(From: Chapter Three Act Seven: The Last Sermon (Part 3 of 3))

Olivia: Children. We are the children of the divines.

Olivia: There are those who seek the burden of a throne.

Olivia: There are those who wish to claim a destiny,

Olivia: And those who wish to escape one.

Olivia: But above all, one group has failed the most.

Olivia: Mankind.

 

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(From: Chapter Three Act Seven: The Last Sermon (Part 3 of 3))

Voice: I know you want to believe you can win this war by yourselves. But that frankly just isn't possible.

Voice: You will need help from those like me.

Taeyva: I'm sorry I'm late, Talen.

Taeyva: We have a war to fight.

The survivors of Riften have not yet been given the chance to mourn. Most have already started making their way back to Fort Dawnguard, marching alongside the carriages that was supposed to carry their supplies.

The last carriage is yet to depart.

Dawnguard: I think that's the rest.

Isran: Good.

Isran: We'll leave soon then.

It was a victory that did not feel like their own. To the survivors, it feels wasted. Their boots stain the snow with blood. A grim reminder of their comrades that used to walk besides them, the survivors found a place to stand and stayed.

Perhaps some satisfaction could have been found had they had won by their own strength, a bitter shard of tranquility to hold onto.

But this wasn't their victory.

That triumph belonged to another.

Taeyva: Lay low for the time being, okay?

Taeyva smiles as the werewolf nods it's head. The rest of his pack dashes away behind it, disappearing behind a hill and plumes of disturbed snow.

Taeyva: Hunt and play all you want; this land is ours.

Taeyva: But keep away from any more daedra, got it?

As Taeyva gives the command, the werewolf lets out a soft whimper, but huffs in agreement.

Talen watches as Taeyva giggles and rubs the snout of the beast in front of her. His stomach is in knots. How much does he owe her now? Weeks ago, Taeyva gave him a second chance in the vampire den; now, a few hours ago, she gave him the opportunity to keep it. 

In those few hours he has exhausted every position and posture he can try in attempts to feel comfortable. He's certainly rubbed off some hairs from his chin and his thumbs actually feel tired from twirling around one another. All he wants is to talk to her, but she hasn't given anyone the chance. 

Immediately after her speech, she ushered her wolves off the road and began treating their wounds and speaking with them. As if her sudden arrival wasn't strange enough.

Torund: You need to take it easy, lad.

Torund: She's almost done. You can talk soon.

Talen glances at Torund and lets out an alleviating sigh. When Taeyva started treating her wolves, Talen immediately tried to talk to her, only to be intercepted by the largest of the pack. As if that wasn't unnerving enough, he was started even more when that wolf shrunk down, transforming into the burly man before him. He introduced himself curtly, "I'm Torund. You can talk to Taeyva when she says you can." Then leaned against a tree and has not said a word until now.

Talen: Okay. I just... I feel indebted to her and I never thought I'd see her again. 

Torund groans loudly, causing Talen to twitch.

Torund: Yeah yeah yeah, I know, Talen. Hircine told us about what was going on here and when Taeyva learned it was you... well, she gave me an earful.

Talen shrinks back and rubs his head.

Talen: All good things, I hope?

Torund snorts.

Torund: Pfft. She said you were kind of annoying and stupidly naive. 

Talen's heart sinks. He sighs despondently and awkwardly adjusts his posture once again.

Talen: Oh... I see. That's uh... that's-

Torund: She also said you were brave.

Torund: She was not surprised when Hircine said you were fighting with the dawnguard, and against Molag Bal's daedra, no less.

Torund: Taeyva is not easy to read. But she respects you, Talen. That I know for sure.

Talen smiles faintly. 

Talen: I hope so.

Taeyva: Alright, they're off. 

Taeyva makes her way back. The snow crunches as it's crushed with each of her steps. She stops and glances at each of them, curiously.

Taeyva: Did I miss something important?

Torund shrugs casually and shakes his head.

Torund: Nah.

Talen, on the other hand, straightens up, suddenly speechless.

Taeyva: Talen? You okay?

Talen blinks heavily and steps forward. He opens his arms and wraps them around her.

Taeyva shrinks back for a moment with a soft gasp.

Taeyva: Wha- Talen?

He sniffs, taking in an unsteady breath...

...and then letting out a smooth one.

Talen: Thank you, Taeyva.

Taeyva relaxes her shoulders and smiles.

Taeyva: You're welcome, Talen.

Dennis can't believe what he is seeing. He still has trouble believing what just happened. 

Dennis: It can't be...

Dennis has been transfixed on Taeyva since she appeared. There's no mistaking her appearance. The dark, braided hair, vivid warpaint, and vibrant body art are unique enough, but it's those chains that confirm it. Dennis remembers them all too well. 

Lost in a memory, he does not hear Davey and Mike behind him.

Davey: Woah, Mike. Why are you soaking wet?

Mike trudges over to Davey, shivering slightly and wearing a forlorn frown.

Mike: I, uh... I grabbed Vorn's crossbow from the canal.

Davey sighs, nodding affirmatively.

Davey: I respect that. We'll be missing him for a while.

Mike: If I had hit that first shot maybe-

Davey: Hey.

Davey: Don't think like that. It'll only make things worse, believe me.

Davey catches Dennis out of the corner of his eye starting to march down the hill.

Davey: Dennis, I don't think they want to talk to you. I want to thank them too, believe me. But now is not the time.

Dennis doesn't falter at Davey's call, only giving a faint mumble in response.

Dennis: This is different.

Davey opens his mouth to respond but cuts himself off with a sigh. He shakes his head and returns to Mike as Dennis continues, as if in a trance.

Torund clenches his jaw. A low, frustrated growl escapes him.

Torund: Don't even think about talking to her, Vigil.

Grinding his teeth, Torund stomps over to Dennis.

Dennis: W-woah! Hey, what are y-

Torund: Shut up. You don't get to speak.

Dennis gulps.

Dennis: Look... I know we have our differences, but-

Torund: I said shut u-

Taeyva: Torund!

Taeyva: It's okay. Let him up.

Torund pauses for a moment, keeping his palm pressed against Dennis' chest. With an aggressive sigh, he pulls back and folds his arms. With a huff, he nods for Dennis to approach.

Dennis gulps. He cautiously inches forwards, darting his head back and forth from Taeyva to Torund, before settling uncomfortably between them.

Dennis: Taeyva. Um, hello. I don't know if you remember me-

Taeyva: I do. You're one the Vigil responsible for these chains.

Taeyva rattles the harness on her body with her hands.

Dennis nods.

Dennis: I never meant for that to happen to you. You were a child. I told Carcette that, but-

Taeyva cuts in, holding up her hand.

Taeyva: I remember what you said. Tell me what you want to say now.

Dennis gulps. He stares at the ground for a moment before facing Taeyva once more.

Dennis: I want to tell you that I'm on your side. When we took you, I didn't do the right thing. I want to make up for that.

There is a long silence after Dennis finishes. Talen turns to Taeyva.

Talen: Taeyva? What are you thinking?

She does not immediately respond, glaring deeply into Dennis' eyes. Before long, the animosity lifts and the corners of her mouth raise along with a tinge of hope.

Taeyva: I believe you.

Her smile then morphs back into a frown.

Taeyva: But I will never forgive you.

Whiterun Guard: Ugh... Gods...

Whiterun Guard: Why? Why did you...

Whiterun Guard: Why would you do this?

Malkor does not respond. He adjusts the grip on his long sword and takes a long, deep inhale. The smell of blood permeates his nostrils. Around him, machines tick and whir. A gust of steam blasts into the air with a fwish! The men of Whiterun hardly stood a chance. Their steel arrows dinged harmlessly against his metal automatons. Swords shattered their sturdy hulls as screams filled the air, cut short by swarms of arrows. 

The last guard struggled to flee, hampered by an arrow embedded in his leg. All it took was a swift kick to send him sprawling. As his chin cracked against stone, Malkor drew his sword. It seemed to vibrate in his hand, attempting to pull itself towards a kill. Malkor struggled to resist the temptation; it wasn't the sword that wanted to kill. He stayed his hand.

Malkor then opens his eyes.

Malkor: Sit up.

The man makes an audible gulp as he pulls himself into a sitting position. His eyes dart between Malkor and the hulking machines around him.

Whiterun Guard: Please just make it quick.

His voice shakes as much as his body. As his jaw quivers, his eyes open and close in fright.

Malkor: Now stand.

The guard pauses, his shaking subsiding momentarily. He forces himself to a kneel, nearly toppling over again from the wound in his leg.

Whiterun Guard: Huh? W-wha...

Malkor watches his bewilderment in silence. The guard continues to fumble over his words as he clambers to a stand.

Whiterun Guard: This is wrong... Oh, this evil... J-just kill me. Ju-

Malkor cuts in to stifle his irritating sputtering.

Malkor: I'm obviously not going to kill you.

The guard looks up.

Whiterun Guard: Y-you're not?

Malkor shakes his head, sternly.

Malkor: No. I need someone to get the survivors. Steward Avenicci will be the last one out. If you think any are missing, assume them dead. Understood?

The guard drops his arms and stumbles back. His eyes go wide and his jaw drops, speechless for the first time.

Whiterun Guard: Uh...

Malkor: I'll assume you understand. It's not difficult.

Malkor rolls his eyes and gestures to the gate behind him.

Malkor: You are free to...

The guard flees.

Malkor: ... go...

Rolling his eyes once more, Malkor faces the large, wooden gate to Whiterun. 

Malkor: Now...

Malkor: ...lets get this over with.

Castalia: By the fire of their champion, our lives will be snuffed.

Olivia: He comes for us now!

Castalia: To burn our cities, to slaughter our loved ones, and to destroy this world we call home!

Olivia: We are small and fragile! We are not worthy of being nurtured and cared for!

Castalia: Instead we will perish in fire!

 

*          *          *

 

 

 

 

 

 

Olivia's eyes open.

She stares at her surroundings, the city in burning ruin, the bodies incinerated as they fled through plumes of fire, the lives stolen by the snap of a dragon's jaw. Olivia is not shocked, she is not frightened. She saw it coming. She saw it all coming.

She remembers spending weeks preparing this sermon. Every moment devoted to the ink that bled onto the pages and every moment after spent memorizing them. She remembers Rorlund attempting to stop her. She remembers his fury and sense of betrayal. 

She remembers watching him be torn limb from limb.

She remembers it all because she was there the whole time. She just wasn't the one steering.

As the book tumbles to the floor, Olivia turns away. Vengeful loathing would be a fitting emotion for this circumstance, she thinks to herself. But that isn't what she feels. Olivia cannot even pinpoint a feeling. It's as if there is nothing there; she has her body back, but it's a hollow shell.

She descends the stairs and exits to the courtyard.

Frier: P-Priestess...

Olivia glances towards the familiar voice halfheartedly. Freir is pulling herself across the ground, struggling.

Frier: Was... this... you?

Her words are laced with accusation, asking a question Olivia cannot answer. Should she try? Perhaps allow the young disciple a brief respite before she ends. To do that though, Olivia will have to lie. If it's a question she already knows the answer to, lying will only crush her further.

Olivia hears a soft plop over the crackling of flames.

Frier's arms gave out. She's no longer breathing. No point thinking about it now.

She turns into the courtyard. The sounds of combat scratch her ears, but she does not turn to look.

The survivors will perish just as the rest of the city already has. Maybe she should get it over with an join them.

She can do so right now. After all,...

...all she has to do is stay still.

Gerruck: No!

Every thought in her head goes against her natural instinct as a sudden surge of adrenaline yanks her backwards. Olivia gapes at the gleaming, blood stained great sword that passes inches before her chest as she tumbles backwards through the air. 

Olivia: Huh!?

She crashes onto the stones. Her head starts to ring. She feels her heartbeat accelerate. Suddenly a panic consumes her. Every sense of emotion that felt missing fills her mind. She tries to vomit but can't even figure out how to breath. There's a scream growing in her lungs, threatening to burst out in a fury that has been sealed away for weeks. 

She wants to do it. She has to do it. She-

Gerruck: I said no.

The familiar voice tethers some self control to her. Olivia's breaths steady as she stares at the figure before her. The voice is comforting, but she can tell it's words are not for her.

Gerruck: She will live. Don't try to kill her again!

Gerruck extends his blade, pointing it at seemingly nothing.

Gerruck: This is still my body, monster. I'm in control!

Olivia: Gerruck...

He slings his sword over his back and faces her.

Olivia: Y-your eye... What happened?

He sternly shakes his head.

Gerruck: Not now. Not here.

Gerruck: Go to The Winking Skeever. I'll meet you when I'm done.

Gerruck: We have a lot to discuss.

 

To be continued...