I stand on the edge of the precipice, looking down, feeling like my current position is an apt metaphor for my own life in this moment.

"It wasn't entirely stable as it were," Lorius, the village's stonemason explains, "But after the quake from those shouts, then the dragon falling into it, well..."

He gestures at the collapsed shelf. A narrow ledge, barely wide enough for a boot, is all that remains of the original track; the gap is around six or seven metres, too far to jump and too far to try running along that ledge, even for the most sure-footed mountaineer.

This is my fault. I did this.

I told Hadvar that nobody would get hurt. Now, thirty-two people are dead, four more are severely wounded, and if not for that ice shout I threw, there would be a lot more innocent casualties. Not to mention the fact that, even though they won't outright say it, it's my fault the path is gone. I shook the mountain, I threw the dragon onto it, and now I don't even know how I can fix it.

"And you're certain there's no other ways off the mountain?" Skorm asks. He's Skjoren's eldest son, still only seventeen, but definitely more mild than his father, and the only one actually willing to work with us so far. He may be a Stormcloak, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt since I didn't see him swing the blunt of his axe into my skull.

"We've been all over this mountain for the past three and a half weeks," Hadvar tells him. "If there was any other way down, we would have found it."

"He's right," Brand is nodding slowly, standing well back from the edge of the track. "One way up or down, and that was it."

"Maybe we can fix it with magic," I suggest. I know there's earthmoving spells, but I don't know them myself. "Or could we carve a track into the rock wall, maybe?"

"Cutting out a new track would take a while, and we don't have any mages here," Brand tells me. "We've got Hilde, but she's more alchemist and healer than mage."

"Aurius was a healer," Hadvar says, but by the sombre tone in his voice, I'm guessing Aurius isn't really up to the job anymore. To think I was talking shit about him only an hour ago...

"Not to brag, but I'm pretty strong," I tell them, turning to the chasm, "I can probably figure it out. It shouldn't be too hard, just telekinesis some of the rocks into place and build a bridge."

"All due respect, Dragonborn, but I think even you might struggle," Lorius says hesitantly. "The heavier something is, the harder it is to manipulate. And that debris ain't exactly right next to you."

"Shouldn't be too much of an issue," I tell him, moving to take up a stance. "I've healed people back from certain death, and you saw how I handled that dragon."

"Wait," Hadvar has a hand on my shoulder as he studies me. "Are you sure you're up for it? You took an axe to the side before that dragon showed up, you've lost a lot of blood. Nobody's going to blame you if you decide to give it a bit of time and make sure you're well."

"I'll be fine," I tell him, rolling my eyes but still smiling at him. Of course I'll be fine, it's just magic.

Telekinesis feels like some sort of extension of my own body, so using it offers a strange sensation. It's as though I'm trying to grab one of the large stones at the bottom, trying to lift it with my own hands despite it being over fifty metres away. There's definitely a strain but I grit my teeth against it. Voices are talking behind me but I tune them out as I focus on the rock, on lifting it. It rises slowly, rolling through the air as it moves. I know I'm sweating as I struggle to pull it up, and I can sense it drawing closer, but the weight seems to grow the closer it gets – and with the weight, the drain—

"Brighid, stop!"

I snap out of the spell as I'm pulled back from the edge. The rock falls back to the ground, the loud crash echoing up to us as I round on Hadvar.

"Why did you stop me? I was doing fine!"

I realise there's something at my nose, and swipe it away even as I realise everyone is staring at me. I notice the dark mark on the back of my hand and look down to see the smear of blood.

"Exhausting your magicka can put a physical strain on your body," Brand says carefully. Skorm and Hadvar both look back at him, but he keeps his gaze on me. "I don't think you should do any more magic today."

I want to argue, fight, but as Skorm and Hadvar turn to look at me I realise I'm going to be going up against them both. I throw my hands in the air.

"Fine! We can figure it out tomorrow."

I shove past them and start up the last remaining stretch of track for the village. I know I'm strong enough to do it, but I don't want to fight all three of them just to prove I can help.

Of course they want to stop you, they fear your power.

I stop, shaking my head as if it can dislodge the dark voice in there. I'm not doing this for power, I'm doing it because it's a problem I created, so I should try to fix it.

I stop just into the main clearing. The bodies of the fallen are lined up. There weren't enough linens to cover them, so many are wrapped in old clothing and even some of their own bedrolls. Nobody would get hurt, but here is the reminder that I was wrong, that I overestimated my own ability. Maybe Ondolemar was right.

I shake my head, trying to dislodge that thought as well, and keep moving. Hilde, a local woman with some healing ability, is tending to a couple of wounded survivors on the verandah of the hall while some of the locals are repairing the thatch on the house that had the torch thrown onto it. Skjoren is giving me a surly glare as he makes a deliberate show of running a whetstone over the blade of his axe – the axe that, according to everyone, he put into my side.

I try to recall those moments before the dragon showed up. He attacked Brand, and I tried to jump in. I touch the side of my head, where blood has matted into my hair – Skorm admitted to seeing me move on his father and he tried to knock me out. That was apparently when the legionnaires charged in. Now, half of them are dead, a number are wounded, and though we drew out the dragon and it was defeated, the overall situation was a net loss. Skjoren refuses to speak to me, instead fixing me with a glare that could probably freeze hell.

He fears you. You have shown him how truly weak he is.

"Get out of my head!" I snap, whirling around as if the bastard is behind me. Brand raises his hands defensively, stopping as he exits the track behind me.

"I... only wanted to ask if you needed anything."

Skorm appears behind him, and I figure Hadvar is just beyond them. I didn't mean to say that out loud, and now I'm probably going to have to deal with looking like a crazy person.

I need to get out of here. I need to get away from people, away from society. There's a voice in my head and I know exactly where it's coming from, and I need to go and hide in a cave somewhere until I get control of it. What I did to Skjoren is just a sample of what she could do if loosed on the world.

But, for now at least, I'm stuck.

"I'm fine," I tell Brand, shrugging as I turn away. "Just some... old stuff resurfacing. How are your people?"

"They look well, thanks to you," Brand says, falling into step beside me. There's a joyful cry and a small thing with a mess of blonde curls races towards us. Brand catches her, swinging her up into the air as she shouts gleefully, before he settles her on his hip as she hugs him, resting her head on his shoulder.

"You're a father?" I ask, staring at him as he hugs the girl in obvious relief. He looks at me over the top of her head, nodding.

"This is Freia," he says, turning so the girl can see me. "Freia, this is Brighid. She saved us and killed the dragon."

"I had help," I say quickly, reflexively. I feel awkward taking all the credit for something that I technically didn't do all by myself; others were shooting at it, too. Brand scoffs.

"You stopped Skjoren taking off my head," he points out. I shrug.

"Any decent person would have."

"Just take the compliment, Brighid," Hadvar says, passing behind me as he heads over to the hall. He glances back with a half-smirk, and I roll my eyes.

Brand starts slowly towards his home, the one virtually on the edge of the cliff with a verandah offering insanely gorgeous views of the Reach. "So, how do you two know each other?" He asks, nodding at Hadvar. I glance over to see he's checking up on his injured soldiers, who all seem to be doing well under Hilde's care. I know there was one that was taken inside, but the rest seem to have only minor or superficial wounds.

"He was one of the first people I met in Skyrim," I tell Brand. "Saved my life in Helgen."

"Saved your life here, too." Brand says. "He tackled Skjoren when the guy was about to cleave you in half. Then made me feed you a healing potion while he defended us both."

I pause, looking over at the legionnaires. He seems relaxed with them, smiling at something someone said and responding. "We're close friends," I tell Brand, following him up the steps. "You go through something like Helgen together, you kinda end up connected for life, I think."

"Papa, can I play with the chickens?" Freia asks, squirming in Brand's arms. He chuckles, setting her on her feet.

"Tell Gisra I expect to see you in the hall before sundown," he tells her. She chirps an affirmative and races off, and I feel the corner of my lips tug into a smile as I watch her. There's no mention of a mother, and I look back at Brand as he leans on the table between us.

"She seems exciteable."

"I worry how all of this will affect her," Brand admits. "Her mother, Salla... she passed in childbirth. I worry that I'm doing enough for her, but there's other children here and I make sure she's fed, clothed well enough, and gets her learning. I wish I could send her to one of the colleges but... I'll never make the money for it working here."

He's not the first parent I've heard with such a sentiment. It's heartwarming to see that families still want the best for their kids, even in a place like Skyrim where there's so little social maneuverability. I wonder if there's some sort of scholarship or sponsorship program, that people with wealth can help to get regional or less fortunate kids an education or something important to advance their own standing.

Maybe I'll look into that when I get back to Solitude.

Nobody seems to be breaking the temporary cease-fire I called, at least not yet. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that almost all of the surviving soldiers witnessed the Dovahkiin Special. I wouldn't really want to fuck with me either.

I'm deliberately trying to pretend it has nothing to do with how I treated Skjoren.

Hadvar sends a pair of legionnaires to collect Jorell and Quintus, and help them pack down the camp. Since we're at full transparency now, there's no point in them hiding in the forest anymore. Of the Stormcloaks, not counting Jorell, there's five survivors.

"We can't really bury them in solid stone," Skorm tells me when he joins me on Brand's verandah. "Thelessa wants to take her sisters to the forest, bury them there."

"How many sisters?" I ask. The numbness that follows a skirmish has set in now, as I watch some of the locals doing their best to perform some sort of burial rites without actually burying them.

"Not actual sisters – shield-sisters, bound by oath and love over blood. Her family's all Legion," he explains, looking down at his hands as he sits beside me. "They stuck together when some of the men got a bit rowdy, looked out for each other. I don't think she'll want to stay with us on her own."

"Your dad has trouble reigning in his men?"

"It's not that he has trouble, it's more that he doesn't even try."

I nod slowly as I watch the woman, Thelessa, kneeling between two of the bodies. I remember how it felt when Killian first left, how even though I was surrounded by friends and allies, I still felt so alone. I don't know if it's exactly the case, but I figure Thelessa is probably feeling that way; alone, robbed of her shield-sisters and left to fend for herself against, well, all the guys that made life difficult before.

The next problem doesn't take long to surface, of course – now freed, the locals have been able to check their supplies only to find them lacking. Skorm informs me there's not really many supplies left for the Stormcloaks, and Hadvar admits to their group living off rabbit stew and wildfruits for the past week at best. I brought up two large sacks of vegetables, flour, and salt, but Brand points out it would have barely lasted the locals a few days, much less feed double the number for an uncertain length of time.

"Your people fish," Hadvar says to Brand, as we stand around the table on Brand's verandah. He was quick to collect Hadvar and Skorm once the problem was identified, and now we're here with the list of what we have between the three groups. "Is it good fishing up here?"

"Sometimes, but it's more of a supplement," Brand admits. "I suppose we could probably just keep sending people out. We get supplies mostly from Maren, or we'll hunt rabbit and pheasant in the woodland, but nothing else much."

"The wood have been picked almost clean," Hadvar grimaces, "We tried not to overhunt them, but a rabbit a day still runs the population down. There's still plenty of wildfruits and berries, though."

"Do you have messenger birds?" I ask, looking at Brand. I don't know why it didn't occur to me before, but a lot of remote settlements tend to have a raven or jay that can take messages to the nearest hold capital. "I can send a letter to Jarl Igmund, ask him to spare some help. Calcelmo's sure to have something among his Dwemer toys for rebuilding the path, and we can get supplies sent with the rescue crew."

"We have a raven, but she's not exactly the fastest," Brand replies with a shrug. "She should be able to carry a message, though the Jarl might not get it til tomorrow, even if we send it now."

"Markarth's barely a half-day from here; even if he gets it in the morning, we could see a work crew here by late afternoon," Skorm notes. I nod, looking between the three of them.

"Check what supplies you've got, and anything you can pool, do it. We can store it in the hall. Whatever we can supplement with the supplies I brought up, and fishing and foraging, let's focus on doing that."

"Good old rationing,"

"Better than starving." I comment as I straighten up. "If Igmund doesn't have enough to cover us, I'll pay for whatever's needed as extra. Nobody's starving here."

Not on my watch.