She let out a happy roar, and couldn't help but wriggle a bit in her joy at the freedom the skies gave. Skyrim was spread out before her. Were it anywhere else, she could have said it was like a patchwork quilt, full of toy people, but not Skyrim. The cold North could never be described as so harmonic. Picturesque, maybe, but "patchwork quilts" was soft, it was comforting, it was coming home to a nice farm and a spouse and two-point-five children. That was not Skyrim. Skyrim was barren snow plains, hardy farmers and mountains that touched the Sky. It was harsh, unforgiving and cold but more importantly, it was home.

This was home. Wings spread out, sun beating on her scaled face and the whole world lay out before her, just waiting to be taken. Here, she was content. Here, she knew who she was. She could not tell how long she had been flying like that. Hours, surely, when her bones began to itch. It was small at first, almost unnoticeable but it grew and grew and now her bones were on fire. She roared, but this time it was no joyful sound, no expression of freedom but of pain and of rabid jaws clenching around her tail. She whipped her head around, and there, hanging on by its fangs thousands of feet in the air was a werewolf.

Her pain was overshadowed by her anger. How dare this beast, this aberration seek to take her place, how dare it try to drag her down in the dirt with it. She was a dragon, a child of Akatosh. This hound of Hircine was no match for her. So they grappled. They bit and clawed and she shouted but it would not let go. Her wings had stopped beating long ago, and she wondered how they had retained their altitude.

Almost as if the thought had triggered it, they dropped, and they were falling, falling, falling through darkness and gloom and where had the sun gone and where had the land and oh Divines where would they land and the werewolf was still clinging to her and she could feel the floor drawing ever closer but she couldn't see it and-

Grey's eyes snapped open and she sat up abruptly, chest heaving. That was the third time that week. She was no stranger to nightmares, and restful sleep was a thing of the past but reoccurring dreams were rare. In a way, she envied Aela's beast-blood induced dreams. At least she got forests and nice deer and blood and- She shook her head. She'd had those dreams too. Not ideal, certainly but a great deal better than – whatever this was. She dropped her head and raised her hand to trace the familiar scars marring her lower cheek. The day she got them- She sighed. It was no use. She wouldn't remember.

The cold air nipped at her sweaty skin and she shivered; only now awake enough to realise how cold her room had gotten. She was a Nord, sure, but even the hardiest sons of snow would have trouble enduring the ice cold midnight temperature of a subterranean room whose fire had long since gone out. Especially when said person was unclothed.

She drew one of the furs that made up her bedding around her shoulders, a bear that she had hunted down with Aela. Or perhaps it was one of Kodak's – it mattered not. Either way, it was warm and large enough that it swallowed even her tall frame. Still, she was not getting back to sleep anytime soon, so she slipped out of the bed and padded across the cold stone floor to the fire place, dragging the fur behind her like a Queen's train.

Stooping she prodded the dying coals with a metal stoke she took from the wall before reaching over and scooping up an armful of perfectly cut logs and heaping them in the fireplace. She arranged them to her satisfaction before pulling back and setting her feet.

"YOL," She Shouted, as quietly as possible and watched in satisfaction as the logs instantly caught light. The Greybeards would have an aneurism if they learnt of her petty use of the Thu'um, but she couldn't be bothered to fiddle with a tinderbox and she was too tired to conjure up some fire with her magika. Shouts, she could do in her sleep. Literally, on occasion but she hadn't had a nightmare bad enough to cause it since Solstheim.

She lowered herself to the floor, and knelt back on her heels, making sure the bearskin was between her bare skin and the still-cold floor. Once more, she found her hand reaching up to trace the scars as she stared blankly into the fire, which was now blazing cheerfully. They were not her only scars, but at least the others she had stories behind. She knew how she got them. These were a mystery, just like everything else about her that happened prior to the seventeenth of Last Seed, in the two-hundred and first year of the fourth Era when she woke up in a prisoner cart heading to Helgen. To her execution.

She didn't even know how old she was. She tried to not let it bother her, but it was involuntary. She couldn't help it in the same way she couldn't help her fondness for apples or the occasional urge to watch everything burn. That wondering about who she was – that was part of her, and it would never truly go away. Everything always came back to that.

Perhaps the dragon in her wouldn't be so dominant if she had memories of a life – a human life of love and loss and family – to balance it out. If she hadn't had to fall back on the base instincts of the beast because she had nothing else but the silence.

She couldn't tell how long she had sat brooding in front of the fire, but eventually her limbs cramped from staying still for so long and her knees ached despite the cushioning the fur provided so she stood. The room was warm enough now that she could shed the skin, so she did and quickly gathered together clothing; just a simple shirt and pants and soft boots. As an afterthought she strapped Dawnbreaker to her belt and slipped Spellbreaker over her shoulders. She couldn't be bothered with Wuuthrad's heavy weight this morning, when she wasn't even going into the city.

She stalked through the corridor of Jorrvaskr's living quarters as quietly as possible. Most of the Companions were light sleepers, Aela and Farkas especially and though the latter wouldn't mind being woken, the former had a tendency to throw things at people who made the mistake of waking her up. Usually, daggers. The mead hall up the stairs was empty, the only sounds being snoring from the back room. Vignar and Brill were not light sleepers as the warriors downstairs were, but she saw no need to tempt fate so made her way to the back doors as quietly as she could, avoiding all the floorboards she knew would creak.

Cool night air greeted her as she stepped out onto the covered porch at the back of the boat-shaped building, and she inhaled deeply through her nose. Immediately, the scents of the city – smoke and sweat and that undeniably human smell that came with large cities such as Whiterun – invaded her senses. The first year or so after gaining the beast-blood, such things would have overwhelmed her with their potency, but she was too used to it now. In a way, her wolf-like senses were comforting in their constancy.

She lingered for a moment before moving on, passing the secret door to the Underforge until she found herself treading up the familiar steps to the Skyforge. The glow of the not-quite-dying coals greeted her, and she wondered, not for the first time, how they seemed to maintain themselves constantly, even if only at a fraction of what Eorland used it at.

She turned, so she was facing the city. This was her favourite place to be on the common occasions her nightmares drove her from the claustrophobic atmosphere of the Harbingers rooms – her rooms. Standing on the edge of the platform holding the Skyforge, the second highest spot in the city surveying her territory. Her domain. Because it was – as much as she tried to think as a human she couldn't help the terminology of the wolf and the possessiveness of the dragon. They were part of her, but they were so prevalent Grey the human may not even exist, she thought morosely.

And so, she stood above Whiterun brooding as the moons and stars faded from view and the sun began tentatively peaking above the horizon. She did not move as sharp eyes saw movement in the streets as people, so used to waking at dawn, began their daily routines and sharp ears picked up the Companions in Jorrvaskr below clamouring about to ready themselves for the day. It was only when she detected a trio climbing the steps leading up to the legendary mead hall that she budged.

It was Vilkas and Ria, returning from a job that had taken them out of Whiterun – with a stranger. Perhaps some bare-chinned warrior wishing to prove their worth. It was not unusual for Companions to return with hangers-on. They must have not been far out when they camped for the night, for them to have arrived so early in the morning – not even eight if the sun's position was any indication. Either that or they had restarted their journey before the sun had even risen. Grey was inclined to believe the latter – she knew from experience that Vilkas was quite the taskmaster.

They paused at the top of the steps and Vilkas squinted against the sun, one gauntleted hand held up over his eyes as they found hers, and she raised a hand in greeting, which was soon returned. The three shared a brief conversation, too far away for even Grey to pick out specific details before entering the mead hall – raucous cheers following. No doubt her shield-siblings were receiving quite a welcome. They had been expected back a couple of days before and, though no one but Farkas would say it, they were all worried for them. She had to admit she had been considering going out to look for them. It wasn't like Vilkas to get back late. Perhaps it had been the stranger to delay them – or one of them was injured. Those were the two most likely probabilities.

Either way, she supposed she should go down to meet them, and perhaps interview the stranger if past experience proved correct and they had come to join the Companions. Slowly, she stretched out her sleepy limbs and covered up a yawn. This high up, no one was around to see her stretch like a cat – not even Eorland though he was sure to arrive soon. Though she would deny such a comparison if any had the guts to say it.

With her hands clasped behind her back and her shoulders squared she dismissed her inhibitions and the longing to stay up there forever and marched down the stairs two at a time. It was easy for someone of her height and build – 6"2 and every muscle honed to perfection from years of fighting and wearing heavy armour and hammering metal. The dragon fighting probably helped some, too.

She passed Eorland on her way down, right on time before reaching the porch, then the back door. She stood outside for a moment, gathering her thoughts and arranging herself into the perfect picture of intimidation for the new blood – more difficult by the lack of armour and massive axe but not by much. She'd been told she was rather intimidating without any of that anyway. Must be the dragon.

Deciding she'd wasted enough time, she threw open the doors and waltzed in, full of confidence and certainty only half for show. She was greeted by another round of cheers and raising of mugs. A respectful chorus of "Harbinger," spread around the room and she nodded back to each greeting.

Morin, a half-dunmer man recently joined but quickly rising in ranks caught her eye and grinned wryly, jerking his head at one of the many individual tables at the edge of the room, right next to the front door where a small gathering had formed. Aela, Farkas, Vilkas and the newcomer, a woman by the looks of it, were all there. Grey moved in their direction.

Farkas was the only one facing her and so was the one to call attention to her approach, though no doubt the other two werewolves had already heard it.

"Harbinger," He smiled genuinely, and she couldn't help but give a half grin back of her own, before quickly hiding it behind her stony mask. It didn't matter that she had slipped, anyway. Although the other two members of the circle had turned around and greeted her in their own way the stranger had stayed still – if anything becoming more rooted to the spot with her back tense.

Aela caught her eye, inclining her head, "Vilkas has brought home a new recruit, shield-sister," She turned back to the stranger, "Come meet the Harbinger, Whelp,"

Obviously steeling herself, the woman turned slowly, stammering, "I'm- I'm Mia," then she was facing Grey fully and the two women sized each other up. A little shorter than herself, much skinnier too – perhaps not as suited to being right in the action. Blond hair, common among Nords and expressive grey eyes, which were even now widening in shock, even as thin lips hung open. Grey took stock of the rest of her features and found for herself what was so shocking. It wasn't just the eyes- such a similar colour to her own- but the rest of her face that was eerily familiar, as though she was looking into a mirror. There were a few differences, sure – eyes wider spaced, and higher cheekbones, a lack of scars but the overall effect was like a watered-down copy.

"C-C-Celia?" Was it just her, or had the room gone silent? It couldn't have. The companions were never ever silent. Except at funerals. Like Kodlak's, or-

No. Don't think about it.

But what else was she to think about? Mia – the stranger with her face who had just given her a stranger's name. She couldn't think about that. About what it would mean.

She wouldn't think about that. She shook her head, her intimidation techniques out of the window and her lips pressed together – but to stop what? She only opened them once. "Who?" She found herself asking, before she turned around and fled in the opposite direction, back out the porch doors, into the yard, to the switch hiding the door to the Underforge and through the stone archway before it was fully opened. No, she wasn't fleeing. She was Grey. The fucking Dragonborn. Ysmir. The Dragon of the North. The defeater of the fucking World Eater. Alduin himself! She didn't flee.

Others were calling after her, but only two voices reached. The Copy calling out that name and Aela. Aela, her Shield-sister, her Grah-Briinah. Her best friend. Whoever this stranger was she knew she preferred Aela. But the werewolf could follow her here. As fondly thought of as she was, Grey didn't want her right now. She didn't want anyone, so she didn't linger in the shrine with all the totems they had so carefully searched for, instead carrying on down the path to the decline that would lead her to the plains outside of Whiterun, where she could run free.

She emerged blinked in the sunlight. It was still morning, barely any time had passed since her introspection on the Skyforge, and yet so much had been uprooted. She'd spent so long building a life here, a good one, and now this woman comes along with a name not her own on her lips and she ruins it. It was too bright, too visible, but she changed anyway, clothes tearing as her limbs expanded and grew fur and she took off at a run, with her sword and shield clattering to the ground behind her. Hoping to get far enough away not to run afoul of any guards, the plains and farms around Whiterun blurred into the background. Nothing existed but the huge shaggy paws carrying her and the loam beneath her feat, dug up by wicked claws with every bound.

In what seemed like no time at all, she was in the mountains – the one's bordering Riverview. Her wolfish mind half considered going home - to Lakeview manor, but quickly discarded it. She didn't want to worry her packmates. Instead, she hunted – deer, bandits, it made no difference. Only the thrill of the hunt and the lifeblood of prey mattered to her now. This was a simpler form. What she wouldn't give to let go – of the Dragon, of the last tethers of the human in her that was too stubborn to be completely overshadowed. But she couldn't. Not forever – the part inside her that was still human knew this. She had a responsibility to her Pack-mates, to Skyrim, to the Dawnguard – even to the mages at Winterhold she had found herself involuntarily leading.

The day passed this way, hunting and stalling as the sun grew higher in the sky, then reached it's peak and began it's descent. It was evening when she began lumbering back to Whiterun, still as the wolf. It wouldn't do to be caught out in the mountains at night when she had no clothes to ward off the chill for when she inevitably changed back.

The game of avoiding farmers and hold guards wasn't nearly as fun as it normaly was - so she soon found her way back to the opening leading back into the underforge. She paused - reluctant. If she went in there… there was a good chance she would be finding out about her past. But did she want that? For so long, there was nothing, no identity and then she made herself one, but was that coming to a close too? She thought of her scars once more, hidden in this form as they were, they were still there. Would she finally learn the story?

For a long time, they were the only thing preventing her from thinking that maybe she just hadn't existed before that day in Last Seed – that Akatosh had simply created her to dump her in the middle of an Imperial ambush and send her off to fight the world eater. Now, she could have something else as well but now it was so close she wasn't sure she wanted it.

But she couldn't hold on to the change much longer, and soon found herself shrinking as she returned to her human form. When she recovered, staggering she looked around for the remnants of her clothes, only to find a fresh pair of breeches and shirt, held down by some boots – with none of the scraps torn by her transformation or her sword and shield in sight. She didn't dwell on it – one of the circle were likely behind it. Clutching the wall, she quickly dressed and steeled her nerves. She's spent the whole day running now it was time to confront that which made her run in the first place.

She was almost to the rock that hid the Underforge's entrance when a voice stopped her.

"Harbinger," Aela called, and Grey turned to see her stepping out of the shadows, with her arms crossed.

Greys' mouth was dry, so she had to swallow before replying, "Aela… What are you- Were you waiting for me?"

The Huntress gave her a wry grin, "Someone had to make sure you didn't try to make a run for it again,"

The Dragonborn scowled, "I don't-"

"Don't what?" Aela interupted, "Run? Because that's exactly what you did this morning,"

Grey didn't reply, only crossed her arms defensively, so Aela continued, "What's wrong with you Grey? You're not one to run from your problems – never have been," She paused, considering, "You're usually the one to run directly at them with a Battle Axe raised,"

"I didn't run,"

"It looked you were to me,"

"I -," Grey hesitated, "I panicked. I- I didn't – I don't-"

Aela sighed, holding up a hand to stop the other woman's stammering, "It's alright,"

Two stood facing each other in silence for almost a minute, their eyes fixed on each other. Aela looks away first, "Look, Harbinger, when you were gone I talked to Mia," She looked back at Grey, "We asked her who Celia was,"

"And… who was she?" Who was I? That's what she was the unspoken question. Because, chances were Celia was who she used to be.

"Celia was her sister. She disappeared five years ago on her way to Skyrim,"

Grey finally turned away, her eyes closed and her fists clenched as she drew a shaky breath, the first one in what seemed like an eternity. The world seemed to spin around her and she had to steady herself on the wall, holding on to it with like a lifeline.

Finally, the silence broke, "Her sister," she croaked, "her…"

I have a sister. I – no. Mia's sister…Celia… she was dead. She didn't know what she had been like beforehand but she doubted she was the same now. She was more like a stranger inhabiting Celia's body.

She was brought out of her musings by a hand on her shoulder, "Harbinger," Aela started, "What are you thinking?"

"I- how can I face her – when-," her throat tightened, "I'm a stranger wearing her sisters face – her dead sister – what do I-"

"You're thinking about this wrong," Aela protested, "You are her sister – her sister who's just come back from the dead,"

Grey shook her head, "No- I'm... different. I'm all different. I won't be the same. I don't want to be,"

Grey turned back around, to find Aela wearing a deadpan look on her face – the same one she gave people when she thought they were being particularly stupid.

"Grey… no-one ever stays the same. We're always changing. Right now you're a very different person to who you were when you first ran at that Giant we were fighting all those years ago just like you're different to the person who came out of Helgen, and to the person you were before that,"

"We've explained to her your… situation and I'm sure she understands. Now stop doubting yourself and get out there! Can't you see how good this will be for you?"

The Dragonborn was silent for another few moments, before nodding, "Okay," Then she looked at Aela with a hesitant smirk and shining eyes, "Never knew you were so good at motivational speeches,"

The other woman rolled her eyes, before returning the smirk, "Can't help it that I talk to people with thick skulls a lot," She then reached into an alcove, withdrawing Spellbreaker and Dawnbreaker, "Oh- and I think you dropped these,"

Grey accepted them warmly, before strapping them in their places and the two made their way out of the Underforge together.

The yard and porch were deserted, so Grey caught Aela's elbow before they entered, "Thank you Briinah,"

"For what, making sure you didn't do something stupid?"

Grey huffed, "You know what I meant,"

She found Mia leaning on the railing looking over Whiterun in front of Jorrvaskr. She was silent in her approach, so when she cleared her throat the blond woman jumped, whirling around to face her.

"Oh- it's – it's you," She was subdued, but at the same time shuffled on the spot and twitched like she wanted to move but she kept on stopping herself.

"Mind if I join you?" Grey asked in a deep, throaty voice. She cleared her throat again, "Err…sorry,"

Mia nodded wordlessly and they stood side-by side in front of the wall. Mia stood straight upright, stiff as the dead while Grey was more inclined to rest her forearms on the wall as she gazed out over Whiterun, just as she had that very morning. The action was the same, but the context was very, very different.

Mia broke the silence first, "The other companion's told me about your situation," When Grey didn't respond, she continued, "Can you really not remember anything?"

"No," Grey said abruptly.

"Oh-a –okay," The blond stuttered.

Grey sighed, and then turned her head around to face Mia. She was standing with her feet set, as though she was about to go into battle but her face was hopeful. Her arms were crossed over her chest, gripping the opposite elbow as though to protect herself from some invisible foe. "I'm – sorry. I'm not-,"

"Much one for talking?" Mia interrupted, then elaborated when Grey shot her a look, "Err- sorry it's just… you used to say that a lot. Just never to me," her voice dropped to barely a whisper for the last thing she said. She most likely hadn't meant for the werewolf to hear it but her superior ears gave her the advantage.

Grey's head dropped, "I did?" She asked, half to herself.

"mm-hmm," Mia replied.

"What was I – never mind," Grey shook her head.

"Celia?"

Grey's breath caught in her throat, "Don't – I'm not -," She took a steading breath, "I'm sorry… I don't know who Celia is. I wouldn't know how to be her if I tried. My name's Grey,"

Mia cleared her throat, "Right… Grey… I'll… I'll remember that,"

They stood in silence. Grey's sharp eyes caught a band of merrymakers carousing through the wind district below – wealthy boys on their way home from an evening at The Bannered Mare.

She caught the tail end of the song they were bellowing out, "And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no mooooore… When his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"

She couldn't help but grin. She remembered the first time she had heard that song, sitting shell-shocked in The Sleeping Giant Inn, with naught but the sooty low-grade armour on her back, a rusted battle-ax, an amulet of Talos and a book detailing the prophecy of the Dragonborn. She pondered on the fate that she would find that book so soon after her first encounter with Alduin. Surely – she thought – the divines themselves had taken a hand in its placement.

She shook her head as if to rid herself of such thoughts of fate – which were, after all the playthings of the Greybeards who spent their lives pondering. Instead, she turned her gaze back to Mia. She was gazing down at the city too – so Grey could only see her profile but she seemed melancholy. Sad. Like she lost something and she wasn't going to get it back.

"That something is you" Her mind seemed to say. She took a deep breath. They would have to talk sometime. May as well get it over with.

"Why did you come here?" Mia's eyes snapped around to meet hers.

"What do you mean?" She asked, head tilted to one side as the corners of her mouth tensed.

"I mean – Why did you want to join the Companions… how did you meet Vilkas… Why…" She cut herself off with a growl, and her brows crinkled as she thought of how better to phrase her question. Start Small. She continued tentatively"Did you …live in Skyrim before?"

The smaller woman's eyes widened in realization, "No… I lived in Cyrodiil… Bruma to be precise. Our- our family had a house there, just outside the city walls on a hill," Her eyes grew cloudy with memory, "We- we had a big yard and in the summer months Ma used to grow vegetables in it – carrots and potatoes and a few herbs,"

She was quiet for a while before continuing, "We had an apple tree too – big – had stood for generations. Pa said his great-great-great grandfather had planted it there when our family first moved to Bruma… that it had been standing as long as the house,"

Against her will Grey found the corners of her mouth tugging up into a smile, "An apple tree…" She mused, "Apples are my favourite fruit,"

Mia nodded like she already knew that. Maybe she did, "Ma used to make the best apple pie. People would come all around just to have a slice. You always used to try and sneak some of the filling before she put it in… then you blamed the dog when you were caught," Mia's smile was bitter sweet, "It all seemed so simple back then,"

Grey hummed, but otherwise did not respond. Mia blinked owlishly at her, "Do you think… will you ever remember?"

Grey froze, "I- I don't know," She said cautiously, "To be honest, I'm not sure I want to,"

She heard Mia's breath catch, "What –what do you mean?" And in that moment Mia seemed so very small, and so very young.

"I mean… What if, in regaining my memories… it overrides who I am now? What if I stop being me? A very wise person once told me that we are the sum of our memories. They are what make us who we are. What if who I was before… if Celia is completely different to me, to-to Grey and because she was here first sweeps this me aside like… dust?"

"Don't say that," Mia snapped.

"Why?"

Grey tried turning away but Mia grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back round, forcing her to reach her eyes – grey meeting grey. Grey didn't have the heart to resist.

"Listen to me – I don't believe that you're so different to the sister I knew before as you think – amnesia or not there are some things that just stick with you. You're stubborn too- don't look at me like that you always have been and it'll take more than a bump on the head – or whatever it was that took away your memories to change that. If you really want to stay the same then you will,"

The Dragonborn nodded. Mia's hand slipped from her shoulder and the two stood once more side by side, leaning on the railing in front of Jorrvaskr and looking out at the city below.

Neither woman could tell you how long they had stood so, but by the time Grey shifted from her statue-like vigil her limbs were stiff and the moon was high. It was almost full – perfect night for the hunt. Had she not exhausted herself with her use of the Beast blood earlier during her mad run in the foothills she would probably be looking forward to a restless night with her pack.

"Mia-," She started, unsure of what to say for a moment before she found her carefully considered words, "It's late. Go see Farkas – he'll set you up with a bed,"

Mia nodded and turned to leave, but hesitated, "In the morning – will you tell me all that has happened to you since you have come to Skyrim. Oh – I mean – not necessarily all of it, I'm sure there are some things you might not want to share – and even so it would only be if you wanted to and all -,"

Grey suspected the younger Nord would have kept on babbling the whole night had she not stopped her with a callused hand, "In the morning, yes, I will tell you,"

The blonde's eye's brightened, "Oh thank you, it means a lot to me you know-,"

Grey cut her off with a snort, "Go – else you'll talk the night away," She wasn't sure how she knew that, but she did.

"Right," was Mia's response, before she turned and left.

Grey turned back to the railing. Whiterun was quiet now – all were abed. Even the rowdier patrons of the Bannered Mare were sleeping off their ale. She breathed in deeply, taking in the icy tang of snow in the air and the clutter of the city.

She did not follow Mia – her sister – inside. She almost smiled at that. Her sister. After the events of the day, she knew she wouldn't be able to get to sleep. Instead, she stood waiting for the sunrise.

A/N

Please review! I crave any and all constructive criticism, as long as it's not flames. I don't intend to continue Grey's story in any extensive fashion, though I may do some more one-shots when I feel like it. I am a VERY slow writer. It took me months just to pump this out. I get too distracted by reading fanfiction and Skyrim (plus any other video game that catches my fancy). Anyway, I hope you all like it!

(p.s please point out any spelling/grammar mistakes. I've tried to catch them but I don't know if I got them all)

(p.p.s I think the title is rubbish but I got stuck so any suggestions as to what I can change it to will be appreciated)