(From: Chapter Four Act Five: The Spiderling)

Castalia: What is this place?

Erinye: It’s Null. It’s the afterlife when there is no afterlife. The container for souls that aren’t accepted, or permitted, anywhere else.

Erinye: You know most of all how powerful a soul is. Imagine thousands of them in one place, with no purpose, free for the taking. You could do-

Castalia: -anything.

Erinye: Exactly. Anything. Even, maybe, kill a daedric lord. One that’s ruined your life.

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(From: Chapter Four Act Five: The Spiderling)

Castalia: And she put up quite a fight.

Erinye: Quite so. Though I must give credit…

Erinye: If he hadn’t put her in that frail, mortal body, I wouldn’t have stood a chance.

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(From: Chapter Five Act One: A Fate to Follow)

Taeyva: I was never using you or anything. I needed the chains off, but… but I wasn’t using you to that end.

Taeyva: I wish I did now.

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(From: Chapter Five Act One: A Fate to Follow)

Castalia: Look, I don’t expect you all to trust me. And Talen is right, this is a fine chance to put trust to the test. Because you only have one option anyway.

Castalia: We need more allies, and we need a defendable fortress. That leaves one place. Windhelm.

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(From: Chapter Five Act One: A Fate to Follow)

Argus: I failed. And Bal has no patience for failure.

Erinye: I don’t want to do this.

Argus: I know. But you have to do as he says, or he’ll never let you ascend. I’m happy to die if it gets you closer to that.

Argus: Goodbye, Elizabeth.

Have you ever felt the fading throbs of a dying heart?

 

There are three pulses, each fainter than the last, after the heart has been torn from its cage. Each one a different emotion; a different glimpse of the life it once fueled.

 

The first pulse is confusion.

 

It throbs just as confidently as if it were still alive, but blood spurts out into nowhere. It drips onto your hands and splashes in small puddles at your feet. All that blood wasted, but the heart doesn’t understand why.

 

The second pulse is fear.

 

The heart can no longer breath. Whatever life was left it just spit onto the floor. ‘Where did it go?’, it thinks in panic. That thought is drawn out like a long inhale as the heart thuds in plea for the life that’s been lost.

 

The third pulse is acceptance.

 

It’s the faintest one, but it’s been gouged into my memory deeper than the rest. A trickle of the life it had left stains your fingertips red as the heart starts to shrivel.

 

It’s empty now, and that life is never coming back.

 

Elizabeth: Ah… Fuck…

Elizabeth: I… I think this is it…

Elizabeth stumbles up the hill, fighting to stay upright against the will of her own limbs. There’s still a heavy hammering in her chest as she clings to the remaining adrenaline. The piercing pain in her back threatens to topple her at any moment, and she fears that once the adrenaline fades, so will she.

Elizabeth: Damn it.

Her fingers shred the bark off an adjacent tree as she grips into it for balance. As her nails start to splinter, she takes a wobbly step forward. She manages a couple more, extending her arm to rely on the sturdy posture of the tree as long as possible. She gulps before releasing her grip. If she can manage a few steps in the open, she can reach the boulder up ahead to brace herself.

Mustering enough courage, Elizabeth drops her hand. Immediately the weight of her own body becomes overwhelming. As her knees buckle, her spine gives out. She manages to throw herself towards the boulder as gravity yanks her into the dirt.

Her quivering arms manage to heft her into a sitting position against the stone, sapping what little energy she had left.

She gazes at the world around her in deep dolor as the edges of her vision slowly fade. It blurs as her eyes pinch, her face scrunching in distress as she breaths. With each inhale her lungs scream as a broken rib gouges into them. Before long, even keeping her eyes open proves to be too much. The dark blur surrounds her sight in a black embrace.

And yet a broken smile still tugs at her lips. She can’t move, she can hardly breath, and soon she won’t be able to see. The sun will set soon as well, swallowing her into the dark, frigid coffin of the night. It won’t take long for the sweet summons death to release her from this agony.

Elizabeth closes her eyes, setting her consciousness adrift. Soon it will all be over.

But as the world around her fades to black, her body is lifted by two nurturing hands. 

Elizabeth’s eyes fly open. She chokes out a renewed breath as she peers around the room in chagrin.

This is not death.

Argus: You’re awake.

Elizabeth glances at her rescuer. The burly, red dremora leans over her, fiddling with something just above her head. She tries to take look, but gasps when her body refuses to move. Did he paralyze her?

Her eyes crane to get a better look, but they still refuse to fully open. She can feel her spine continue to throb and each breath still comes with piercing pain. This dremora isn’t stopping her from moving, her body has simply given up.

Elizabeth: What’s going on? Who are you?

He doesn’t look at her, responding passively as the fiddling continues.

Argus: You are safe, child. Do not worry.

Elizabeth frowns. She doesn’t sense any malicious intent from him, but that isn’t going to alleviate her unease. Especially after such a dismissive response. All it’s done is add agitation to the list of emotions she is feeling.

Elizabeth: I recognize the air in here. This is coldharbour, which makes you one of father’s dremora.

The dremora’s placid expression doesn’t shift.

Argus: You are correct.

His curt response is almost passive aggressive. Elizabeth’s lips curl as she adopts grimace. She’s encountered many of father’s daedra through her duties as his prophet. They all have the same qualities. Aggressiveness, haughtiness, over-confidence, the list goes on and on. But this one is different. He is calm and collected yet exudes the same imposing demeanor. When other daedra are constantly competing to flaunt their dominance, this one doesn’t even have to try.

So much so that even when he draws his sword, Elizabeth doesn’t flinch.

Argus: You are dying, which I am sure you are aware. Your mortal body is attempting to steal your life. Unfortunately, it’s that body that provides it for you as well.

Elizabeth gulps. The vagueness of his words is unsettling, enough to spawn a sense of dread.

Elizabeth: What are you talking about?

Her question meets deaf ears as the dremora continues over her.

Argus: In order for you to survive, that body needs to mend. But, simply put, it can’t. Not by normal means. Fortunately, your body is far from normal. It is capable to housing two souls, provided the mortal one does most of the heavy lifting.

Elizabeth furrows her brows. She doesn’t understand a thing of what he is saying. The existence of her two souls is nothing new, but the way he talks about it makes her uneasy. It’s as if her souls aren’t an important part of who she is, but just two ingredients in this magical experiment.

Argus: However, if the more powerful soul is given full access to the body, the mortality of it may be removed. Maybe even heal.

Elizabeth finds herself unsure of what to feel. Confusion? That’s a given. This dremora hasn’t even yielded his name and his explanation provided nothing. Does he really expect her to understand what’s going on? No. She doesn’t think that explanation was even for her. He just vaunting, singing praises for the ego his haughty smile is so evidently displaying.

Elizabeth feels a contemptuous scowl creep up as she glares at it. Everything was supposed to be over. She should be dead. But this dremora has the gall to think he can claim the fate for her. And the worst part about it is there’s nothing stopping him.

Argus: Are you ready?

The questions seems more of a courtesy, though Elizabeth can tell there’s no mercy behind it.

Elizabeth: Fuck you.

She doesn’t even get the chance to tell if he heard her.

Argus swiftly raises his sword and plunges it into Elizabeth’s chest. The room bursts alight as her souls flee their corpse along with her screams. Argus is quick to react, casting a ward to trap them in a swirling vortex above the table.

Elizabeth: GAAAAH!

Argus forces the blade deeper, driving her souls out and into the trap of his ward. On cue, the two soul gems positioned above her head activate, releasing a deep, purple aura that pulls in the air around them.

Elizabeth’s screams are drowned out by the resounding wail of her souls. Argus catches glimpses of their struggle as they swirl in a panic. Visages of hands claw at the table as each soul is pulled into their own soul gem. For a moment he swears he catches an outraged glare before they blink away inside. The wails stifle as Elizabeth’s screaming fades. For a brief moment, the room goes still.

But this moment cannot last. Elizabeth’s body is empty now and if he doesn’t act fast, it won’t accept either soul back. As soon as they vanish into the gems Argus releases what he hopes is the correct one.

It shrieks back into the confines of his ward, crashing against the magical walls like a fish out of water. 

Its frenzy escalates as Argus slowly shrinks the ward. A ghastly wail pierces his ears as the soul shrieks in desperation. Argus gulps as a face appears behind the shimmering barrier. Loathing eyes scorn him as the prison shrinks, offering only one choice.

The face vanishes as Elizabeth’s scream returns, now with fury instead of agony.

But Argus hears none of it, his gaze captured by rapid transformation before him. The color of her skin begins to darken as a vibrant purple hue starts to diffuse across it.

As the hue spreads over the bruises, they rapidly begin to heal. Their color immediately softens as they fade away. Argus bellows out a victorious laugh. He never doubted he would fail but to see it work so flawlessly is incredible!

Then his stare falls to her face.

He watches, mortified, as black bones start to protrude from her forehead. They reach out like tendrils, curling inwards and festooning her eye like a mangled garland.

Elizabeth: AAAAAAAHHHHH!

Argus doesn’t know whether to stop the spell or not but isn’t even given the chance to decide. The wailing amplifies in a sudden burst as the ward explodes. He is barely able to shield his face as the blast knocks him away from the table.

He flies across the room, impacting the stone floor with a painful thud.

As he opens his eyes, he gasps.

Argus: I can’t believe it…

Elizabeth sits up on the table’s edge, frozen. Argus’ dumbfounded joy isn’t shared as the realization of what’s happened settles upon her muddled mind. She stares ahead of her, at nothing in particular, feeling a newfound sense of betrayal and horror. She isn’t dead, and now…

Argus: It worked.

…she may never be again.

Elizabeth hovers at the edge of the cliffside, peering over the fog covered waters of the grove that nearly claimed her life three days ago. The pond looks black under the looming shadows of the surrounding trees. The darkness is inviting. She could take one step and plunge into a somber embrace.

Down there she could remain forever. It’s not like she has to breath anymore. That’s just one of the many boons her new form brings. Her stomach never rumbles, her thirst is always quenched, and breathing is no more than an old habit. If her flesh were torn away, would there be anything inside? Is there a heart still beating with the same mortal ring?

Elizabeth exhales an unavailing sigh. She pauses, letting her displaced hairs settle, and waits. A few seconds pass, then a minute. Nothing. No tightness in her chest nor plea from her lungs. She coils her fist around the hem of her robe, crushing the sturdily sewn cloth in between the sharp plates of her metal gauntlet, and sucks in an adamant inhale. It feels empty. There’s no relief or rejuvenation. It’s as if she were closing her eyes and never falling asleep. A pattern that has occupied all three of her previous nights.

Argus: Elizabeth?  

Argus: I didn’t think I’d find you here.

Elizabeth is not startled. She sensed his arrival moments earlier. He’s been standing there for over five minutes. Plenty long enough to have witnessed her mortal exercises. If it were any other daedra, they’d be mocking her. Weeping over lost mortality is naïve and pathetic in the eyes of an immortal being, and father’s dremora are particularly fond of administering scorn.

But Argus seems different. She thought him condescending and dismissive, not deigning to speak unless necessary to those beneath him. That in itself is already contrary to a typical dremora’s eager mouth. But in Argus’ case, that silence is not to ridicule, it is to understand.

Argus: Though I suppose it makes sense. This is your grave, isn’t it?

Elizabeth does not respond, keeping her gaze focused on the gentle pond below. She didn’t realize it until now how much she hated the silence. It’s so vivid. Thoughts feel so empty when paired with a gentle breeze. The wind brushes the hair against your ear, reminding you that no one is listening. And if the words could leave your mouth, that wind only whisks them away.

Argus’ boots softly crunch against the grass as he drifts over to her. As he comes to a stop beside her on the cliff edge, he sighs. A response Elizabeth can’t help but feel irked by.

Argus: I want to apologize. My fascination with your transformation was… inconsiderate. I should have been aware of your feelings towards it.

Elizabeth doesn’t face him. She refuses to display any more emotion yet can feel her eyes starting to swell. That’s one of the first things she learned daedra and mortal’s share. The ability to cry.

Argus: I’m sorry.

She feels his stare leave her as the words are said. From shame, perhaps? She’d like to think so.

Elizabeth: So you’re sorry about how you reacted then? I suppose that’s all you can be sorry for.

The irate accusation in her own tone startles her. Melancholy has been so prevalent that her vexation was almost forgotten. She sighs, allowing her jaw to unclench.

Elizabeth: You were only doing your job. I don’t expect you to apologize for fulfilling father’s wishes.

A tense silence settles between them as Argus doesn’t respond. Elizabeth feels indifferent towards the discomfort. It could never be enough to dismiss the weight of her sorrow.

Argus, on the other hand, shifts in his armor as he loudly clears his throat.

Argus: I like what you’ve done with your horns. The gold jewelry is quite elegant.

His unease is evident in his body language, yet his tone displays none of it as the compliment flows out confidently.

Elizabeth glances up at the protrusions snaking over the edge of her vision and curls her lip in disgust. She had blissfully forgotten about the jewelry until now. A bright flickering stings her eye as the sunlight bounces across the gold.

Elizabeth: I hate it. I should’ve known jewelry couldn’t beautify such repulsive protrusions. It only brings more attention to them.

She spits out the last word, clamping her jaw shut with a sharp conclusion. Heavy, habitual breaths start to rock her tense shoulders. Suddenly sadness seems so pointless.

Argus shifts his footing with a sigh, unphased by Elizabeth’s livid aura.

Argus: Your body was not meant to harbor an entire daedric soul alone. There were bound to be side effects. You should be gr-

Elizabeth: I don’t need a fucking science lesson, Argus!

Argus steps back at Elizabeth’s outburst, but his neutral expression remains.

Elizabeth: I’m not even supposed to exist! I’m an abomination! A mortal turned daedra? It doesn’t matter if I was a prophet before! This was not my destiny!

 Elizabeth aggressively turns away, stomping closer to the edge of the cliff.

She stands there in silence, letting her fury fade through angry huffs.

Elizabeth: All my sister and I ever wanted was to leave. We did everything father asked on that promise. And all that we got was to be torn away from each other.

Elizabeth: She’s still trapped in the other gem, with nowhere to go now. You stole our body and gave it to me, locking her out forever.

She hears Argus gulp behind her.

Argus: Elizabeth, I-

Elizabeth: No!

This time she hears a faint gasp escape him.

Erinye: That’s her name. A monster like me deserves her own.

Erinye presses her eyes closed with a deep breath. As she opens them, a tear slips down her cheek.

 

Argus: You’re not a monster.

The wind whisks the words away before they can reach her ears.

Erinye: My name is Erinye.

* * *

“Goodbye, Elizabeth…”

 

Taeyva thought she had grown accustomed to the cold. Living nude for so many years forces a certain level of tolerance, especially when that cold clings to icy metal that numbs her skin. Yet even when the chains fell free, she didn’t really notice a difference. All cold bites the same and the gawks at her exposed body still don’t send shivers.

When she was healing the wounded outside Fort Dawnguard, her approach alone was enough to incite atypical vigor. They seemed to forget about the blood seeping from their sides as they eagerly sat up, their balmy, ogling eyes bouncing everywhere they shouldn’t. Perhaps the only reason they didn’t bleed out is because their blood was rushing elsewhere.

Torund was quick to mock her obliviousness, though she’d describe it herself as intentionally forgetful. They can leer all they want; it won’t result in anything. Though Torund was not eager to agree. Before departing the canyon, he tossed her a bundle of pelts. With a roll of her eyes, she wrapped them around her torso and waist, insistent on maintaining some ‘indecency’. His words.

Yet as the warm fur embraced her, she exposed an equally warm smile. Perhaps she wasn’t as tolerant as she thought.

After that, the trek from Dayspring Canyon was tranquil and reflective. As the soldiers around her were complaining from the arduous hike, Taeyva basked in the sun with a grin. It’s hopeful rays shined through the cloudless sky, thawing the icy path up north.

But no sun could brighten the dark days looming ahead. As the gates of Windhelm came into view, Taeyva knew the repose was over.

Davey: So… You gave her the pelts to wear?

Torund: I did. Do you have a problem with that?

Davey: Nope. Nope! All, uh… all good. I’m glad she’s warm now.

Torund rolls his eyes with a scoff.

Torund: I’m sure you are.

Ahead, Taeyva and Castalia peer at the Windhelm bridge from the mountain side. Taeyva has kept a close eye on the former prophet since they left. She was always at the head of the formation, Taeyva assumes to avoid conversation. When others tried initiating conversation with her, they were succinctly dismissed.

Throughout the entire trek, she never spoke to anyone. Though she clearly wanted to with someone. Castalia’s yearning glances were impossible to miss. Malkor never returned them, keeping silent, but always walking near her. There’s clearly a tender bond between them, though it doesn’t seem equally shared.

Taeyva: You’ve been quiet. And yes, I do mean to intrude. I’m not bothering to hide suspicion of you.

Taeyva speaks curtly. She does not want to appear imposing but isn’t ready to feign friendship either. As much as she wants to form a bond, doing so would only muddle her opinions. Fortunately, Castalia has been blatantly apathetic towards her own reputation.

Castalia: Good. Don’t. And yes, I have been.

Taeyva notices her shoulders tense.

Castalia: I don’t want to risk anything. What happens now depends entirely on that gate opening.

At the edge of the Windhelm bridge, Talen, Isran, and Carcette stare down armed stormcloak guards. Only the three of them agreed to approach the gate while the rest of the army stayed hidden behind the mountain side, General Tullius and Elisif specifically included.

Galmar Stone-Fist: So, seems we’re not alone in this world after all.

Galmar Stone-Fist: I’ll admit, I’m relieved the Dawnguard and Vigilant are alive. But I know you three aren’t alone. Why should I let you in?

Galmar sneers a toothy grin as he waits for an answer. Talen and Isran share an apprehensive look. Carcette, on the other hand, stomps forward assertively, noticing the sly twinkle in Galmar’s eye.

Carcette: Knock it off, Galmar! Just let us in. Or are you stalling because the gate’s too heavy for you to lift?

Carcette smirks, earning a two flabbergasted looks from her comrades.

Galmar lets out a boisterous guffaw and sheaths his axe, allowing Talen and Isran’s wide eyes to settle.

Galmar Stone-Fist: Bwah, haha! Fine, Keeper, you all can come in.

Galmar Stone-Fist: But only you three! You’re not supposed to make your case to me anyway.

Galmar Stone-Fist: Ulfric’s the one who will decide.

Galmar escorted the trio through the gate and down the crowded streets of Windhelm. The walled city is packed with soldiers, all bearing the Stormcloak sigil. Talen found himself apprehensive under their curious gazes. Even though most eyes were shadowed behind metal helmets, he could see their yearning for a chance to hope. And with it, he felt the pressure to be that chance.

It was a straight walk from the gate to their destination. A grand, blue and grey palace overlooks the city, bulwarked by a second set of walls that tower even higher than the outer walls. Two bronze doors loom at the palaces entrance, staring down those who approach as if to intimidate them from entering.

Galmar heaves one open with ease and saunters inside, not bothering to extend an invitation. Behind him, Isran and Carcette follow. Talen pauses to steel himself before jogging to keep up.

The inside of the palace stretches back in a rectangular hallway. Grey stone makes up the walls, floor, and ceiling, giving the interior a dim appearance. Blue tapestries emblazoned with the Stormcloak sigil dangle all over, slowly swishing to a rest as the door shuts behind Talen.

Galmar has already made it to the end, standing staunchly on the left of an excessively large stone throne. Occupying it with a suspicious scowl is the man Talen has heard so much of and has now finally met. Ulfric Stormcloak.

Ulfric: Survivors? It’s been weeks since anyone’s arrived at our walls. I assumed the cold had claimed everyone already.

Ulfric shares his stare between the three of them as he speaks. His deep voice rumbles throughout the hall, reverberating against each stone as it echoes in a resounding consonance.

Ulfric: I know you two. Isran, leader of the Dawnguard and Keeper Carcette of the Vigil. But you I do not. I’m sure I don’t need to introduce myself, so I’ll rescind the opportunity to you.

As Ulfric’s narrowed eyes fall onto Talen’s, so does everyone else’s. But Talen doesn’t feel them. He takes an affirmative step forward and looks Ulfric back directly.

Talen: My name is Talen. I do not lead any group like my allies here, but rather represent them. Consider my voice as those who could not attend.

As he concludes, the steward, who has been listening silently to Ulfric’s left, pipes up.

Jorleif: If I may be so bold, I’d suggest we cut to the chase. You seek shelter within our walls, do you not? So who will be coming in? Who are these voices you represent?

Talen glances to his comrades apprehensively. He definitely doesn’t want to lie, but he isn’t sure how much of the truth he should reveal. It’s bad enough Tullius and Elisif are among the refugees, but the daedra worshippers as well? Talen actually isn’t sure which Ulfric will be against more.

Isran offers an unsure shrug and Carcette nods at him assuredly, but Ulfric chimes in before Talen gets a chance to.

Ulfric: Look, lying won’t get you anywhere. This isn’t an interrogation. My primary duty is keeping this city safe and if you keep secrets, I already have a reason to believe you’d jeopardize that.

Talen gulps and steps forward.

Talen: You’re absolutely right, Jarl Ulfric. No secrets.

Talen: It’s clear we have the Dawnguard and Vigilant among our numbers. They make up the vast majority of our numbers. But we have some others…

Talen hears Carcette shift nervously.

Carcette: It’s… It’s a bit abnormal… But just hear him out.

The jarl waits expectantly, nodding for Talen to continue. Talen closes his eyes and sighs. There’s no point in dragging this out.

Talen: I’ll be blunt. Everything that’s happened? It’s because our world is lost. The divines have abandoned it to destruction.

Talen: But that doesn’t mean it can’t be saved. Problem is, saving it is reliant on daedric forces. It’s not ideal, but it’s all we have.

Talen: Some… Most daedra are evil. But a few can be trusted, and we have those few among us. One of which has saved my life multiple times. If we enter the city, so do they.

Talen concludes with a shaky breath. While he doesn’t take his eyes off Ulfric,  he can feel the gawking from everyone in the room. The silence hangs for just a moment though as Ulfric suddenly closes his eyes and chuckles.

Ulfric: Hehehe… Good.

Ulfric opens his eyes and flashes the group a trusting smile.

Ulfric: That is not news to me, but you said what I wanted to hear.

Ulfric plops back into his throne as the trio gapes at his unexpected reaction. Carcette is the first to step up.

Carcette: Wait… What do you mean? You’re aware of everything going on?

Ulfric shrugs, nonchalantly. The bewilderment and concern weighing on the three of them clearly isn’t shared with him.

Ulfric: Events of this nature are not coincidence. Furthermore, we’ve spotted dragons flying in the mountains and daedra patrolling the roads. It’s why we closed our gates.

Ulfric concludes with a sigh, shaking his head, but doesn’t continue. Galmar jumps on the opportunity in his place.

Galmar: How do we know your daedra can be trusted though? I’ve lost plenty of good men to those abominations! You’ve probably been tricked!

Ulfric: Galmar!

The boisterous nord cuts off with a hesitant gasp.

Ulfric: Don’t you see? That question has already been answered.

Ulfric shifts his scowl from Galmar to Carcette, his relaxed mood soured.

Ulfric: We have the Keeper of the Vigilant of Stendarr vouching for them. Only a fool would doubt the stubborn principles of a Vigilant, and this one is the most stubborn of them all.

A concurring smile tugs at Carcette’s lips.

Carcette: I have to agree. You are correct, Ulfric. She has proven to be a valuable ally in this crisis. I know I can trust her with my life.

Ulfric grins but doesn’t say a word.

Talen: Great! So, are we allowed in then?

The jarl’s grin vanishes.

Ulfric: Not yet. There must be a reason you came here. Fleeing, perhaps? And if so, why should I let you in and bring them here?

Talen bites his lip.

Talen: Well, uh, there’s a lot that, actually…

Isran: The only foes left remaining!

Isran interrupts with a defiant shout.

Isran: The dragons, the daedra! Ulfric, you know we’re alone in this fight. No matter what, they will come here, and we are the last, and only, allies you will ever have.

The room goes still in a tense silence. Alert eyes dart from Isran to Ulfric as they each glare into one another. Neither of them blink, as if doing so would be to relent. Talen gulps, trying to clear the lump that has formed in his throat. He wants to interject but isn’t sure it would do any good. He’s had plenty of experience with Isran and knows full well how adamant he can be. And Ulfric’s reputation is enough for Talen to know he’s probably the same way.

But then Ulfric sighs.

Ulfric: Yes… We are alone.

He reaches shaky fingers behind the collar of his armor.

Ulfric: I remember the day… I felt the magic vanish from it. An empty trinket now. A totem to a false god.

His hand trembles as much as his voice as he extends the Amulet of Talos before him.

It delicately swings in the air, in no particular pattern, as if trying to remember how to hypnotize.

Ulfric: How much I dedicated to this… I know it may sound insensible, but I refuse to believe Talos left us intentionally. I have to believe he had no choice.

He stares at it a moment longer before lowering it. He closes his eyes with a relenting sigh, reopening them narrowed in ire.

Ulfric: But where he gave up, I shall not. The gates are open to you. Together we will overcome this threat and reclaim the world that is ours.

Ulfric: Welcome to Windhelm.

The sun finally sets, ending the arduous day for the refugees and soldiers. As they drag their weary feet through the gate, Stormcloak soldiers direct them into the city under the watchful eyes of Galmar and Jorleif. Even with the trust of Ulfric, they were not about to let an entire army flood the city at once.

Jorleif insisted on sectioning off the city, keeping different clusters of the army in their own designated corner. As the soldiers came inside, he hollered various locations and instructions for them to follow without ever taking his eyes off his notes.

Jorleif: Okay, you all are group C. Please proceed to the Gray Quarter for lodging. Move past Candlehearth Hall, towards the Palace of Kings, then take an immediate right! I’ll repeat…

Galmar sometimes made gestures to help indicate the directions but did so with a roll of his eyes or a half-hearted shrug. As soon as the soldiers passed Jorleif, they weren’t bothering to follow the directions anyway. Not that Galmar could blame them. After the experiences they must have gone through, there’s only one place they will want to spend their evening. He just hopes the bar will have enough stock.

Fortunately, some leadership is actually being delivered. Jorleif may be ignored, but Carcette and Isran can’t be. They station themselves at the entrance, keeping a keen eye on those who enter and occasionally reminding them of the hospitality they’ve all been gifted.

Carcette: Remember, Vigilant, we owe thanks to the men and women of Windhelm!

Isran: I don’t want to see any Dawnguard causing trouble! Understand?

There are a few occasional responses, but more often than not the soldiers sluggishly nod instead. As they drag themselves to Candlehearth Hall or their lodging for the night, troubled minds look on.

Dennis rubs his chin, his gaze transfixed at the soldiers pouring in, looking at none of them in particular. It hasn’t yet been said, though he is sure every one of them is already aware of it. This city will become a sepulcher, and few them of them will be alive to see it.

Torund relaxes on the stone steps, unbothered by the gloom that has befallen the city. Their arrival has only made certain this city’s downfall. Though he frankly could not care less. That won’t slow his fight. He is here for Taeyva, nothing more.

Leaning against one of the inns outer nooks, Malkor scours in silence. Every passing moment is wrought with aggravating conflict. He’s managing conversations with these former foes of his, walking amongst their ranks, and even fighting alongside them; he’ll never find a better chance for betrayal. But to what end? The throne of a forsaken world or death? It was worth the risk before, but now…

…now there is a third option.

And lastly, finding solace in the warmth of another’s company, does Taeyva discover brief comfort. She props herself against one of the large stones constructing Candlehearth Hall, staring outwards with no focus. Even in silence, Davey’s company provides an alleviating ease she’s never felt before. It’s like a fog, obscuring her worries just enough to not be recognizable. But there they lurk, waiting for that veil to fall. And what scares her the most is that she’ll be the one tearing it away.

Davey: Taeyva? Are you alright?

Taeyva nods, allowing her thoughts to recede as her eyes return to focus and narrow as they recognize the figure before her.

Taeyva: Yes, Davey. I’m fine. What do you want, Talen?

Talen rubs the back of his neck, folding apprehensive brows over guilty eyes.

Talen: I just… I wanted to talk. Could we go somewhere private?

Taeyva sighs.

Taeyva: Fine.

Taeyva took her time leading Talen somewhere they could talk. Mostly because she didn’t know where to go in this new city, but also to figure out where she stands with him. She felt betrayed when she found him bleeding back in the fort. He nearly vouched against removing her chains and was conspiring with a daedric lord behind everyone’s back. But now she just feels numb to it.

The only conflict she feels now is whether or not to reveal this secret of his. As far as she knows, only herself and Castalia know of Talen’s dealings with Sheogorath. If the rest of the alliance were made aware of it, the repercussions would be disastrous. Taeyva could never predict what would happen and she’s too afraid to ask Castalia. Not that she would tell her anyway.

Taeyva slips out of her thoughts as she comes to the end of a deserted alley way. Secluded in the back corner of the city, the alley is darkened by shadows cast by the extravagant houses adjacent it. This is private enough.

Taeyva: Alright.

Taeyva: What is it you want to say?

Taeyva doesn’t turn around. She barely tilts her head, barely glancing at Talen as an anxious sigh escapes him.

Talen: I… I’m so sorry, Taeyva…

Talen: You were right. I wasn’t going to take your side. I was stupid, manipulated… He got in my head… and… and…

Talen’s voice shakes as the last words fumble out. He fails to formulate anything else as his own grunts and scoffs cut himself off. Taeyva finds the spectacle exasperating.

Taeyva: He didn’t teleport you to the top of the fort, Talen. You went there yourself! You purposefully met with a daedric lord!

She hears the curses under his breath as Talen squeezes his eyes closed in contrition.

Talen: Fucking idiot… I know… I know! It was so stupid and dumb. I never should have trusted him… Or even met with him… I-

Taeyva clenches her jaw at Talen’s monotonous rambling. She whips around to face him, her vex ire displayed in her curled lips.

Taeyva: Then why did you? Huh? You never came to me for help with anything, but Sheogorath is just sooooo much more trustworthy!

Talen clasps his head in his hands as if trying to shield himself from the ridicule. They tremble skittishly as he shakes his head in denial.

Talen: I don’t know… It’s just so much pressure… Everyone expects so much of me and I can’t do this on my own…

Taeyva rolls her eyes.

Taeyva: Fucks sake… You look so pathetic right now.

Talen drops his hand to cradle himself. The bewilderment in his eyes fades as self-loathing sets in its place.

Talen: I know… You’ve always been so capable, Taeyva. You’ve overcome so much, and I can barely do anything…

Taeyva lowers her gaze as Talen falls silent. Perhaps she was falling prey to her emotions. Here Talen is, dejected and alone, begging for a shoulder to lean on.

With a sigh, Taeyva tips her head to the alley wall.

Taeyva: Sit down, Talen.

With a relenting sigh, Talen nods and slides his back against the stones. As he plops onto the ground, he immediately cradles his head in his hand.

Taeyva slips down beside him, letting herself lean against the wall. She stares into the night sky briefly before addressing her distraught friend.

Taeyva: I know how it feels to be alone, to be relied upon when your mind is filled with self-doubt. It sucks to expected of.

Taeyva: You kill yourself trying to meet all the demands put upon. But you never can. Because you put those demands onto yourself and they’ll never be enough.

Taeyva pauses after a sigh.

Talen fails his effort to respond as he stares emptily at the ground.

Taeyva: I can say these things to you acting as if they’re a fix, but they’re not. I put demands on myself every day. I know they’re conceived out of my own volition, intentional or otherwise, but that doesn’t lessen their importance to me.

Taeyva: Sometimes I think the only person standing in the way of my happiness is myself.

Taeyva shakes her head, fighting down the budding tears. She takes a moment to clear her mind, forcing the emotions to settle, and returns to the matter at hand.

Taeyva: Talk to me, Talen. You don’t have to express yourself, but you do have to explain your actions.

With an accepting nod, Talen sits up.

Talen: I’m weak. I couldn’t save Isabel when she turned… I couldn’t save her in the marsh… I know I can’t save anyone myself, but I’m not afraid to sacrifice myself to do so.

Talen: I expected Sheogorath to kill me eventually. And I never really thought I’d survive the Sacellum of Boethiah. I’m not afraid to die if it means saving the life of another.

His eyes glaze over with an empty gaze. Taeyva even catches the semblance of a smile on his lips. As his words settle over them, she scoffs.

Taeyva: Talen, no. That’s… that’s…

The words to reject his statement flutter from her mind.

Talen: Taeyva? It’s okay. It’s not like I’m trying to die. I just want my life to be worth something,

Taeyva rolls her eyes with an irritated scoff.

Taeyva: It’s not worth anything if it’s gone, Talen. Besides, if Sheogorath wanted you dead, he’d have done so. He’s clearly keeping you around for some reason.

Talen gulps as his gaze falls to his chest.

Talen: I know… I think he marked me with the wound. It didn’t heal or any-

Taeyva’s eyes widen as she leaps to her feet.

Taeyva: Show me. Now.

Talen stammers an incoherent response, unable to find the proper words under Taeyva’s impatient glare. He quickly clambers to his feet and undoes the lower buttons of his shirt.

He winces as the frigid air stings the open wound. Taeyva immediately leans over, peering at it intently.

Talen: He stabbed me with a daedric sword. The wound healed but didn’t vanish from your magic.

Taeyva nods along silently. Talen isn’t even sure if she is listening.

Taeyva: There’s actually an incredibly faint daedric aura around it. I’d never have noticed it if it weren’t pointed out.

She pulls away, signifying that he can tuck in his shirt with a wave or her hand.

Taeyva: But why? It’s silly to try and predict chaos, but there has to be some motive.

Talen gulps, rubbing the back of nis neck.

Talen: He mentioned my wife and some realm called Null. He said I’m just a bargaining chip?

Somehow that only raises more questions. She's never even heard of a realm called Null. Taeyva shakes her head, trying to recall any obscure bit of information she may know about Sheogorath, daedric curses, or anything that would even remotely relate to this situation.

Taeyva: That doesn’t make sense. Isabel is dead and wasn’t even the same woman you knew. Even as the leader of the Fen Witches, her influence on the world was minimal.

Taeyva huffs in agitation. This just doesn’t make any sense. Even if Isabel were alive or her soul was gone somewhere, it’d have no impact on the outcome of this war. No. There’s something else at stake here.

Talen: What if that wasn’t really Isabel? I mean, you said so yourself. She wasn’t my wife.

Taeyva: I was speaking figuratively. But you may have a point…

Taeyva raps her finger against her temple as her words trail off. Vampirism doesn’t change a personality so drastically, especially after such a short time. She never knew Isabel as a mortal but finds it hard to believe such an ostentatious and haughty woman would be with Talen romantically. If she were anything like the woman Talen loved, he never could have killed her. It has to have been someone else. Or maybe…

Taeyva’s eyes widen as a gasp flees her lungs.

Taeyva: Of course…

Candlehearth Hall bustles, renewed by the influx of weary customers. For weeks the inn has been empty and dreary. With adventurers basically extinct, business was reliant on local patronage. At first this wasn’t a problem. Exhausted workers would trickle in from time to time, drinking away the setting sun. Even guards stopped by to end their shift by the warmth of the hearth. It wasn’t much, but it kept the business afloat.

Then Ulfric started regulating the supplies. Eventually the cold became too unbearable and the threats beyond the walls too dangerous. The farmers along the riverbank and in nearby settlements were ushered into the city, leaving their frozen crops to die behind them. With the supplies limited, Stormcloak guards barged into the businesses of the city and hauled their supplies back to the palace. With limited supplies, Elda could no longer cater to customer requests and eventually the trickle of customers was stifled.

Until today. Flooded with Dawnguard and Vigilant soldiers, the inn was quickly overwhelmed. At first, Elda tried enforcing a drink policy. But as requests morphed into demands, she relented. They may not even be alive within the next few days anyway.

Vigilant: The blade went right over my head! Crazy!

Dawnguard: And those werewolves? Insane! I nearly shit myself seeing their claws

Dawnguard: Haha, so anyway, can I buy you a drink?

Vigilant: Another? Already? How many did you have before I got here?

Dawnguard: Woo! Yeahaha! Chug! Chug! Chug!

Elda Early-Dawn: Down the hall, first room on the left.

Elda Early-Dawn: Say, you look familiar. Have I seen you before?

Malkor feigns an indifferent smile.

Malkor: Maybe. I’ve been around, but don’t pay much attention.

Elda shrugs nonchalantly as she scoops up the coin purse. She turns away without a word, already distracted by the drink requests being hollered at her from across the room.

Malkor trudges down the hallway, wondering how he’ll manage to find any sleep amidst this commotion. When he notices the door to his room already open, he expects he won’t even get the chance to try.

He enters the dimly lit room with an exasperated sigh, announcing his arrival.

Malkor: What is it, Cass?

Castalia stands at the other end, cradling herself anxiously before the bed. He hears an audible gulp as she digs her fingers into the flesh of her arm.

Castalia: You called her Cass. You only call me that.

She releases an anguished sigh before choking out her next words.

Castalia: And then you killed her.

She doesn’t make a motion as she concludes, trembling in her fragile resolve. Malkor stays quiet. He feels an inkling of guilt, at first. Though his intentions were never to hurt Cass, his decisions that night were no coincidence. Whether it was for some twisted fantasy of his or a meek attempt at closure is not for Cass to know. In fact, none of it is. But she sees everything; he can’t hide things from her.

And with that thought, that inkling of guilt morphs into vexation.

He presses his fingers to his forehead and sighs aggravatedly.

Malkor: Don’t do this, Cass. You’re only hurting yourself.

Before he finishes, Castalia whips around.

She raises tense shoulders, each equipped with a clenched fist.

Castalia: No! I will do this! And don’t you dare put the blame on me for your disgusting actions!

Malkor’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t say a word. Castalia isn’t going to let him get one in anyway.

Castalia: You could’ve chosen anyone, but you went for her. You called her Cass! Fucked her! Then killed her!

Castalia: Am I seriously supposed to believe that had nothing to do with me?

Castalia: Fuck, Malkor! After everything I did for you, you still can’t bother to give me an apology!

Castalia: I killed that stupid courier to protect you! I saved you from Erinye! I gave you your fucking army! I’ve done everything to get you where you are now!

Malkor’s eyes twitches. He squeezes them closed, clenching his jaw with a curled lip in attempt to keep his mouth shut. It doesn’t work.

Malkor: Where I am now?

Malkor: You mean here? Surrounded by people hate me! You’ve ruined everything I’ve worked for!

Castalia: Fuck you! You’re alive, aren’t you? I am literally the only reason you can even say that!

Malkor: Oh wow, you’re so helpful. I would’ve been fine without your help!

Castalia: Oh, really now? How is your cult doing? And what about Markarth? That went well!

Malkor: Don’t you dare act as if that was my doing! I tried everything I could, you bitch!

Malkor utters faint gasp after the insult lurches from his lips. He immediately cuts off, biting his lip as his brows crease in regret.

Cass falls silent as she takes a step back. She shakes her head, averting a despairing gaze.

Malkor: Cass… I…

Castalia: Just stop it. Stop it for one second.

Her voice shakes, enticing Malkor’s jaw to clamp. He solemnly nods, silently.

Castalia: Why are you like this, Malkor? Always hiding your emotions through animosity. I know you care about me. Otherwise we wouldn’t be here.

A silence hangs as Castalia waits for a response. Malkor shifts his footing, the guilt flooding his mind makes his head too heavy to lift.

Malkor: I don’t know, Cass.

He shakes his head.

Malkor: Fine. Yes, I do care about you. Too much. But I also know what you’re after.

Castalia turns away. Malkor catches a flash of fury in her eyes and sighs.

Malkor: You’re not finished with Mephala, are you? Losing your powers wasn’t enough. You seek revenge. It’s why you’re after Null, isn’t it?

Castalia falls onto the bed and slumps over. She lets out a defeated sigh.

Castalia: Erinye said that realm has to power to do anything. I could actually kill her, a daedric lord.

Castalia: She stole my life away from me. She stole you from me. All I have to do is beat Erinye and use the souls in Null to claim that wish.

Malkor sighs yet again. She’s just as stubborn as him. He can’t blame her for seeking out this wish, but he knows what doing so will bring her.

Malkor: You can’t kill a daedric lord, Cass. And even so, you’re mortal now. There’s only one way a mortal can get to Null. Death.

The last word hangs on the edge of his tongue before he says it, as if it carried the load of her soul itself.

Castalia glares at him.

Castalia: Stop pretending like my life is the only thing stopping you, Malkor. Even if I didn’t go, you aren’t giving up. You said it yourself, you can’t kill a daedric lord. So why are you pretending Boethiah has been?

Malkor ogles Castalia’s prying eyes. She is expecting him to gasp or scream at her. But he won’t. To his own surprise, he’s not even angry. Boethiah’s state is no revelation, but for Cass to declare it to brazenly should elicit ire. Instead, a different feeling envelops him.

He calmy approaches her, exhausting a heavy sigh.

Malkor: Because it was the only chance we had. But Cass, I’m not pretending, okay?

He takes a seat beside her on the bed.

Malkor: I never saw a different outcome for me. I could either win this war or I could lose this war. I thought that was it.

Castalia listens silently as she bites her lower lip. A slight, nervous quiver overtakes her.

Malkor: But maybe not. Maybe… Well, maybe there’s a chance for you and me. But not if you sacrifice yourself for revenge.

Malkor gingerly places his hand against her back. She initially stiffens, surprised at his offered compassion, but then settles into it. The comfort feels uneasy, like a spider’s web that barely supports her weight. But also familiar, like the touch of wet sand against her bare feet.

Malkor: Please, Cass. You have to give this up.

Malkor: We both do.

To be continued…