The Struggle of the Lost

The past days have been a blur. In the haze, all I kept seeing were the bodies of my comrades, of Rikke, of General Tullius, lying in pools of their own blood. And standing above them was him, his damned sword still bathed in the sickening red liquid. It's bad enough that I had fled the battle when I had the chance to kill him in the shadows. I hesitated, damn it. I thought I detected a glimmer of regret in his eyes. But I should have known better. He still killed the General as a loyal lap-dog to Ulfric Stormcloak ought to do. And the thought that the blade I crafted by my own hands became the very instrument of General Tullius' death was simply too much. I don't know if I'll ever be able to live all this down.

I fled to a makeshift camp hastily set up by my fellow fleeing Legionnaires near Solitude. With the deaths of Rikke and General Tullius, I was effectively the de facto leader of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim. But when they looked to me for orders, all I could tell them was to go home. I can see the scorn and disappointment in their eyes, but I did not care. Foot-soldiers are not as conspicuous as a Legate. If they put down their swords, the Stormcloaks would be more willing to forgive them than me. It would only be a matter of time before the bounty on my head is formally sent out through all the Holds -- with him leading the headhunt, no doubt about that.

I'm not crying! I just... thought I saw something in the flames!

The afternoon before we broke camp to go our separate ways, I spent a long time staring at the embers of the campfire. As I was absentmindedly turning over random tinders with a stick, I felt a friendly hand on my shoulder. I looked up and was met by Serana's sympathetic expression. She urged me to sleep a little. It would do me good, she said. I sighed, but eventually acquiesced. Serana had been with me all this time, and she refused to go even after I had given my soldiers the orders to do so.

"I am not your Legionnaire, remember?" she said with a slight smile.

But when I awoke the next day, I was beset by a shock like no other. Sprouting from my shoulders were a pair of dragon's wings. Wings that eerily resembled that of the dark dragon that had attacked in Helgen. Great. The last thing I needed was a very conspicuous marker that would make it easy for the Stormcloaks to track me down.

Everything here is gloomy.

I needed a way for me to suppress these wings. But I have never heard or read about any instances of this happening before. Perhaps the dragons themselves would know, and I had one whom I could ask. However, given that I was one of the only two people who could summon Durnehviir to Tamriel, I could not risk calling him. It's time to pay a visit to the Soul Cairn again.

Vampire blood and corpses are forever.

My wings and armor were frosted over with ice by the time we reached Castle Volkihar, and so Serana insisted that I warm myself by a fire first. It felt as though Skyrim itself had gone colder, more hostile. I probably look pitiful, a woman defeated. I had not thought to tie my hair back ever since the fall of Solitude, and it cascaded longer than before when I took my hood off. As I was waiting for the worst of the cold to abate, I thought to take a look at some of Harkon's display cases. A particular item caught my eye. A... werewolf pelt?

Why "Steal"? Can't I take it by right of plunder?

I knew of Harkon's loathing for Lycanthropes, and so I was hardly surprised that he kept the pelt of one as a trophy. But for a fleeting moment, I suddenly had a thought of Kousei. I do not know what he had been up to with the Companions, but I had observed that he could track me with such ease ever since joining them. It had me perplexed at first, because I had attained such skills in stealth that not even Brynjolf and Delvin could detect me until I addressed them by name. I narrowed down the options until I became convinced he was finding me by scent.

I flinched and closed the lid quickly. Those rumors about the Circle of the Companions can't be true, can they? Then, there were Kousei's evasive answers whenever I asked him about his suspiciously amber eyes. It was out of desperation to hide my scent from him that I doused myself in this ghastly mixture of burnt grass pods and canis roots prior to the Battle of Solitude. It was a miracle it worked, but that has gotten me thinking now. Could Kousei be...? But I will never know now, will I? No more point in wondering.

Well, now I'm partially in body.

Durnehviir was surprised to see me in the Soul Cairn, but I can tell he was as happy to talk to me again as I was with him. He noticed my wings at once, of course, and commented that that was the first time he saw it happen. I was disappointed, and a little afraid. How was I to hide my wings? Durnehviir must have implied that the sudden appearance of wings on my shoulder wasn't the only problem of mine at the moment, because he kindly asked what the matter was. And so I gave him my apologies that I will not be able to summon him as often as before, because of my status as a fugitive in Skyrim.

"And what of the other one who was with you when you first came to this place?" Durnehviir inquired.

I sighed. I knew this question would come out sooner or later. In the fewest words I could come up with, I told Durnehviir about the war, how Kousei and I were torn apart by it. And worse, how he and Ulfric Stormcloak now wanted my head on a pike. Durnehviir was silent for some time, but when he spoke again, he said that despite all this, I should never forget who I really was. No matter what petty mortal factions say, I was still Qahnaarin -- the Vanquisher -- in his eyes.

"Never forget that you are Dragonborn, Qahnaarin," Durnehviir reiterated. Then, to my surprise, he stretched out a wing and tenderly patted my cheek with the knuckle of the claw. "You may lose everyone, but you will never lose the power to call me."

Why am I getting the urge to knock your silly hairstyle off?

Serana and I thought to seek out Valerica before going back to Castle Volkihar, and she decided go back home with us when she learned that her husband is finally dead. I'm glad that she's free of her prison in the Soul Cairn, but I couldn't help but feel jealous too. She has a home, and so does Serana. Even Durnehviir, come to think of it. He may hate the Soul Cairn, but at least he has a place to stay. I have none, and who knows how long this will last. Weeks, months, years, for my entire life? Only the gods may know.

- Kiya

The End of the Beginning

It is done. The battle for Solitude, for Skyrim, is done. We have shattered the steel fingers that gripped our beliefs and held it from us. The Thalmor will be no more in Skyrim, their oppressive presence will be no more, with the fall of the weak empire that kept them on our land. 

I am trying to feel content with the defeat of the Empire, but I cannot shake the thought of her running from all this, as a fugitive. I caught one last glimpse of her in Solitude. I was not sure if I am surprised to see her here; the last I heard of her was she was taking forts near Winterhold. She had that fierce, burning rage in her eyes, as she turned around and ran. I had to chase her, make her come with me, and keep her safe from the very men I had just fought with against her and her comrades. She did not seem to hear any of my screams of guilt and apologies and regret. At the end of the day, I was empty-handed. She thought I was chasing her to bring her to Ulfric, damn this!

A ghost in Imperial Armor.

Ulfric, before the siege started and before he stood in front of the men and gave a blood-stirring speech, had told me to seek for Kiya and take care of her. I felt my heart skip a beat with this ultimatum. He knew of our relationship, and he is forcing me to choose: Skyrim, or her. Is it really not possible to save both? Have I not done enough to earn the right to choose for myself? Is what we're fighting for really because we could not choose for ourselves?

"Right"? Yeah, right.

I see everything now, Ulfric. You will have your time. 

The men stormed Solitude ready and thirsty for blood. I felt weak; I suddenly had no will to fight. But I had to--I had to finish what I had started. Not for Ulfric, not for me, not for her, but for Skyrim. The sword Kiya gave me shook in my hands, and all the regret I had felt when I started this quest came rushing back. I had to be strong, as I've come too far to turn back and go the other way. I can still hear the screams of the soldiers I slew. My sword and shield are still covered in the blood of the fallen. My conscience is still filled with regret.

Blood everywhere.

More blood.

But it is done. We were able to finish all the soldiers outside Castle Dour. I had taken one or two arrow hits to the body and some slashes on the arms, but nothing that potions can't handle. We found General Tullius and Legate Rikke inside the castle, seemingly composed. For the first time, I witnessed Ulfric and Tullius talk like men in a war waged by a shout. A discussion never occurred between the two sides in this war, and, while possible, is impractical, as I am sure the Empire would never allow Ulfric's wishes to take precedence over peace of Skyrim. 

Ulfric was intent on ending this war right here, right now. Tullius, a man I am sure Kiya would have loved as a father, started talking Ulfric out of it, but he would have none. Ulfric attacked the Legate and the General. Rikke fell to the floor, dead, and Tullius pleaded to spare his life. I had no choice. Ulfric urged me to be the one to end it all. 

Thanks for stating the obvious.

I walked towards Tullius. Heart pounding, my hand raised up the sword Kiya gave me as a gift, whispered a sorrowful "I am sorry" to a man who was trying to look up the stairs, lips seemingly moving. Only when my sword was on its way down did I realize that he whispered to someone we were not able to detect when we came in. 

Kiya was there.

I look at the arrows that had hit me. They were made from the bones of a dragon.

Is it, really?

I am here now in Solitude without her. I would not have gone back if I talked her out of it, of course; I would have ran away with her in a heartbeat, if she allows it. She kept running away, and I could not help but feel helpless. I know I will find her, but not now.

This is the end of the war. At least, until the Thalmor comes and takes down every single citizen of Skyrim with them. I realize that now. I am guessing Ulfric will be too consumed by his power in the future, and that will be the downfall of Skyrim, but I could be wrong. Someone will have to save it from the evils outside, and within.

The calm AFTER the storm.

For now, I will rest. This is just the beginning. I have much work to do.

Confessions of a Reluctant Dovahkiin

With Ulfric Stormcloak and his boys so close to storming Solitude's gates, I ought to be shooting arrows at targets in the archery training ground like there's no tomorrow. I should be hacking away at mannequins to keep my blades sharp for battle. Instead, I find myself spending much of my time thinking. Thinking of what was, is, and will be. Thinking of what others have said about this war, and the cost of victory. My thoughts went back to good-natured Hadvar, who confided in me more than once about his misgivings. Kinsman fighting kinsman. Sons and daughters of Skyrim, adopted and otherwise, spilling their own blood. Secretly, I am glad that there is at least one person in this war who has not turned into a beast yet, killing without feeling anything.

All except probably one (if I do get to mount his head on my wall).

I thought of loyal Rikke, my fellow Legate. We have had the chance to talk a little about her viewpoints during a stopover en route to Solitude, and things got pretty interesting. What a stark contrast she was from her erstwhile friend Ulfric. She had shown that one can be a child of Skyrim and be a loyal citizen of the Empire at the same time, a concept that I'm sure the Jarl of Windhelm would reject. And the fact that she doesn't seem to hold much animosity for Ulfric Stormcloak -- only a deep disappointment, by the looks of it -- she may well be a better warrior than I am.

And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies...

Ulfric the opportunist.

I had hoped the same for someone too.

Then, there's General Tullius, who seems to read me better than I can read myself. We, the General and the rest of the Legates, had discussed the plans for the defense of Solitude. In these dire times, he had promoted me as Rikke's equal, second only to the General's command in Skyrim. I was happy, I really was. But there was no time to celebrate, and even then, I guess only Serana would be there to accompany me.

For the rest of the Imperial Legion's sake, General Tullius had done his best to keep up our morale regarding the state of things. Let Ulfric and his Stormcloaks come at us, and we will defeat them in our home ground. But after he had sent the rest of the Legates away, he called me and Rikke to him. Only to the two of us did he express his own doubts regarding our chances of victory. He had known Rikke a long time, but I know I reminded him of our joint land of birth, Cyrodiil. And perhaps, the loved ones he had left behind. Unexpectedly, he's been like a second father to me in the relatively short time I've been in the Legion. General Tullius made me promise that I would obey his every command the moment the Stormcloaks arrive, even if it was to flee.

But there's a catch...

I frowned at the thought of fleeing. No doubt, I would be scorned as a deserter on both sides even if it was by the General's orders. However, General Tullius handed me a letter, signed by none other than Jarl Balgruuf the Greater. He had taken refuge in Jarl Elisif's court ever since the fall of Whiterun, but I have not had the courage to look him in the eye. The letter recounted an event I had not looked back to in a long time -- the first time I slew a dragon outside Whiterun. I recalled the dragon's name: Mirmulnir. Then, there was the summon from the Greybeards after I absorbed Mirmulnir's soul. I had gone to High Hrothgar at Jarl Balgruuf's behest, but despite the Greybeards' warm welcome, my thirst to discover Skyrim's wonders overrode my interest on what it meant to be the Dragonborn.

"I've heard rumors about a new person joining your ranks. Descriptions of this recruit matched that of an Imperial who once did Whiterun a great service. Her name is Kiya. Heed my words -- if she is indeed the Dragonborn, she must on all costs not perish. Ulfric Stormcloak does not grasp the true threat of the dragons' return, and if the legends are true, she will hold the key to defeating the menace that is now upon us."

The General's still a bit bitter from the botched Helgen execution.

I murmured that the Stormcloaks had their own Dovahkiin in their ranks, and one who is more willing to use the Ancient Tongue than I am. As far as I know, the rest of Skyrim hold him as the true holder of that destiny. My ability to absorb dragon souls have all but turned to rumors ever since I sought to disentangle myself from that title. But now I am aware that there are still people who believe in me, and are willing to put their lives on the line just to make sure I live long enough to quell the dovah problem.

The General, usually not one to be affected by Nord legends, refused to hear my excuses and reiterated that I was to save my own skin if the battle turned against our favor. I do not know about the other Legionnaires, but so far only Rikke and General Tullius know the whole truth about me being Dragonborn.

I had to spend time on my own after that exchange. Jarl Elisif and Falk Firebeard had graciously granted me ownership of Proudspire Manor in return for all the help I've given Solitude. The patios surrounding it grant a breathtaking view of the scenery around Solitude, and if the weather was clear, I could make out Windstad Manor near the marshes.

Not the best armor around for someone of that stature.

The moments of passion, all those happy times with him... memories of them filled me every time I saw his home. Not at the intensity as they did now, though. I will see him again soon, that much I am sure of. It would be easy to fall back on the memories, but I should not. Could not. He would strike me down without mercy if he had the chance, and I simply have to return that favor.

If the gods are merciful, I will finally be able to go back to Lucia after all this is over. I am tired. It will be a long time before I will venture out to explore again. If we do win this battle.

- Kiya