Cura and her allies left the Staff of Magnus at the vault beneath Stendarr's Beacon and began to traverse the familiar woodlands surrounding it. It was a fun experience, hunting game and cooking their own meals under the twilight. Being the expert marksman he was, nothing got past Inigo's sharp eye.

The Dragonborn herself improved vastly with a bow, and managed to strike a deer in its side, causing it to stumble enough for her to club it in the head with her mace.

"Tenderizing the meat, are we?" Inigo laughed.

Cura shrugged. "With some Salt and some butter, it won't matter."

"Are you sure the Vigilants won't be upset that you just grabbed that brick of butter off their table?" Lucien asked as he maneuvered around some bramble.

"Of course not." Cura waved it off. "I'm a Vigilant, remember? And they know our faces. It's not like we're Bandits."

Lucien shrugged it off. "Well, fine, but if I were them, I'd be red with rage. Do you know how hard it must be to get butter out here?"

Cura shook her head. "Oh, not very. They probably got it from one of the farmsteads. We used to get our produce from the farm Agmaer's family owned, funnily enough."

After they wandered past Shor's Stone, the group elected to camp out in the temperate mountainous forests of the Rift once the sun went down, in appreciation for the old days when everything was not just one mad rush after another. Cura lay on her bedroll and watched the embers from the campfire rise into the sky like tiny, dancing fairies.

The time should be relaxing, but she lay awake, planning for her next encounter with Alduin.

She could trust in her arms, and she could now trust in her magic, but what of her voice? It had seemed effective against the last few Dragons; Durnehviir, the one in Winterhold, and the one in Labyrinthian. But Alduin... he was a different breed altogether. He was no mere Dragon.

We all have a dark side, and Cura had to wonder if Alduin could potentially be the dark side of Akatosh. Was that even possible? Could a God be split into two distinct people?

Though Sheogorath and Jyggalag would suggest the possibility of a personality split, and Trinimac to Malacath suggests potential transformation, they are Daedra. Akatosh is an Aedra. Though, the Daedra and the Aedra are both of the Et'Ada - the ancient spirits borne of Anu and Padomay. Perhaps they were more closely related than she thought.

Lucien slept like a log, his head set firmly on his pillow, and Inigo kept watch of the camp, lightly strumming on his lute as he sat adjacent to the campfire. With his nocturnal predator's eye, he was adept at keeping night's watch for Bandits, Frostbite Spiders, and Trolls.

And that was when it hit him: "AGHHHH!"

Cura immediately shot up from her bedroll upon hearing her friend cry out, and Lucien quickly stirred, unsheathing his sword on instinct. They both hurried out of their tent to see what was going on.

"Are you all right, Inigo?" Cura asked with genuine concern as she approached the area with caution.

"I am fine, my friend - I think it may be the stresses of lately." Inigo massaged his forehead as the sharp pain began to recede. "Oh, thank Stendarr! The pain is subsiding."

"This has happened before." Cura recalled an incident quite a long time ago, but she hadn't regarded it. "I think we should take you to see Danica Pure-Spring."

"No, no, I am fine, I swear!" Inigo protested. "Just go back to bed."

Lucien sat beside him, and smelled the Khajiit's breath. "It smells like... Skooma."

"No! I would not!" Inigo denied with great fervour. "I would never touch that stuff again!"

"Ha, ha. I'm only joking, Inigo." Lucien relented with a lighthearted chuckle, waving it off.

"Find better material! That is lame!" Inigo chastised his choice of humour, prompting nervous laughter from Lucien, who then decided it would be best if he were to remain silent for a time.

"If it happens again, tell me, Inigo." Cura softly comforted the blue Khajiit with a gentle shoulder rub. They had been through a lot together; and Cura hoped they would have many more adventures to come. For that, she needed him alive and well.

Inigo accepted her request without objection. "If I feel another knife in my brain, I promise you will be the first to hear about it." He poked his right temple a few times and then proceeded to rub his eyes in a soothing, circular motion.

Cura slowly returned to her bedroll and laid her weapons to the side before pulling the covers over herself and gently closing her eyes.


For the first time she could remember, Cura had a vivid dream.

Within the reverie, was a memory. Cura, Inigo, Lydia, and Mjoll were at the Inn in Ivarstead and celebrating the night with some good Mead. However, the memory was distorted; the Inn of Ivarstead was in its natural state until Cura opened the door to the room she was staying at: the room was instead her childhood bedroom in the Hall of the Vigilant's basement. Her old goatskin blanket laid above the straw mattress, and the dresser lay adjacent to her in the small room.

She was a child again, and Brother Adalvald entered the small room with a chair and a copy of The Song of Pelinal, Volume 2. The young Breton clapped her hands excitedly. Bedtime stories were her favourite thing growing up, and Brother Adalvald was a large literature buff; so he was more than happy to oblige.

This was the night when Cura came down with a terrible, terrible fever. She recalled such as Keeper Carcette joined them that night with a damp cloth, which she laid on the child's forehead after touching it with the back of her hand lightly to measure temperature. However, the dream Keeper's hand was cold to the touch and her flesh pale as the snow. And she was without her left eye, and her right glowed orange like fire.

As she exited, Adalvald began reading the book to the young Cura, who looked to her right arm, seeing it bound in a cast, broken. As was her left leg. She looked to the stone wall beside her; it was reminiscent of Fort Dawnguard's masonry; not the Hall's.

She closed her eyes for a moment and, once she opened them, she was at Elenwen's Party at the Thalmor Embassy. The Madame Embassador was there herself, as was Serana in a Fine Hat and orange Fine Clothes, Mirabelle Ervine and Savos Aren, both in their proper garb, and Aela and Kodlak stood drinking in the corner with Jarl Idgrod Ravencrone and Jarl Balgruuf.

Cura noticed Elenwen dismissing herself from the party and walking through a door, which she followed as nobody seemed to notice her presence. Once on the other side, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak sat on his throne in the Palace of Kings with his face leaning on his right hand. As Elenwen approached, he stood up from his seat and walked over to her. They held hands for a moment, and Ulfric reached into his pocket and gifted her a Tundra Cotton flower as a gift.

Elenwen took the flower graciously between her thumb and index, and held it up to her nose, savouring its delicate fragrance. It was a simple, yet pleasing gift.

Then Ancano entered the room with the Staff of Magnus and blasted the pair into cinders, and fell to ashes himself as the Staff slipped from his hand.

Cura rushed towards the ashes of her mother and father and began to sift through them in panic, where she found something most unexpected; it was a red, diamond-shaped pendant lined with a golden outer ring, suspended on an ornate cord with the sign of the Empire Dragon imprinted within the stone, in luminous energy - the blazing power of Akatosh. Cura ran her thumb along its smooth surface, and immediately knew what it was:

the Amulet of Kings. The Chim-El Adabal.

Cura sat there on her knees and examined the stone; it was beautiful. But it was also gone, forever. Why was it here?

"Your burdens are heavy, but if you follow your path, you shall succeed." came a soothing, accented voice from behind her, alerting her.

When Cura turned around, she was greeted by a gaunt man in blue Imperial robes; he was a simple man, with shoulder-length brown hair and very stern-looking eyebrows. Around his neck hung an Amulet of Akatosh. On closer inspection, he looked to be a monk, or a priest of some sort.

Cura slowly pulled herself up onto her feet and approached the kind stranger. "Who... who are you?"

The mysterious man clasped his hands together over his abdomen. "I am the one that came before you." He smiled gently as he gestured towards the Amulet of Kings in her hands.

Cura looked down upon the Amulet, and then back at him. And then back at the Amulet, and back at the kind stranger, when it suddenly clicked, and a faint gasp escaped her throat. "You're... you're St. Martin Septim!" her voice trembled to behold him. Her eyes began to water lightly as the background beyond them shifted into the Imperial City from ages long past.

The young man smiled and nodded as he proceeded to walk the empty streets, with Cura at his side. He beckoned her to follow him. "I am. It was so long ago that I'd shattered the Amulet and summoned the great Akatosh. In doing so, he rid Tamriel of Mehrunes Dagon's assault, and banished the Daedra back to the Deadlands. All went well as intended, and my life was forfeit."

Cura gently grabbed his hand and held it in both of hers, slipping the Amulet of Kings back into its rightful place; in the Emperor's hand. "This is yours, Emperor Septim. I... I have no business holding it."

"Your humility is a beautiful thing." Martin responded softly as he pushed it back into her hands. "However, you carry the Dragon Blood in your veins. Akatosh has chosen you to defeat Alduin, and to save the Empire I gave my life for."

"Of course!" Cura placed a hand over her heart. "I promise I will!"

"I too began my journey as a humble servant of the Gods before my calling was set out before me. It was when Kvatch was attacked when I was called." Martin reassured Cura, their conversation bringing out a feeling of nostalgia within him, and he released a chuckle. "The bastard son of Emperor Uriel Septim would be the one to succeed him... nobody would have guessed such a thing."

"Don't say that..." Cura felt 'bastard' was a little harsh of a term, even if it were true. It was not a word she would direct in relation to Martin Septim. And not to herself, either, though she was the bastard daughter of Ulfric Stormcloak.

Martin walked up to the White-Gold Tower and gestured to the front doors; large and ornate, made of mighty steel. "Cura, I would like you to open them."

Cura was pressed to question it, and obliged. The doors felt solid; sturdy. Elder Councilmen would pass through the doors several times a week. It all felt so real. She pondered for a moment: "Am I dreaming? Or is this something else?"

Martin took a moment to respond, and walked around a few paces. "We are within your soul, Cura; observe." He pointed up into the sky above, where Dragons flew to and fro; each one familiar to the Dragonborn. They were all the ones she'd slain and absorbed the souls of, Mirmulnir being her first, sat guard over the Tower, circling it high above.

"In my soul?" Cura held a hand to her breast as everything began to sink in. "How is that even possible?"

"Your spirit is vast; powerful. You carry within yourself a shard of Akatosh, in its purest form." Martin explained. "No purer a Dragonborn has ever existed since Miraak, St. Alessia, Reman Cyrodiil, and Tiber Septim."

Cura had heard that before, but it was still a shock to hear such a thing. Though, the only name in that list she didn't recognize was this 'Miraak'. "I understand. So, what will I find within the White-Gold Tower?"

"The more powerful you become, the more powerful shall your connection to the Divines be." Martin explained. "Open the door and see what lies in wait."

Cura did as she was told, and gripped the handles of the large curved doors. She gave a mighty push and the doors opened to her.

Author's Note: please listen to the Lothering Chantry theme from Dragon Age Origins for this scene. ^^ thank you for reading!

As soon as Cura walked inside of the tower, she saw what appeared to be a large chapel with high-reaching stained glass windows, each depicting a Divine. From left to right, she saw Akatosh, Kynareth, Mara, Dibella, Zenithar, Julianos, Stendarr, Arkay, and Talos. Soft light ran down from a circular opening in the ceiling, reflecting off of the chromium blue tiles of the inner chapel. As well, there were statues depicting Meridia and Azura on either side of the room, parallel to one another, and a set of statues of Hircine, Molag Bal, and Sheogorath had also made their company in the room in the corners.

The Eye of Magnus hung within, as well, high up above the Tower.

The sight of the malignant Daedra in her inner chapel caused Cura to feel anxious. "Why... are Molag Bal and Hircine in my temple?"

Martin Septim laid a hand on her shoulder. "All of these divine beings have touched your spirit in some way, Cura."

"No... no, that..." Cura stammered anxiously as she stared at the bust of Molag Bal. She looked down to see his mace there, stained with blood, and she understood immediately. She backed away as visions of Tyrannus' brutally beaten corpse pierced her thoughts. She decided to look at Sheogorath, where she saw a silver-coated pickaxe lain on his altar; reminiscent of her time in Cidhna Mine, and the Wabbajack lain across it. She walked up to the Shrine of Hircine, and saw a White Werewolf's skull presented on the altar; a symbol of her defiance during her time with the Companions, complete with Hircine's Ring.

Under Meridia there was, naturally, Dawnbreaker. It looked beautiful even within Cura's soul. She gently touched the blade. "I've used this to cleanse much evil from the world. And would again." She slowly departed from Meridia's shrine. She wondered then, why there was no representation of Peryite in her chapel; she had been using Spellbreaker all this time, and yet the sour green Dragon held no influence over her? Odd.

Under Azura's Shrine was her Star, as pristine as ever. Cura felt it within her hands. "Aranea... I hope you can rest in peace. It was unfair what Ancano did to you."

Martin silently observed Cura as she moved further into the chapel, approaching the Divines.

Cura instinctively bowed her head before them as she walked around to those dearest to herself. She looked up to Stendarr, depicted green and blue, with a head like the sun and a spilling goblet in his right hand, catching the liquid in his left. A vast difference to his depiction in Skyrim. She held her Amulet in her hands and noted its design. The more she considered it, it was quite nice of Keeper Carcette to wear Skyrim's symbol of Stendarr while she stayed in the province all those years. In High Rock he was depicted much as he is in Skyrim.

The stained glass window was glowing, and beneath it lay Stendarr's Hammer, leaning against the wall of pristine stone. "Lydia and I found this in Markarth... the one good thing to come from that place." She recalled how elated Carcette, Tolan, Adalvald and Moric were when she entered the Hall with it,

"You delight in the joy of those around you." Martin seemed to feel the warmth emanating from her recollection.

"I do." Cura gently ran her hand down the shaft of the hammer, and then gently brushed its head, which was planted on the ground. "There is so much suffering in the world... any happiness that can be found should be firmly held onto."

She glanced over to Mara's luminous window depicting the colourful maiden vastly different than her Skyrim design, without her veil and brazier. Cura had the favour of Kyne's Handmaiden ever since she aided Eradur at Nightcaller Temple many, many moons ago. That bond strengthened after she honoured the blessed mother's shrine in the Volkihar Tower, and the brightness with which her window shone reflected their relationship quite strongly.

"I must ask, St. Martin - why have you brought me here?" Cura wondered.

Martin approached her and guided her along the Divines. "You already grasp much of it, but there is still more you must know." He pointed at the window of Akatosh. "See the Blades, and see the Greybeards once more, and see Paarthurnax; perfect your Thu'um. And then, the world will become much clearer to you." He pointed then to the window of Kynareth.

Cura nodded in understanding. "Very well. Thank you, for all of this."

"Seek to balance odds wherever you find them; lean on extremes only so far as they can balance the scales. Make peace wherever you can, and spread mercy to those who deserve it." Martin proclaimed as he took Cura's hands, which still held the Amulet of Kings, into his own. "Above all, lead with wisdom, and with the Divines' aid. Pray and lean instead on Divine understanding, and you will never lose your way."

"I'll keep it in mind." Cura said shyly.

"There I go, talking like a Priest again." Martin laughed lightly, and Cura giggled a little, as well. Though, the advice was sound, and the Dragonborn would certainly keep it in her heart.

"Thank you, St. Martin. I will hold your advice dearly." Cura informed him with confidence.

Martin nodded and began to fade away in the light. "Go in peace, Cura, and save Tamriel." And with those parting words, Martin ceased to be within her realm. As he departed, Cura felt the warmth leave with him, and the light.

She took one last glance at the Amulet of Kings in her hands.


"It's moooooorning! Cock-a-doodle-doo! Time to wake up! Wakey-wakey, my friend!" Inigo rubbed Cura's arm, shaking her as she lay in her bedroll. "It is the morning! The sun has risen, stars no longer glisten, and now you must listen! The Rabbit Haunches are sizzlin', and Lucien is not missin' the grillin'!"

Cura slowly stirred awake. "Groan... okay, okay. I'll be up in a bit... I need to say my morning prayers first."

"Okay, but I cannot promise that the food will not be cold by then! This is, Skyrim, after all." Inigo laughed as he walked back over to the campfire.

Cura looked to her right hand to see if the Amulet of Kings was within her grasp, and remembered that it, though internal, was a dream she'd gone through, regardless of how lifelike it seemed.

Martin Septim.

His courage was incredible. In the face of a Daedric Lord, he willingly gave up his life to call Akatosh into the world to put him down. It was admirable. His story had always been fascinating to Cura.

She sat up in her bedroll and savoured the clean air around her, permeated with the smell of cooking Rabbit Haunches and Mead, as well as the scents of the leaves and mountains of the Rift. They would enjoy their breakfast before setting off to speak with Delphine and Esbern once more.

Cura finished her morning prayers and packed up the tent, and proceeded to join her two friends for breakfast.