Go To College, They Said

After so many failures and near-fatal poisonings (and a bad case of skin discoloration), Master Tolfdir and I finally were successful in coming up with a potion to suppress my wings. The downside (or upside, as I've come to see) is that the effects aren't permanent, and I'd have to take it every few hours lest they reappear. I'll admit I've grown fond of my wings. Although I haven't taken to flying, the child in me reveled in being able to glide across rough terrain. It was one of my few sources of happiness these difficult times.

I knew your name before I searched your corpse.

Serana and I approached the College of Winterhold from the Dawnstar side. At least we'd get to bypass most of Winterhold by that route. On our way, we encountered a fiery site by the beach side. We approached warily; some of the flames were still strong enough to cause serious burns. In the conflagration, I saw a burnt female corpse. Searching her remains revealed a necklace that has a name inscribed, Yisra. Serana pointed out a Spell Book for Flame Cloak nearby. I didn't know who Yisra was then, but I assumed that she was a mage given the book we found with her.

That eye reminds me of someone who needed a ring to achieve full power.

When we were in the shadow of the College, Serana and I decided to set up a discreet camp near the narrow sea inlet flowing underneath. As I was scouring the sand for edible shellfish, I was brought on the alert when I heard footsteps and a male voice call my name. I drew my bow and prepared to shoot an arrow, only to meet the form of Master Tolfdir. He was as startled as I, but he held up his arms while telling me that he meant no harm. He didn't know why he thought of taking a stroll by the icy sea that day, and it was by chance that he came upon me. Keeping my bowstring drawn taut, I asked coldly what he'd do now that he's found a woman with a record bounty on her head. Master Tolfdir, however, explained gently that if it's a safe haven I wanted, he could sneak me inside the College. It's strange, but I actually believed him. Something in me sensed that he was offering me asylum not because of the threat of an arrow through the head.

What happened afterwards was probably the greatest risk the College of Winterhold ever took for one of their students. Tolfdir realistically warned me that we couldn't keep my existence hidden forever from the other teachers, or Master Wizard Mirabelle Ervine and Arch-Mage Savos Aren. Master Tolfdir took a gamble and explained my situation to the heads of the College. I don't know how he did it, or if any of his Alteration prowess had any say on the matter, but Mirabelle and Savos visited my hideaway in the Midden that night. I was afraid they were there to throw me out, but to my surprise, they simply inquired if I would be willing to take on the role and name of a student. A student whose death I verified myself. Yisra.

It's the probability game again.

It was a good thing, then, that I had retrieved Yisra's necklace and showed it to Tolfdir beforehand. Tolfdir, Savos Aren, and Mirabelle Ervine all helped me perfect my disguise. Yisra was a Redguard, they informed me. No problem; I had been around a Redguard long enough to be able to adopt their manner of speech if needed. Given the nature of her experiments, I could simply don a mask or some other covering to hide a supposedly scarred face. My pale hands, I could attribute to burns discoloring my skin. The biggest challenge was of course, the wings. Master Tolfdir and I fiddled away with the Alchemy Lab for days before we stumbled upon the right combination of ingredients. But in the end, we succeeded. About a week after Master Tolfdir found Kiya near the College of Winterhold, Yisra returned to her place among the apprentices. None of them found her taciturn disposition or her manner of dress odd. The crowd of the College had their way of ignoring absurdities.

The average Nord would have disagreed.

I had exchanged a few whispered words with the Arch-Mage about their intentions for helping me, and he simply replied that magic is not bound by political factions. Furthermore, he let slip a few words remarking that I was a student too precious for the College to lose. I had gone a long way since the day I knocked on their doors requesting to be taken in as an apprentice, he said. I had to smile at the memory. I recall I joined the College around the time when the vampires of Lord Harkon's brood were still a menace, but I had been very covert about my involvement with them. While Master Tolfdir and I were concocting the wing-suppressing potion, the other teachers had lent me a magical training or two in the Midden. I must say, they did me some good, especially where Destruction was concerned.

One, two, three...

...and BOOM!

Under the watchful eyes of Faralda, I learned how to blanket the ground in fire, summon a hailstorm to surround me, and turn targets to ash with lightning. Colette Marence, bless her, made sure that I could heal myself (and others) should I need to. Although I didn't utilize their schools of magic as often as I did Destruction and Restoration, Drevis Neloren, Phinis Gestor, and of course, Tolfdir assured me that I had enough knowledge of their specializations to save my own skin. For the first time in a long while, my thoughts are channeled into more productive energies. I am finally achieving my childhood dream to become adept in magic -- the very reason why I went to Skyrim (and nearly got executed in the process). But a part of me is restless. I think I'll have to explore the area around the College a little, to keep my mind off things. It's only a matter of time before my thoughts go back to the life I left behind -- to my child, to him -- again.

- Kiya

Walking a Lonely Road

It's been a long and lonely road from Windstad to Riften. The gods have taken pity on her child, and it is only right that I find her mother before she pines her life away. Luckily for the child, I have not yet encountered any difficulty in my travels, and the place I wanted to search first was just a few days' journey away. 

It was night, but the sun will be up soon. I approached Riften from the South slowly, multiple thoughts running inside my head. The Ragged Flagon is one place I have never been to in my stay in Skyrim. It stinks of Thieves and people who beg and rats, they say. It disgusts me that Kiya might be in that hole somewhere, drinking mead with people who have had their hands inside other people's pockets. As I think of how the rats are better than Kiya's comrades, I chanced upon a stone with a symbol on it. It looks familiar--I know I've seen it somewhere. I approached it and immediately recalled the symbol from Kiya's weapons. It seems as though this is the Nightingales' haven. I check its surroundings if there was anyone. I could smell a few people, albeit faintly, from inside the rock. No smell of Kiya anywhere, but those inside might know anything about her. I unsheathed my sword, banged it on the seemingly solid rocks, and shouted her name over and over. 

I have no idea why anyone would put this outside their secret lair.

No response. The night was as quiet as it was when it started, save for my incessant shouts and sword clanging on stone. For almost an hour I rapped and rapped on the stone walls with my sword. Still nothing. I may have wasted my time there. I should have gone on to Riften instead; they know I am here and will hide Kiya or give her an escape. 

I stayed there for the rest of the morning and got some rest. I surveyed the area for any possible escape routes, but to no avail. I went quite far, unfortunately, and it may seem that they were waiting for me to go so Kiya can sneak out. I rushed back there before night fell. If Kiya really did sneak out, I would have got wind of her scent. Nothing. No traces of anyone else ever passing by this black rock. Damn these nightingales! I have already spent my energy going around the Reach. I guess I should just stay here again. If there is any movement I will detect it. 

Noises woke me up in the night. I heard the stone walls swing open. I pounced on it, but it was closed. I heard it open! What sorcery is this? Am I imagining things now? Angry, I banged on the wall again. Her smell still evaded me, but her comrades' scents seemed to fade one by one. They've already left their haven, damn the gods! Kiya has left with them! I must rush to the Flagon; it is the best chance I had of finding her.

The fact that I was strutting around with wings hit me. I knew then it was a lost cause to go to the Flagon; they surely would have seen me walking around. I went there anyway, hoping to catch Kiya on her way out. 

Damn, this place is dirty.

Unfortunately, there was no trace of her inside this derelict place, only thieves. They eyed me warily, some of them even greedily, as I passed them by. I was greeted by someone named Dirge. He seemed... naive, to say the least. He told me he knows no one with a name of Kiya, and proceeded to tell me I should go to save myself and my valuables, lest he and his brother Maul take them away from me. I told him I remember his brother, and that his brother remembers me as well, so he should back off as well. I turned around and started walking towards the door. I could feel his knees shaking, and I could smell his fear. That ought to teach that damned thief a lesson. 

Keep talking like that, and it's MY name that'll be the last thing you hear before they put you in the ground.

Kiya has eluded me once again! Damn that woman! Doesn't she know her daughter needs her? In my anger, I had not noticed that it was already late in the afternoon and I had already climbed a mountain. I looked up, and saw a dragon facing me. An Ancient dragon. I forward-rolled to safety, and immediately summoned my spirit werewolves. They did what I wanted them to do--distract the dragon while I attack it. I realized I could not fight alone anymore. I had Kiya, and she was extremely effective that I, in turn, had become dependent on her in battle. 

Dragon vs. Dragon

It took a long time to defeat the dragon--it was already nighttime when my werewolves and I were able to take it down. I collected the bones, and realized that I needed companions. My werewolves were fortunately, albeit just barely, enough for this encounter, but if I were to find more difficult enemies I would have to be ready for them. It was the first time I considered the Conjuration school. 

I took out a spell book, read it that same night, and summoned a Storm Atronach. It merely lasted a few minutes before dissolving, but it was a start. I needed to practice some more, and I know the perfect place to go for training. I also have a hunch Kiya would be there taking refuge among the mages. I've seen her cast some spells--it's worth a shot to check.

Look at it! It's a monstrosity! I'll be needing them, unfortunately.

A Nightingale in a Golden Cage

I'm beginning to lose count of the days I've been running from the Stormcloaks. My existence has turned into an eerie parallel of my fellow Nightingale Karliah, at least prior to the fall of Mercer Frey. Never sleeping in the same place twice, relying on Nocturnal's mysterious whim to keep me hidden... I am truly her Nightingale now.

After exiting Castle Volkihar, Serana and I snuck our way into the Reach, hugging Skyrim's very borders to High Rock and Hammerfell. It was nice to see its rugged beauty once more; a shame I could not enjoy it much. I temporarily took refuge in Druadach Redoubt, the abode of the Forsworn leader Madanach. His welcome was one of the warmest I've had in a while, for he had never forgotten the aid I had given him before. And I suspect it was due to some pity too. We are on the same boat now, hunted by Skyrim's leaders and with a bounty on our heads.

One day. Yeah. Thanks for the assurance, Madanach.

After replenishing my supply of the ghastly mixture to change my scent, we went out again. Somehow, all the days of running are already taking a toll on my emotional state. I was searching for a sign -- any sign -- that will point to my deliverance from all this. Of course the easiest way out would be to leave Skyrim and go back to my native land of Cyrodiil. Or even Solstheim. I've gone there several times, searching for a certain "Miraak" who had been sending pockets of assassins after me. But something tethers me to my adopted land, and I cannot leave it no matter what.

I went into the Twilight Sepulcher once more. I had to make Serana wait outside because Nocturnal wouldn't have allowed her presence in there. When I entered the Inner Sanctum, I was completely alone. I had hoped that perhaps Nocturnal will heed my summons and offer me a bit of guidance, but all that greeted me was the murky silence of the Ebonmere. I had to steel myself from shedding tears. But as I was about to take the portal back to the entrance, a fluttering sound made me look up. It was a lone nightingale, very much like the ones perched on my Mistress' arms. It made a complete circuit of the cavern, shedding a pair of its wing feathers before flying skywards.

Dammit, show up or I'd jump in!

I do not know what to make of this sign, or if it even meant anything. I kept the feathers, however, and had taken to wearing them with a circlet as a reminder of the Night Mistress. But apparently I had changed more than I had realized. Serana gave a little gasp when she saw my appearance as daylight increased. My eyes, previously brown, were now a shade of violet -- the same as Karliah's -- and the color of my warpaint had changed accordingly, without me even knowing it.

So much had changed.

After spending a few more days flitting between Falkreath and Markarth, I finally decided I needed to speak with Karliah. She greeted me in the Nightingale Hall, and we shared a meal together while discussing the state of things. I asked her how she'd been faring now that her sworn enemy was dead, and her reply made me a tad envious. How can I still feel serenity and fulfillment now that my thoughts are clouded by desires of revenge and retribution?

Care to teach me how?

So clouded were my thoughts that I ended up speaking harshly of our Patron. Nocturnal cares for nothing but our suffering, I spat out bitterly. Karliah listened as I told her of my visit to the Twilight Sepulcher, and how it gave me more questions than answers. After letting me shed a tear or two in my frustration, she gently offered her own wisdom on the matter. She pointed out the color of my eyes and the fact that I had never been found by bounty hunters all this time. It was just like her own experience running from the Thieves Guild after Mercer Frey's betrayal. It woke me up like a splash of cold water. If Karliah managed to stay hidden from the Thieves Guild, whose eyes and ears reach far more than the Stormcloaks, my situation isn't as bad as I imagined. Nocturnal isn't one whom mortals can ever fully understand. Come to think of it, so am I. Kousei would have affirmed to that. No wonder I serve her.

Nocturnal isn't the easiest of Deadric Princes to serve.

Karliah reiterated that the Nightingale Hall is my home so long as I am in Nocturnal's service, and I will find in it a perfect hideaway should I need one. I thanked her, but explained that I won't risk dragging her into the bigger conflict I am now part of. Mercer's betrayal was bad enough. And it turns out I left in a timely manner. Several days afterwards, a message from Karliah arrived to the Ragged Flagon's Cistern. She warned me that "a Redguard with skeletal dragon wings on his shoulders has been haunting the Nightingale Stone for two days now".

I stared at those words, stunned. It could only be Kousei. And he has wings too? I guess I shouldn't be surprised, for he's Dragonborn like me. I wanted to think about what this all means, but there are more pressing matters. Damn him! He's dangerously close on my trail. Wasn't it enough that he had taken Lucia hostage?! I cried when my associates informed me that he had relocated my daughter to his Morthal manor. I briefly toyed with the idea of stealing into Windstad and rescuing Lucia, but Vex and Delvin had talked me out of it. Damn that Redguard, using all my weaknesses to flush me out!

Empty that Redguard's pockets for me, will you?

I barely had time to gather my wits when Brynjolf came striding towards me. His urgency set a chill down my spine. "The Redguard is at our very doorstep," he informed me. "Come, we'll get you out while there's still time." When I expressed my concern about our guild members in the Ragged Flagon, Brynjolf assured me that they can handle themselves. For a brief moment, my trust on my guild mates wavered. How can they stand up against a Dragonborn? But there was no time left. As Brynjolf escorted me out of our hidden entrance, he told me once again that despite what the Stormcloaks say, he and the Guild would always stand by their Guild Master.

Kousei had effectively cut off my access to the Ragged Flagon and the Nightingale Hall. But upon reflection, that was because he knew of my connections to them. Now I understand where I should go. He may know that I am a thief and a Nightingale, but he does not know of my connections to the College of Winterhold. Perhaps Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine would be willing to give me a safe haven. May Nocturnal guide me.

- Kiya

7000 Steps Higher

The first few days after the war passed by quietly. People in other towns seemed to carry on with their lives, even with the defeat of the Empire. Not everything is quiet, however; disquiet fills my heart now. With every town I passed by on the way to High Hrothgar, men and women alike stared at me with both despair and despise. 

The wings did not help me in any way reduce their anxiety in my presence. I found myself in an inn the night of the war and even with the blood of the beast raging inside me, I slept soundly. I dreamed of dragons, and Kiya. Somehow, the dream told me they--we--were connected. I woke up from the dream in a sweat, lying on my back on the bed. An unfamiliar weight was bearing down on me. I tried to move my head to get a view of what it was. Wings made of bones were protruding from my back! I had to rub my eyes to see if they were deceiving me. 

That discovery made me wonder what the monks at High Hrothgar have to say. I've always thought many people have the ability to Shout, and that they only opt not to. However, I have not seen anyone else with wings, which means I might be the only one who can Shout. I had to get there as fast as I could. 

I stopped by Vilemyr inn at Ivarstead to learn more of the Greybeards, the aforementioned monks at High Hrothgar. Close to nobody have seen them, as the monks have rarely gone outside of their monastery. I did not get any information that might help how I'll approach them. I went on.

Hmmm, well, you're useful.

Up here in the mountains, the war and its aftermath seem so far away. Even she seems very small, looking at this vast expanse of rocks that have existed since the dawn of time. Uflric felt irrelevant here. Only dragons have the power in this place, I thought.

What a sight to behold.

A few creatures here and there made the walk up the Throat of the World more interesting, but I only found wolves and trolls. The blasts of wind and snow slowed me down, but as I climbed up the last of the steps, I stumbled upon a glorious fort with walls upon walls of solid stone and a tower above everything in the world.

Scratch that, this is a sight to behold.

I still had no idea who these Greybeards were, even if I had a lot of time to think by myself on the way up. I knocked on the huge doors of High Hrothgar, and it swung open with no one on the other side. I turned on a corner and saw four men in dark robes congregating at the middle. One of them, seemingly surprised at my arrival, approached me, and my wary stance became more relaxed as he went closer. 

If this is a party, it's a dull one.

He introduced himself as Arngeir, the one who speaks for the Greybeards. He told me the others cannot speak for their voices are too powerful to be heard by mortals. I could have disagreed, but they wanted to see for themselves how I, presumed Dragonborn, could learn a Shout and use it almost immediately. We went outside, and I demonstrated to them how easily I, and other people as I once thought, learned the Whirlwind Sprint Shout and used it effectively. Arngeir, having never seen a Dragonborn in his lifetime, thought it astonishing.

Wait until I tell you about that time Kiya and I had a shouting match...

Or so I thought I was the only one. Arngeir spoke of Dragonborn since the dawn of man and their dominance over dragons. However, he found it even more astonishing that there were two Dragonborn in this era. It would seem that the dragon problem is graver than they expected. He told me, "You will have to work together to defeat the threat of the World Eater. Once you meet her, you will know she's the one."

She? My heart pounded a bit faster as I asked him who he meant by that. He described her: black, long hair, fair complexion, wields bow and arrows, and has distinct red marks on her left eye. It took me a while to gather my bearings. She is the other Dragonborn?? How do I not know this? A part of me felt so much anger; this is not the first time she has kept something hidden from me. I guess I should have seen her affinity for Durnehviir and even the other dragons. It all makes sense now. Damn that woman! Now she's in hiding, and I do not know how to find her.

Dammit! Why didn't you tell me this sooner?

  

 Arngeir felt my anger, and asked me to calm down. He told me I will find her when the time is right, however dangerous it might be. I wondered what that meant; this monk kept speaking cryptically. I sighed, and told them I should go. The monk told me to go, but go to Ustengrav and retrieve the horn Jurgen Windcaller, founder of the Greybeards. I recalled it was near Windstad, and told them I will.

I was about to leave through the huge gates when I remembered about the wings. They did not look surprised when they saw the wings as I entered the room, but Arngeir revealed that it was the first time he saw something like this. It might be an effect of the awakening of the dragons, he explained. Alduin's power is increasing, and another being of equal power has awakened far away, and the blood of the Dragonborn in me stirred up along with them. He could not think of a way to remove these wings, he told me; he will have to consult with their leader, Paarthurnax, atop the Throat of the World. I do not know who this Paarthurnax is, but I would have wanted to talk to him personally.

I hurried back to Windstad. I had relocated Lucia there, almost forcibly. She knew what I had done to her foster mother, and she seemed reluctant to come with me. As we traveled from Breezehome to Windstad, she suddenly told me, "My ma will be back, and you'll be sorry!" This was the last time she talked throughout the journey. 

Quit complaining! You're safe already!

Now, I had to check on her if she was doing fine. Alesan told me she ate, but only very little, and did not talk or sleep much. He found her staring outside most of the time. I felt helpless. I do not know much about children even if I've had Alesan for a while now, more so little girls with missing mothers. I will have to find her mother, and quickly. Not for my sake, but for hers. Maybe I will have to find Kiya first. Sometimes saving the world isn't worth anything if it's still broken.

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