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