214

To: Dagny
From: Loralei

I am proud to announce that Nelkir was born yesterday, late at night. I've decided not to use a wet nurse, like you suggested. Vittoria was fascinated, just like I'm sure your son will be when your second child is born.

You know, when Vittoria was born, I had felt so alone. Even through her infancy, I never truly felt like a mother. Still, that title seems strange when given to me, but I hold Nelkir in my arms, and I watch as Vittoria stares, green eyes wide, and I can finally feel the undeniable thump of my heart, and how it has grown louder and stronger, reminding me that my life does not solely belong to myself anymore, and how that knowledge was the only thing that could have saved me.

Nelkir has woken now.

I'll write you soon.

Love,
Loralei

P.S. I still read the letters he sends. I can't help myself, though I know it's only tormenting me more. I haven't written back though… Do you think my children will grow to resent me for it? I can only hope they will understand why I don't tell him. I know you think I should have told him but I'm still so afraid he wouldn't come back… or maybe I'm afraid that he would?

I had never pictured my life like that, the way it was in early 4E 215—living in an isolated manor where it always rained, raising two bastard children born of the same estranged father. I had always assumed that my future would be plain and simple, that I would marry a rich man and raise plenty of spoiled children. It took a very long time though, to learn to accept and to embrace and to understand the blessings I had been given. I was still learning, but by Nelkir's birth, I had learned to love and appreciate my daughter. I was so thankful for Vittoria, who grew prettier with time. She was so calm and gentle, but also proud and curious. She walked like a man, I noticed; each step heavy, loud, and dominating. She commanded the acknowledgement of the world, without even realising it. She had a girly flow of mannerisms—her giggle, her measured hands, the bounce of her muddy curls with each hefty patter.

My son I was still learning to know into the spring months. He was born with blue eyes, which had made my heart shudder, but with the weeks they turned greener until they were no longer blue, but a golden-green hazel. I thought they might be hazel like Hroar's had been, but I could not quite remember the exact shade.

Nelkir was smaller than his sister had been, but his lungs were stronger. He had cried for hours after his birth, and had not taken to the wet nurse. I had been scared at first, when Lydia had urged me to feed him, but he took to me well, and I found myself easing into it. Nelkir liked very few, and would cry in the wrong arms. He would not cease his wailing when Lydia had held him for the first time, and only stopped once Vittoria touched him. She had been nervous, but fascinated, far too young to understand who her brother was, and what exactly that meant. But she had approached him, his face red and had slipped her finger into his fist. He had turned to her, so curiously, his eyes still so blue, and his breaths had steadied.

Vittoria had showed little interest in Nelkir after that, and selfishly I was almost glad. It would have hurt too much to see Vittoria grow so close with her brother, to form a bond that I would never be able to find for myself ever again. It was not fair that I would never be completely whole without Hroar. He had left so many marks in me that felt bare and unguarded; empty. I could still feel all the places he was supposed to be—I had already mapped out all the empty spaces in my heart and in my life; I had traced the cracks in my bones where they had shattered once he'd died. Maybe it was for the best that Vittoria and her brother remained not completely whole, without risk of breaking and being left empty.

For the first month, I had spent all my days at home, playing with Vittoria, teaching her old Nord songs, and reading her stories. Nelkir slept and cried, and by the end of the month, he was already plumper than his sister had been. The days were forgettable and memorable all at once. Each day was full of joy and warmth, chit-chatter and wasted laughter among the household.

My mother had come home to meet my son. While she held him, she had laughed and cried, and had said his name over and over again. She seemed hysterical, but it had made me cry too, and laugh too, and we had sat and huddled close and just watched my son for hours. Once we had calmed down, she told me of all the times she had ever met a baby—a squirrel in the Summerset Isles, abandoned by his family and raised by her own brother; a child by the name of Normand who had been the son of a dark elf family up in Winterhold; a baby bear she had killed by accident the night before she had met my father. She told me about my own birth, the same story I had heard a million times when I had still been a little girl. She spoke of the rain, how all had been so silent just for me, just for Hroar. She had spoken of the way Onmund had laughed when he held Hroar and had cried when he'd held me. I thought Elaira would cry once more after that but she only smiled down at her grandson, and told me about meeting Vittoria, and the green of her eyes, the way they were hers and mine and ours.

I thought about the way I would speak to my children someday, when we were all grown up. I wondered what I would say, if I would even be able to say anything. Would I tell Vittoria I had not loved her straight away? Would I tell Nelkir I did not want him to love his sister? Or would I speak of the green in Vittoria's eyes, and warn her that they would never stop shining with wonder? Would I say to Nelkir that I loved him completely, that even when he shrieked and cried, I had wanted to hold him in my arms and keep him there with me? Or would I instead tell them that to me, Vittoria meant childhood and Nelkir meant bastard?

Mother had left not a week after she had arrived, but I had let her go willingly.

It was already spring when I decided to follow Runa's advice from long ago. It was one of the rarer days without rain, and the sun was high in the sky. The ground was still wet and muddy as I made my way to Falkreath, but my tough leather boots were made for the terrain, and I trudged on without peril. I had made the boots myself, only a few months ago, when I had had nothing else to do. It was the stable boy who had helped me—his father was a shoemaker—and had shown me all the different styles we could use, the different leather for the different parts of it. The boy had joked that he and I should start a shoemaking company.

I wiped my muddy boots on a rug outside of the Hall. It was a small little hut, with old cobblestone walls and a hay-covered roof, much like all the other short buildings in Falkreath. The cemetery around it stretched for almost an acre. Its attendant was working hard at digging the weeds, far off from the Hall. It must be awful to work outside all the time in Falkreath, I thought lightly as I entered the Hall.

Since the dead were buried outside, the Hall was more like a single-roomed house, with a shrine of Arkay set lazily on a table against one of the walls, and a bed not far from it. The only attendant to the shrine was a gold elf named Runil. He was tall, and had long white hair, gelled back so it hardly moved. His skin was greenish, and he wore a wrinkled frown, though it was a frown like most elves'. Still, he was not ugly, and had wide, pale gold-green eyes, and a small, pointed mouth.

Runil smiled when he saw me. "Good morning, Loralei. Are you ready to begin?"

"Of course," I said. I hovered by the door, nervous despite myself. "I was glad to hear that you would accept me, I was afraid you had no need for more aid."

"The number of graves in this cemetery never decreases, I'm afraid. There is always so much to do. Obviously, I wouldn't discredit your status as a Priestess, and you are free to attend to the shrine we have, but the work I have for you is mostly in the cemetery," he explained, standing with his hands clasped in front of him.

"I figured as much," I admitted. "I had thought you had more help though."

"Oh, merciful Arkay, of course I do! I am too old and frail, and this graveyard is too large. Kust is my assistant. He helps me tend the headstones and keep our cemetery clean, as befits a place of rest. Perhaps you saw him outside, out by the graves, did you not?"

"Yes, though I was just confirming. And of course, I will help him with his responsibilities; I'd be happy to serve the divines, even Arkay, in any way that I can."

Outside, I found Kust only a few graves away from where he had been before. I walked towards him, and he seemed not to notice my approach. I could see him clearer now, and he looked different than what I had assumed. I had seen him on several occasions, during my previously infrequent visits to the town, or the few mornings I'd woken up at Dead Man's Drink. He was a barrel-chested Nord with a bald head, who wore old but well-fitted iron armour. Up close, I could see that he was much younger than I had thought, but still many years older than me. His skin was smooth, undamaged by the sun, but it was covered in a film of dirt and sweat from the early morning's work. His mouth rested in a wide line, and it was a while before his eyes rested on me.

"Can I help you?" he said.

"Well actually, I'm here to help you," I admitted, trying on a sluggish smile. "Did Runil tell you that I was going to start helping out here?" He apprehended me, before returning to the dandelion he had just removed.

"Well, I guess you can tend to the flowers for now… just remember that these graves hold the sons and daughters of Falkreath. Show some respect while you're here and you and I will be fine."

"I know… there are a lot of good men buried here, they deserve proper care," I said, almost awkwardly. Kust squinted up at me, his mouth still in a loose straight line.

"Men aren't good or bad," he said. "They're just men."

I thought to respond, but when he stood up and moved on to the next weed, I just nodded to myself and turned back to the little stone hut in search of supplies.

I blinked twice when I entered the room. Lucia sat cross-legged in the middle of the floor of her living room. Books with old runes burned into the pages and wear from hundreds of years were sprawled all around her. Currently, she was reciting a spell from a dark blue leather-bound book. The language was foreign to my ears.

"What are you reciting, Lucia? Where did you find those books?" I demanded, looking around me. I was bewildered, and despite my trust in the young girl, I was scared for her.

"Oh don't worry, it's not a spell or anything," Lucia giggled. She closed up the blue book and plopped it only one of the stacks beside her. "Well, it is, but it only works while performing rituals, which I'm not dumb enough to do, really. I found these books when a khajiit caravan came by. Mam Lydia let me buy them if I promised not to try anything without asking her first."

"Well… what are you trying to do? Don't you think you're a little young for this old-magic-potentially-voodoo-stuff?"

"Probably." She smiled at me, and moved some hair out of her face.

"How old are you anyway?" I asked, striding over to her. I plopped down next to her and grabbed the nearest book. I opened it to a random page and saw: the reanimation of corpses requires much more science and bodily sacrifice than expected.

"Ten, I think," she answered, leaning over to see what had made me frown. "It's weird stuff, isn't it? I don't know how any straight-thinking person would even want to revive something dead. It's the actual process that interests me."

"Well, I don't know a lot about necromancy or destruction or whatnot, but I know some healing spells. Maybe when you're a little older I can teach you a little." Almost awkwardly, Lucia took my hands in hers and grinned at me. I blushed, feeling a little uncomfortable, but I managed a small smile in return.

"I'd be so obliged, Miss Lorie! But I've already practiced some healing spells. It took a lot of reading, which I don't like so much, but I managed. And I've been practicing the alchemic methods that you taught me, and I think I'm getting really good at it. Mam says that I've got a gift with the magical arts." I squeezed Lucia's hand before letting it go again.

"Of course you do, Lucia. Maybe one day you could even go to the College of Winterhold."

"Maybe," she said, shrugging. She looked at the books around her with a fond little smile. "Or maybe there are places even better for me." Slowly, I nodded, imagining all the beautiful and monstrous places she might have meant.

The summer sun was bright in my eyes and I pulled my floppy hat farther to shade my face. Lydia and her family had come to visit often in the past weeks, which at first had been strange and heartwarming. Now it was like a routine, a comfort for them to spend so much time with my family. Today we sat on the balcony, since the sun was high and the rain was far away. Lydia was laughing at something Erik had said, but I hadn't heard. It wasn't so much that I wasn't paying attention, but I was being distracted by a screaming two year old and a baby who was still squirming dangerously in Adelaissa's arms.

"I want it!" Vittoria cried, and I tried not to roll my eyes. I had never realised how little patience I had for the dramatics of little girls. I wondered how I had ever grown up with Runa. Currently, Vittoria was fighting for a glass of sugar water, which she insisted she would like. Only, she didn't remember that the last time I had given it to her, she had been sick for a while after.

"No," I said.

"Why?" Vittoria crossed her arms and pouted. Some might have found it cute, but it only irritated me. I loved my children, but I had never and would never fall for such shenanigans, not even for a two year old.

"I told you why, Vittoria. You got sick the last time," I explained, keeping an eye on Nelkir, who refused to stay still in the Stewardess' arms. I trusted she could hold a baby, but this one was a menace.

"No I didn't! I won't this time, Mama, I promise!" she insisted, taking my hand into hers. It reminded me of how Lucia would do the same sometimes. Children were so strange.

"Why do you want it anyway?" I asked, pouring myself some water. Vittoria looked baffled, her small mouth agape.

"Listen to your mum," Erik supplied, smiling wide. He patted his wife hard on the shoulder before moving to steal Nelkir from a now-frustrated Adelaissa. "If you don't know what you're fighting for, then what's the point?" The baby cooed in Erik's arms, and stopped squirming. Adelaissa huffed. Vittoria stomped, and then sighed. I smiled gently at her, careful not to be patronizing, and patted the seat next to me.

"Is there anything else you would like to eat?"

Vittoria nodded, climbing up next to me. She leaned against me, and I pulled my arm around her.

Later, Lucia came running up the steps, Bran on her heels as she took a seat at the table. We stayed all afternoon and soon enough, the sun faded behind the lake, and together we watched, as if this was the last and the first sunset of our lives.

"By the Eight, Kust," I breathed. "It's so hot. Can't we take a break today?" It was late in Sun's Height, and the sun was bright and the air was humid. It hadn't rained in a week, and when it had, the water had been warm and sticky. Kust wiped the sweat off his brow, and dropped his rag.

"Screw it, let's get a drink," he said, and I smiled despite my exhaustion from the heat. "If we don't, we might become one of these sorry folk."

I dropped my rag, and followed him back into town.

"You know, we could go swimming," I suggested. Kust shot me a side glance, and blushed. I rolled my eyes as I struggled to keep up at his pace. "I live on a lake."

"I know," he said, but he was still headed in the direction of the inn.

"There's drinks there too, and I'm sure my daughter will want to swim too," I swayed. "It could be fun!"

"I'm not a fan of kids, if I'm honest," he said, not unkindly. I rolled my eyes. I wondered when I'd picked up the habit. It seemed I'd been doing it a lot lately.

"Me neither," I said. Kust chuckled and shook his head. "Well, you're welcome to come along, but I'm not waiting here for you."

"You go on ahead; I'll join you some other time." He smiled though, and wiped his brow again. I smiled back, and did an awkward little bow before I turned away. I cursed myself for it the whole way, but when I stepped into the cool water of the lake, I forgot about him completely.

6th of Last Seed, 4E 215

Loralei,

It's a girl! Well… I suppose we already knew that but that's beside the point. Carlotta was born late yesterday evening, and is very healthy indeed. She'll be pretty, that one. She has blue eyes right now, but I don't doubt they'll get darker with age.

I'm still exhausted, but I couldn't wait for you to hear the news.

Luck,
Dagny

Vittoria's hair was thick and beautiful. The curls were loose and long, and I loved to run my fingers through it. When she got older, she would hate the frizz, but there was something about curly hair that seemed just so endearing—so special. Every night before bed, she would let me braid it, and it would take me twice as long as necessary, just because I loved to touch it. During the summer it was the colour of hazelnuts, all warm and roasted. In the winter, it would darken into a brown sable mass of ringlets.

It was late in the night, during the end of Last Seed when Vittoria knelt in front of the overstuffed armchair where I sat. The night air was chilled, and the flames cackled in the stone fire place. The household was long asleep and away, everyone off in their wings dreaming of better places or of tomorrow. Vittoria had been asleep too, but she had woken up again some time ago, and had crawled into my room, asking me to fix her braid which had come undone.

"Did you have fun today?" I asked quietly. She nodded, and yawned widely.

"Yeah…" she sighed. I tied her ribbon, and she nuzzled against my knees.

"What did you think of Kust?" I asked. He had spent the day at the manor, and had played with Vittoria almost all day. Nelkir hadn't liked him much, and had stayed away.

"Is that the boy without the hair, Mama?" Her eyes were shut, and her words were mumbled.

"Yes, girlie."

"He was fun," she confirmed, though I suspected she did not completely remember him. "He'll be back to play, won't he, Mama?"

"Mhm," I said, and pulled her up onto my lap. "I hope so. Let's sleep now, okay?"

"Yes mama," she said, falling into my arms like the small child she was—the child I'd hoped she would always be. The flyaways of her thick and beautiful hair tickled my neck, and I smiled as her breathing steadied, wondering not for the first time how the gods and I had created something so exquisite.

Autumn passed like a swift gust of wind, and it was Old Life before anyone knew it. Kust and I had spent the night setting candles on graves, and lighting them one by one. It had been midnight when we reached the last candle. The name on the grave it rested on had been worn away to nonexistence. I watched Kust as he said the final prayer. His face was dark in the moonlight, but it was enough to see that he looked magnificent. It took me a few moments to take in the whole scene—Kust standing in the cemetery, lights glittering all around him, mimicking the stars above. He still wore his iron armor, and his stance was almost fearsome. A sentinel of the dead, I thought. Mother told me once about warriors and protectors and mothers.

I only watched as he stepped towards me, as he took my hands. His hands were large and callused, dirt forever imbedded underneath his nails. Mine were rough too now and I doubted I had the hands of a rich girl or musician or a Priestess. My hands were dirty, and my nails were short and jagged. Our ugly and worn fingers had laced together somehow, and I was almost surprised when he leaned in close. My heart thumped wildly as he smiled at me. It was a small smile, but it was so rich and delicious that it was all I could do to wait for him to lean in just a little closer. He kissed me, with no hesitance. His lips were rough, and my face was red from the cold of the winter air and from the warmth that he made me feel. Kust smiled when he kissed me, and though the kiss lasted only a moment before the two of us broke apart in fits of childish giggles; it had felt like a million moments flowing and combusting into the mere seconds that our lips had touched.

He took my hand when we calmed down. In a silence not even the dead could hear, we protected our great sepulcher—where the honoured and the dishonoured; all those who had once belonged and all those who had never known home or love or wisdom were rested. Together, we were warriors and protectors and mothers and fathers, farmers and bards, kings and queens, gods and beggars. Together, we were nothing but a monk and a priestess, with the moon above us and the swell of the world in our hearts.

Nelkir had been walking for some weeks now, and had to be watched one hundred percent of the time. He would find plates to break, stairs to climb, and nails to eat all over if it had not been for our constant eye on him. Vittoria still ignored him most of the time, even though he would do his best to mimic her—he would sit where she sat, laugh when she laughed, and only ever wanted to eat the food she ate. Lately, he had wanted her to go to sleep with him, but that couldn't be allowed. I had been warned by many of the things babies could get too used to.

Now, Nelkir waddled over to me with a grin on his face. He looked a little mad, with his curls bouncing around him and his eyes wide like saucers. Elaira had come to visit for a few weeks for the children's' birthdays, and she would be leaving again in a few days. She sat with Vittoria on the floor, not far from me. They were reading a book together, in hushed voices. The book was old, with a black leather binding. Its pages were stained yellow and I wondered if I should be letting my three year old touch it.

"Hi, Baby!" I said. I giggled as Nelkir crashed into my arms. I lifted him up, and held him tightly. I kissed the top of his head as he laughed. "Do you want food?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said breathily. "Food."

I set him down, and reached over to grab the small bowl of grapes. They were his favourite. "Do you want these grapes, Nelkir?" He nodded, leaning on my knees.

"Gap, gap, gap" he repeated. Mother laughed and Vittoria rolled her eyes—or what counted for it on a toddler. I placed a diced up grape in Nelkir's hand, and grabbed the bowl to bring back to my seat.

"Do you have all your stuff ready, mom?" I asked, throwing some grapes in my mouth too.

"No, not yet," she said. "I didn't bring much though."

"Well, if you need any help, I'm here," I offered. She smiled softly up at me, the corners of her mouth crinkling.

"Of course," was all she replied. Vittoria had left her, and was playing with a dollhouse that Elaira had commissioned to be built. "The Dawnguard War… it's taken longer than I thought it would," she admitted after a drawn out silence.

"You don't have to keep fighting if you're tired of it." But she didn't look tired at all, not old or worn. She looked well, which didn't make any sense to me. She was in her forties now, and it was around now that she should start feeling the pains of her line of work. She should want peace now, a good home and a pleasant retirement. Instead, she still seemed like a young woman, who was hungry for more adventure. I could tell even by the way she sat. She sat perched, like she was ready to spring up at any moment, to defend or to fight or to adventure. Even her brilliant eyes were alive and vibrant. They were always wandering and alert with thought and to her surroundings. She looked how she must have when she was twenty-something, before she had a title and money and children.

Sure, there was wisdom in her, wisdom which had taken years of love and hardship and war to build, but she seemed like she was far from ready to stop loving and living, fighting and exploring. When would she tire, and when would she finally hope for peace and a good home? But even as I posed these questions, I knew that people like my mother did not have home or peace or thoughts of a life without danger and blood. Those people were not sentinels or fathers or mothers who could stay and protect—they were warriors and thieves, billowing winds instead of long and tangled roots.

Mother smiled at me still, like she was trying to memorize me, or pull me apart or put me back together in her mind. "I don't ever get to stop fighting," she said. Her voice was low, quiet, like she wasn't sure she was even speaking aloud.

"I know," I said. "What happens after this war? Will you fight in the civil war?"

"No, I have no care for politics, in true." I frowned, passing my son a few more grapes. He sat between my legs, leaning against me. "I know, it's a horrible confession—A thane without a want of political power."

"It's not as though it was your favourite title anyway," I said. She offered a chuckle. "So what are you going to do, Mama?" She seemed to still at the last word, but only for a moment. I had said it on accident, and I could not stop my cheeks from flaring red.

"I won't stay here," she said. I couldn't tell if it was a promise or just a thought. "I want to go back to Riften."

"What's in Riften for you?" I asked.

"I belong there, among them."

"Among who?" I asked, though I felt like I knew the answer. I could feel my heart beat heart against my chest. "That red haired man—the one with the accent?" She laughed, but avoided my eyes.

"Yes, him. I haven't seen him in a very long time," she said.

"Since Whiterun—" I blurted, and flushed at my insolence.

"How do you know that?" she asked, not accusingly.

"I heard you two speak. Your voices woke me up," I admitted. She nodded, slowly. "…Can I ask you something, Elaira?" She turned to me, and for once she seemed old again, in a strange illusory way.

"What is it?"

"Was… was Matilda his child?" She froze once more, but held my gaze.

"No," she said, after a long time. "I didn't sleep with him, not then."

I almost asked her if she had loved him too—if she loved him still. I wanted to ask if she had wished the child had been his, wished she had chosen him since the start. I wanted to ask why she was going to choose him over me, why she would leave me forever to be with him. Was he loved so much that the woman who never chose, could really choose him? Or was this going to be another phase—another evolution of Elaira who would one day leave too. Was he going to be left waiting for days and then months and then years and then forever?

I felt angry, even though I shouldn't have. I felt it bubble inside of me, engorge my being. It was the angry that brought tears to my eyes, and I had to blush and look away before she could see. My skin was hot, and I felt ashamed and upset and furious.

"Loralei," she whispered, and suddenly she was at my chair, kneeling beside me. She looked up at me, eyes pleading and worried. "Are you alright?"

"I just—" I began, but my voice cracked, and I couldn't hold it in any longer. I cried, and Vittoria ran to me, and my son cried too. My mother just knelt there, and I let her, wondering how she could slay a dragon, and walk the plains of Sovngarde and return. I wondered how she could fight an empire of vampires, how she could kill and kill and kill, save and save and save. I wondered how she could be so great and so powerful that songs were sung all around Skyrim in her name. I wondered how she could be all that, and only stare and breathe and watch as my whole body shook, and I could not breathe. How could she stay there, unmoving while I broke in front of her, all the pieces she had to put together in her mind a broken and unsolvable puzzle once more?

Dragonborn they called her, and I did not have to wonder why. They burn and burn and burn, and then they fly away.

Author's Note: We've reached the 100k mark, and in 4 days, it's My Dear Father's first birthday! I just wanted to thank everyone who has read or cared about this story. I went into writing this story after months of having the idea in my head, and from the start I have cared about it dearly. If you have at all cared about this story, I am grateful to you, and even just your spiritual support. After twelve, there are three more chapters. To be honest, it's going to be strange not having this story to continue to write, but I guess that's a trial for later. Thank you all, and don't forget: reviews are better than candy xx

(I just noticed that I published chapter ten on November 13th, chapter eleven on January 13th, and today is February 13th! That's super weird...)

((Also this chap is about 15.6k words))

**AND IT WAS EDITED ON JULY 13TH! I swear I didn't do this on purpose O.O**

Published on 13/02/2015

Edited on 13/07/2015