Wherever you go, there you are - the_drunken_sailoress (2024)

Chapter 1: Prologue

Chapter Text

She grew up in Blacklight, in a tavern, with three father figures. One day, a wounded woman came in the tavern, barging in, holding a very small child. The woman was badly injured and looked like she'd been running from something for a long time. All she got to do was give the kid to the innkeeper and beg him to take care of her. After that, she dropped dead. The innkeeper, Endryn, a dunmer, kept that promise and raised Ravonna as if she were his own daughter, with the help of his mercenary brother (whenever he was at home), Teldryn, and the tavern's ex-pirate bard, Hjaldir. Hjaldir is an extraordinary bard and taught her many songs, how to play several instruments and how to tell tales that captivate the people. The two were close and always joking around that Hjaldir might just be her biological father. After all, he was a dark haired nord, just like her.

She wanted to become a bard and go to all of Tamriel's provinces and sing and have a journal full of funny and exciting stories to tell. However, if she were to travel the world, she had to learn to defend herself. So she learnt magic. At first with Teldryn, then at the guild of mages. It's almost like she had an affinity for magic, quickly becoming a better mage than the dunmer mercenary.

Unfortunately, her life was turned upside down when she came home one day to find her adoptive dad, Endryn, assassinated. It looked to be the work of the Dark Brotherhood. This sparked a strong hatred for assassins and especially, for people who send assassins after someone. It’s cowardly to send someone else to deal with your problems. So she went on a quest to avenge him. First, she had to master the school of destruction, because her new-found quest was much more dangerous than travelling the world as a bard. She now had to deal with assassins. So, she ventured to Vvardenfell to search for the ex-Telvanni wizard that she heard rumors about. It turned out to be a very nice dunmer lady who didn’t agree with the Telvanni principles and lifestyle at all. After some time, she was ready to go out into the world, having mastered the school of destruction and doing decently in enchanting (because there is no way she'll wear full armor. That's heavy and hinders her movement. Enchanted robes all the way).

First she searched all of Morrowind for anyone who would have wanted Endryn dead, and she knew exactly who to look for. He was a very kind mer, too kind, maybe. He lended money to people in need and gave one guy a pretty big sum that he never got to get back. He fled Blacklight right after the assassination. She ended up finding him at the border with Black Marsh. After she dealt with him, however, she wasn't satisfied. She wanted to stop, or at least try to stop the Dark Brotherhood from killing innocents. She didn't want anyone to go through what she did, so she set off to find and destroy the guild. Black Marsh turned out to be extremely weird and poisonous with loads of inaccessible areas. No Dark Brotherhood could be settled here unless they were all Argonians, which was not the case. So she went to Cyrodiil.

There, she researched everything she could about the Dark Brotherhood. She spent most of her time in libraries, looking for any information she could. She didn't find anything useful in books, but she did hear rumours of a Dark Brotherhood Sanctuary in Skyrim. Meanwhile, one night at an inn, she met a young man who offered to pay her to take him along on her adventures. Lucien Flavius was his name. He was bubbly and cheery and he also loved to sing. Not the best when it came to defending himself, but the company was nice. They quickly became friends. Feeling like they've known each other their entire lives. They were having fun, raiding goblin caves and robbing Ayelid ruins. All that fun was spoiled, however when they got caught in the middle of a Stormcloak-Imperial fight right at the Cryrodiil- Skyrim border.

But it's all good, they escaped execution with the involuntary help of Alduin. They escaped the big bad dragon and headed to Whiterun to warn the Jarl of the return of dragons. They didn't, however get there, because they encountered a giant and a group of warriors fighting it. Ravonna struck the giant with a huge lightning strike and it turns out that the Companions don't like or trust outsider mages very much. One thing led to the other and she challenged the meaner, more talkative twin, Vilkas, to a duel that ended with both of them arrested in jail. Farkas quickly bailed his brother out of jail (it helped that they were members of the well-respected Companions of Jorrvaskr), but no matter how much Lucien bargained with the guards, they wouldn't release Ravonna. So Lucien went on his own to warn the Jarl, while Ravonna got to know her cellmate, Inigo, a little better.

When the dragon attacked, the whole city of Whiterun felt it. Ravonna finally convinced Inigo to work together and escape and fight the dragon. She wasn't going to let another city be ruined by a dragon, even if she died in the process, she could at least have peace of mind that she tried. Helgen affected her very much and she felt extremely guilty that she wasn't able to fight that dragon then and there.

They managed to lure the dragon to the watchtower and did everything they could to fight it. When guards started dying and Lucien got injured pretty bad, Ravonna conjured a huge wall that surrounded her and the dragon, trapping the foul creature with her. She fought like she never had before, using every bit of energy and knowledge that she had. When she struck the final blow the wall crumbled and everyone nearby was able to witness the Dragonborn absorbing that dragon's soul.

With a new purpose in the world, and the threat of Apocalypse, she realized that she had a much bigger prophecy to fulfill than she ever would have thought.

Personality-wise, she is a jolly spirit, despite everything, doesn't like to think about stuff too much and plan ahead. A very 'live in the moment' person, she loves to sing and joke around. Her favourite past time activity is probably sharing tankards of mead, stories and songs with fellow travelers and with her fellowship. She holds grudges, unfortunately. The type to never forgive and never forget.

As for her companions, she's got herself quite the fellowship by the time the fic starts, which is when she first encounters the cultists sent by Miraak. She's got Lucien and Inigo, of course, but Rumarin joins them after they meet while grave-robbing. He is very funny and fits right in. Later on, Marcurio joins them too, adding even more banter and knowledge to the group.

As of where the story begins:
Ravonna and her fellowship have been adventuring in Skyrim for a while, robbing graves, getting drunk, becoming Sanguine's and Meridia's champions and forming unbreakable friendships between each other. They're already an established group of friends.
Ravonna has known she's Dragonborn for some time, she's had time to adjust to the idea, more or less.
Main-story-wise, the fic happens after Diplomatic Immunity. Delphine gets the documents that Ravonna and Rumarin (posing as a very posh and sophisticated couple) successfully stole from the embassy with no casualties, and she tells the fellowship that she will continue to search for more dragon tombs and anything she can find on the return of the dragons and Alduin. What they know is that Alduin is going to destroy the world and Ravonna's the only one that can stop him.
The story starts after they've spent some time in Winterhold, helping the College. While doing that, they found a mysterious chest with multiple rings. The investigation led them to the midden, where they conjured the pirate-demora (the one that is conjured if you put the rings on that dark hand) and helped him get unbound. They are now searching for the treasure that he promised them, when some masked freaks show up...

Chapter 2: The merry fellowship that is, perhaps, too merry, meets the cult

Chapter Text

The sun was rising, and the clouds and the sea were both painted in all the pretty morning colours. Of course, the sunrise meant nothing more than better lightning for Lucien. It’s not like it’s going to get warmer. It never gets warmer out here, he thought. He clutched his cold blanket in his hands, thinking that soon, they will be by the fire in a warm tavern with good music and even better food. A tavern with soft beds and even softer pillows and friendly, welcoming people who can’t wait to share their stories. A tavern where he can take a boiling hot shower and then dress himself in some fuzzy robes. However, this thought bubble of his was quickly popped by a loud voice, singing.

“Row Me Bully Boys Row!” It was Ravonna, who was jollier than usual. Her nose and cheeks were rosy and her eyes were sparkling. Her hair was a beautiful mess in the breeze and her makeup was all smeared around her eyes. She was sitting opposite Lucien, in the middle of the boat. They were so different. Lucien was wrapped in two blankets, one of them almost covering his head. He was hugging his knees and trying his best to stay warm. She was only wearing her robes, sitting in the lotus position and taking in the scenery, occasionally joking around with Inigo and Rumarin, smiling all the time. As cold as it was, she was starting to warm up here in Skyrim. Anywhere she looked, she couldn’t help but feel... nostalgic. As much as she loved Morrowind, she never truly felt like she belonged there, she never truly felt at home. Like she did here. Even here and now, on a small boat in the freezing waters of the Sea of Ghosts. “Do you guys know that song?”

“No, is it another song of the people of Morrowind?” asked Inigo, curious and eager to learn as always.

“Nah, this one is a shanty, my dear companions. This is another one that I learnt from Hjaldir.” She sighs, nostalgia settling in. “I learnt so much from that man. I owe him all of my knowledge in the art of speechcraft, in fact.”

“Really? He must have been really good, because I have no idea how you convinced me to do this.” Lucien said through chattering teeth.

“Need I remind you that it was you who was seeking adventure and ended up paying me to take you along?” Ravonna said with a big smile on her face.

“Wait, doesn’t that technically make him better than you in speechcraft?” said Rumarin, rowing a bit out of sync with Inigo.

“Why, yes. I guess it does!” Lucien said, his face lighting up a bit. He even straightened his back with pride a little. He still looked like a cocoon, but a proud, happy cocoon.

“Of course he is! He’s our smart little man!” Ravonna said, reaching out to ruffle Lucien’s hair.

“You’re jollier than usual. I mean, I know that the cold basically doesn’t affect you at all, but there must be a reason why you’re in such a good mood.”

“Aye.” She said in between giggles “That reason, it’s called wine, straight from the College stash. Here. It’ll warm you up.”

“Why didn’t I think of that? Although I’m not sure drinking at this hour is the greatest idea…”

“Look, it’s doing wonders for me! You’ll be fine as long as you don’t drink too much of it!”

“Oh, come on! When have I drank too much?”

“Oooh, never!” Ravonna said in a sarcastic tone “except that one time when-”

“AHEM! We don’t talk about that” Lucien quickly interrupts her.

“Oh I know what you mean, Ravonna. Please, I’m trying to forget that night ever happened. And the morning after. And the morning after that!” adds Inigo.

“You guys remember that night? I literally blacked out. I think I forgot everything that night. Even my name... And, to clarify, I’m Rumarin, so I do know my name now.”

“I’m proud of you” said Ravonna, touching his shoulder. He winks at her. “At least we got the best Staff in Tamriel.”

“That we did. And it looks so cool, goes really well with me sulking in the corner of a tavern. Dark, mysterious high elf with a giant rose…”

“Oh, please, you never sulk in a corner. Last week I barely got you to stop dancing on the table at ‘The Frozen Hearth’.” Lucien tells him.

“So tell us more about this nord.”

“Well, Inigo, it’s actually quite a funny story. Hjaldir turned out to be a runaway pirate. He ran away from his crew because he got tired of getting seasick and stealing from innocent people. So, one night, he just ran away. Decided to become a bard and make honest coin. Ended up at my dad’s tavern.”

“So he was a pirate?” Lucien asked, a bit shocked.

“Yes, that’s why he knew so many sailing songs. That’s how pirates pass the time at sea. I bet that dremora-pirate knew some great songs.”

“I always wanted to be a pirate.” Inigo said.

“Maybe one day you’ll have your own ship, not just this small boat.” Ravonna told him.

“Stolen boat, might I add” Lucien said in a sassy manner.

“That’s it, we’re technically pirates already.”

“No, you’re right, Rumarin. The only thing that’s missing is the songs.” Said Inigo, getting excited and rowing a bit too fast for Rumarin’s pace.

“Right, maybe a song would help us row in sync. Ravonna, you know what they say, sharing is caring. Would you share some sailing songs with us?”

“Of course! I was going to do it anyway.” She laughs. “This one’s really easy to learn. You can sing along if you want to.”

She took another sip of wine and cleared her throat, then she started singing:

I'll sing you a song, it's a song of the sea

Row, me bully boys, row

Oh, I'll sing you a song if you'll sing it with me

And it's row, me bully boys, row

And it's row, me bully boys, we're in a hurry, boys

We got a long way to go

And we'll sing and we'll dance and bid farewell to land

And it's row, me bully boys, row

After the first verses, Inigo began to sing along to the “Row, me bully boys row” line. Even Lucien was singing, clearly the wine was starting to have an effect on him. He even started to warm up. Rumarin was concentrating really hard on syncing his rowing with the song, but he couldn’t help but smile. Those idiots were actually sounding great! He was not used to this. He was always cast out, by the other altmer because he wasn’t feeling superior to other races. If anything he hated himself and his weird, exclusivist folks. He was also cast out by the other races because he was an altmer, and they always suspected him of being a Thalmor spy. But this bunch? They’re the best thing that’s happened to him. And just as Lucien was starting to physically warm up from the wine, Ravonna was warming up to the land of Skyrim and started to feel at home and Inigo was warming up to the idea that he’s not a terrible person and he’s got a second chance at life, just as that, Rumarin was warming up to all of them. He started to care deeply about them, and he could finally be himself without regretting it.

***

“Right! I reckon we might treat ourselves nice tonight with this!” Ravonna says, her cheeks hurting from smiling so much. She never thought she’d get the chance to search and find a treasure like this one. She thought that stuff only happened in stories and books.

“Are You kidding me? We could buy a whole tavern with this!” Rumarin says, tying a fancy bandana around his head. It’s one of the many, many trinkets they found along the coin in the treasure. And what a treasure it was! Almost sinking their dinghy.

“That’s not such a bad idea, actually. Who wouldn’t want to eat and drink at the Dragonborn’s tavern?” Lucien speaks with a bit of a lisp now.

“I suppose it isn’t. Huh.” She pauses for a moment. It really would be nice. In fact, it would be perfect. She can even see it: after their fair share of adventuring and saving the world, after every tavern is visited and serenated, they all settle down in their own tavern. She’d be the bard, just like she’d always wanted. It’s perfect, and yet so far away… “But first: I beat the sh*t out of Assduin! That’s what I’m here for.”

“Assduin?” Lucien barely able to ask, choking with laughter. He hasn’t laughed like that in a long time. Maybe he should drink wine more often.

“I think I’d make a good bartender.” Inigo says, finally turning to them from the treasure chest, wearing a cravat and a monocle. Making exaggerated gestures with a golden goblet, decorated with small emeralds and putting on his most fancy accent, “May I take your order, my lord?”

“Ah, yes. Give me some of your most exquisite wine. I am, after all, a mer with expensive taste.” Rumarin responds in the same fashion while Ravonna and Lucien are laughing so hard the boat’s shaking.

“Very well, My lord. Coming right up!” and, to everyone’s surprise, he actually finds a bottle of Gods-know-what and opens it.

“Wait, did you get that out of the chest?” Ravonna asks with a mixture of amazement and concern.

“Yes, my lady. Do not worry. It is very exquisite indeed!”

“We’ll see about that. I’m a wine expert, after all.”

“Rumarin, are you sure that’s drinkable? It’s been there for hundreds of years at least!”

“You know, Lucien, I have a philosophy in life. A few, actually. One, wine would never hurt me. Two, always try to drink something that resembles wine, but you have to smell it first. And three… cheers, mate!” and he quickly downs the so-called wine, much to Lucien’s horror.

“Did he just do that? Did you just do that?”

“I did.” He grins.

“Well how is it?” Ravonna asks.

“It’s… exquisite.”

“I wanna try that!”

“Me too!” Inigo says, already looking for more fancy goblets.

“Guys I don’t think we should – ”

“Luci, the dremora pirate says everything’s fine to use. I guess this includes the wine. Now give me that bottle!” Ravonna grabs the bottle taking a careful sip. “By the Gods!”

“Well I’m not going to drink it, just in case y’all get poisoned and need someone to save the day.”

“Uuh, guys?”

“It’s fine, really. I know a thing or two about brewing. The older the wine, the better, and the more expensive, I tell you. My father had this wine back at the tavern, almost two hundred years old! I used to sneak in and take a few sips.” Ravonna laughs.

“Guys?”

“You know what? You’re right. And it’s definitely wine. I know wine when I tase it, or smell it, believe me. And I’ve got another philosophy for you, Lucien.”

“Guys?!?”

“What?” they all turn to Inigo, in unison.

“Please tell me I’m not the only one seeing masked people all dressed the same waiting for us at shore.”

“sh*t, you’re right.”

“Are they with the dremora we just freed?”

“Doesn’t look like it. They don’t look very piratey to me.”

“We’ll just have to see. I ain’t sharing our treasure with anybody. I’m ready to fight. I got these robes enchanted to the max, and this wine gives me oomph!”

“Maybe we won’t have to fight them, Ravonna.” Lucien says, ever so nice and hopeful.

“We’ll see about that. Until then, however

Weigh-hay and up she rises

Weigh-hay and up she rises

Weigh-hay and up she rises

Early in the morning!”

“OH! I know this one!” Inigo says, joining in. Soon enough, Lucien joins in too, and much to everyone’s surprise, Rumarin does as well. It’s a pretty well-known song. Probably the most famous shanty.

***

“Should we even bother?”

“That’s them.”

“What? Impossible.”

“Look here. The magic map from the Black Books. It’s marked right there. It must be it.”

“So the false Dragonborn is in that dinghy? Pathetic.”

“Lord Miraak will have a laugh, and then he can be free. This is going to be easy.”

The merry fellowship has now arrived ashore, in very high spirits.

“Is that really what you’d do to the drunken sailor?” the cultists hear the woman say, laughing and trying to get up without making it obvious that she’s tipsy. She fails miserably, though, tripping on her oversized robes and almost falling face first in the sand.

“I meant to do that!” she approaches them, tucking her long black hair behind her ears in an attempt to look more presentable. “Good evening! To what do I owe the pleasure?” She says, realizing too late that is in fact, early morning, not evening.

“You there! Are you the one they call Dragonborn?”

“Who’s asking?”

“This can’t be right! This is insulting to the true Dragonborn!”

“The true – excuse me?!”

“The True Dragonborn comes... You are but his shadow, deceiver.”

“Who is this true Dragonborn, then?” Ravonna starts laughing.

“You cannot escape the truth. You cannot escape the True Dragonborn! When Lord Miraak appears all shall bear witness. None will stand to oppose him!” and with that, the three cultists attack her. Luckily, the fellowship isn’t too drunk to fight.

“Maybe this is all a misunderstanding – ” Ravonna says, casting a fireball to one of the cultists

“There are no misunderstandings! I’ve seen it! I’ve seen it all, and it’s glorious! Once Lord Miraak is free, he’s going to save us all. He will slaughter all the dragons.”

“Listen to me, I’ve killed dragons, absorbed their souls. Pretty sure that makes me Dragonborn.”

“Lies! Filthy lies!”

“You’re going to make me kill you, are you not?”

“Not if I kill you first! Miraak only wants your soul, so he can absorb it and be free. All we have to do is bring you to him dead or alive.” The cultist strikes Ravonna with a lightning spell, surprising her.

“Stop this nonsense!” she cries. That spell hurt her arm pretty badly.

***

The cultists put up a good fight. Unfortunately, it was to the death. It was as if they were controlled by a higher power, brainwashed. Thankfully, Ravonna and her companions went back to the College of Winterhold, as they were in desperate need of a good healer and some information regarding this ‘true Dragonborn’.

“I don’t get it. Nobody has heard of this Miraak, and yet he has a cult?”

“Seems like it. Maybe the people of Solstheim know of him?” Lucien tells Ravonna, who is leaning against a bookcase in the library, massaging her temples.

“The note said they came to Skyrim on The Northern Maiden. Maybe we should start there?”

“It’s something. We prepare for Solstheim then?”

“I think so. I mean it’s not like Skyrim will crumble without us for a while. Delphine’s still working on what we found at the Embassy. But I think Marcurio… He should stay here. He’s not fully healed yet.”

“It’s for the best. Crazy bastard. Who jumps right in front of a scary group of falmer? Only to get a dwemer artefact…”

“Marcurio does. He’s doing better, though. I just came from his chambers.”

“Of course he’s doing better. He seems to be in high spirits whenever Rumarin’s around.” Lucien says, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think?”

“Absolutely.”

“So I’m not the only one who noticed…” she says, laughing fondly.

“I’ll keep looking for more books on Solstheim and anything about Dragonborn. Wish me luck!”

“You don’t need luck, my little academic friend. I’ll join Inigo in the dining hall. I think the college will have to put up with us for a couple of days more until we have this all figured out.” She pats him on the shoulder and leaves him to his pile of books.

***

They did not, in fact, have a couple of days of peace and quiet to do research, as they hoped, because more cultists ambushed the college in the middle of the night. They just made it personal. Some students were almost killed in the process and a number of important artefacts were destroyed.

They were more in number and ruthless this time, striking first and asking questions later. In the aftermath of the attack stood Ravonna and Lucien in the Hall of Elements, in a crowd of panicked members of the College of Winterhold.

“They came after me. This could have been avoidable…”

“You had no way of knowing it was this serious, this cult.”

“We can’t stay here, Lucien. Who knows how many cultists are there? The sooner we stop this, the better.”

“I’ll go pack, then.”

“We leave in an hour. Tell the others.”

“Of course.”

“And Lucien?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For sticking with me through this mess.”

“I should be the one doing the thanking, Ravonna. I get to see a piece of Morrowind!”

She laughs. “I wish it were under different circ*mstances, my friend.”

“So do I, but we have to take everything as an opportunity and cherish the good parts.”

“Go. Before we get too emotional and sappy.” She playfully pushes him and he gives her a smile.

***

A soft knock on the door makes him sit up straighter. In comes the tall elf, with a plate full of snacks and a whole bottle of wine.

“There he is! Don’t worry, I didn’t come empty-handed.” Rumarin says as he sits on the edge of Marcurio’s bed, placing the plate on his lap.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t even worry about it… maybe hide the wine bottle, that one’s from a locked room in the basem*nt. Me and Ravonna decided to look around and found it. Couldn’t leave empty-handed from there, naturally.” He nonchalantly says and steals some of the food off the plate.

“So… has everyone calmed down?”

“More or less. But come on now, this is a college of mages. This can’t be the craziest thing that’s happened here. From Ravonna’s tales, this would have been just another Tirdas in Morrowind.”

Moments pass. Marcurio seems lost in thought: “You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?”

“Any moment now…”

“I should be there with you, I should – ”

“There’s no way. Your leg isn’t fully healed.”

“Looks like it’s going to take some time to do so.”

“Falmer poison is really something else, isn’t it?” Rumarin gently pats Marcurio’s knee. His hand lingers on it for a while, in silence. “I’ll make sure you can walk again properly. There has to be some sort of magical… magic that will heal you faster.”

“Oh this isn’t about me, you know; I’ll be fine. It’s sad that you won’t have Skyrim’s best sorcerer to save your ass in Solstheim.”

“Is that so?”

“Can’t complain too much. The ash would absolutely destroy my hair.”

“We wouldn’t want that to happen.” A chuckle escapes them both.

“But seriously, do not get yourself killed.”

“I could say the same to you! There’s… a lot of stairs in here.”

“Very funny. I’m going to be fine. You’re the ones going after an evil cult. Just… be careful.” He hesitates for a moment. ‘Come on, Marcurio, you have to tell him. This might be the last time you ever see him.’

“I’m a careful mer. I should… probably get ready and you should rest. Enjoy the wine.” He gets up and Marcurio can actually hear his own internal screaming, calling himself a coward.

“Wait!” he manages to say, so loud that it startles him. But Rumarin was almost gone. Hand on the doorknob, turned halfway. He must get up from this Gods-forsaken bed and reach out to him or he’ll go crazy. And so he does, but the leg fails him, or is doing him a favor, because he almost falls. Almost, because Rumarin catches him in his arms. So close. They’re so close. ‘sh*t. f*ck. What was I going to say. I’ve never seen his eyes so close. Oh, the things I’d let him do to me. sh*t. Focus, Marcurio. It’s time to say something because it’s getting awkward.’

“Whoa! Are you okay?”

“No – I mean yes! I – I –” he pauses for a minute. He feels his blood boil up. “I’m really mad at you, you know? It’s frustrating and – and unfair. I can’t do this!”

“What?”

“Shut up, just shut the f*ck up. I’m trying, and I’ve been trying to act normal as if nothing is happening, while screaming on the inside for far too long.” He resorts to punching his chest once, weakly, but opens his palm and lets his hand rest there. “You’re so damn ridiculous with your blade-binding, and your wine and cheese addiction, and your stupid jokes that have no reason to be this funny, and your stupid ‘makeup’ and your – your laugh, and smile, and hair, and big, muscular body, you’re so – AARGH! And all the time I just think about kissing you! And punching you at the same time!”

“By all means… Wait, are you serious?”

“What? You never thought I – you oblivious bastard. Why are you so Gods-damned dumb and lovable?”

“I’d like to think it’s part of my irresistible and charming personalit – ” he says, interrupted by Marcurio grabbing his face in both of his hands and kissing him hard, pulling him down. After a moment of shock he realizes just what is happening and deepens the kiss, closing his eyes and taking this all in, holding Marcurio’s waist tighter, pulling him in. ‘This is really happening, he was not joking. What’s that tingling feeling? Is this what falling in love feels like? By the Gods, why is he so short? I want to protect him and give him the best wine in the world. His hand is in my hair now, oh. Oh, f*ck this is so nice. I can’t handle this, I’m going to melt.’ After all those thoughts invaded his mind, Rumarin finally breaks the kiss, only to be kissed again not even a second after.

“Just come back alive, or I will kill you.” Marcurio says, his forehead resting against Rumarin’s, still pulling him down. It’s not the most comfortable position for Rumarin, but he won’t have it any other way. It makes him think, really. About all the ways he is going to kiss him as soon as he returns from Solstheim. Sweeping him off his feet, lifting him up, maybe put him on a small stool? Oh it would make Marcurio so angry and cute. Kissing him while sitting down, wrapping his arms around Marcurio’s waist. It’s nice, this hunching business, but maybe when he’s healed he could get on his tiptoes. Now that would be adorable.

“I’m the best bladebinder in Tamriel, babe. Don’t even worry about it.” Rumarin winks and receives another light punch to the chest. He could get used to this very easily.

“Pretty sure you’re the only bladebinder in Tamriel, darling.”

“Look at us using pet names literally five minutes into the relationship.” He says, stroking Marcurio’s cheek.

“Darling dickhe*d. I think it fits.”

“Tiny bastard.”

“Dumb giant.”

“Beautiful. Gorgeous, even.”

“That’s not – I –” but now it’s Rumarin’s turn to shut him up with a kiss.

***

It took some convincing, the captain was certainly tired and not willing to make the trip to Solstheim, but Ravonna and Lucien’s charms worked and now they’re on the ‘Northern Maiden’, waiting for her to come back from the market, pretending that the captain’s gaze is not, in fact, drilling holes through them. That man puts on a grim stare, but he was tormented by cultists, so it’s understandable.

After what feels like an eternity, they can finally spot Ravonna rushing to the ship with a giant fruit basket and as many bottles of mead as a mere human can carry.

“You finally made it. I was beginning to think you wanted to remain in Windhelm. It is, after all, your favourite city.” Rumarin says sarcastically, helping her up on board.

“Very funny. It’s ridiculous how hard it is to find someone who sells Solstheim maps. But worry not! I have one. Had to bargain with a mercenary for a while to get it, but here it is.”

“Thank the Gods. I wouldn’t want to get lost in that place.”

“You know, we can still get lost, even with a map. Remember the first time we were in Hjaalmarch?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me! I’d rather forget all about mudcrab-land.” He says, taking a fruit from the basket, only to be shocked by Ravonna slapping his hand away.

“No, no, no. These are for the crew. You know, for their troubles.”

“Please tell me the mead is for us then.”

“Of course!”

After they unpacked and gave the crew their basket, which nearly brought them to tears, Ravonna resorted to leaning on the ship’s margin.

“Well then, ‘False Dragonborn’” Rumarin says, “ready for another adventure that has nothing to do with beating Alduin?”

“Oh you have no idea. I shouldn’t be this excited, it’s just… I don’t know. It feels weirdly good to go back to Morrowind, even if it’s just a small island near Morrowind. And I just have this weird feeling that everything is going to be alright, crazy cultists and weird ‘True Dragonborn’ notwithstanding.”

Chapter 3: Solstheim, brainwashed people and pet scribs

Chapter Text

The trip was not too lengthy. Lucien got to read about 200 pages of a book, Rumarin only complained 50 times about the fact that he didn’t get a balanced meal with dessert, and Inigo and Ravonna chatted with the sailors. She was in a very good mood. She knows Solstheim’s not quite Morrowind and Raven Rock’s not quite Blacklight, but she can’t wait to see the ashy lands, the guars, the lanterns, maybe some giant mushrooms, the cute little houses and all the pretty, colorful rugs and flags that the dunmer surround themselves with. She always loved how dark elves managed to bring so much color and beauty wherever they went. She can’t wait to feel the taste of Trama Shrub tea. She watches over the horizon at the beautiful sunset and the land starts revealing itself slowly. The sight of Red Mountain slowly creeping in makes her smile, oddly enough. She can feel the nostalgia and happiness deep in her chest. It’s that feeling of returning to a favorite place after a long, long while. Too long, perhaps. Ever since she started the hunt for the Dark Brotherhood, she hasn’t been to Morrowind.

She’s so lost in thought that she only notices Rumarin has been sitting next to her when he starts speaking, his feet also dangling on the side of the small ship.

“So, we’re going to a nice tavern to eat the most expensive food tonight, right? I reckon we’ve earned it.”

“Oh!” Ravonna says, with a surprised tone “Absolutely we will. Believe me, the local cuisine is... well – it’s something” her voice slightly raised with that last word, like it’s a question as she slowly realizes that Rumarin - the pickiest eater she’s ever known - is probably going to hate everything about Solstheim. She knows the island is not among the wealthiest places in Morrowind, and Rumarin’s a high elf. He came from a very wealthy family of troubadours. They traveled a lot, yes, but the travelling conditions were always great. They had luxurious horse carriages and even a chef. What Ravonna doesn’t know is how much Rumarin would rather have this than any of that. No amount of luxury can beat the feeling that he is surrounded by folks who care about him.

“Better than nothing” he says with a small smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be alright as long as they have braided bread.”

“C’mon, you have to try the Spiced Root Cake! When I tell you nothing compares...hmm.”

“We’re almost there. Should probably get ready.” Lucien says, eager to explore everything. Bless his heart, he has been reading pretty much everything he could get his hands on about Raven Rock and Solstheim since the trip was planned. His backpack is heavy with books, but he’s still determined to find out more about this fascinating little island and tell Inigo all about it. It’s something in the way Inigo’s face lights up whenever Lucien wants to share knowledge with him that fills his heart with joy. He knows Inigo has had a hard life, and he’s set this personal quest of his to make Inigo as happy as he can. But he’s as scared as he is excited. His heart skips a beat when the ship arrives in port. Those cultists looked scary, and already, Miraak seems terrifying. “Thank you for taking us here.” He tells Captain Gjalund, who nods at him.

Stepping on the dock, Ravonna takes in a deep breath and then starts coughing immediately.

“Yep, smells like home. Ah, I even missed the ash!” she says, as her companions exchange amused and confused looks. “But worry not! This area seems pretty safe of ash storms. Red Mountain is far enough.”

Immediately they are approached by a dunmer wearing fine clothes.

"I don't recognize you, so I'll assume this is your first visit to Raven Rock, outlander. State your intentions."

“I'm looking for Miraak. Do you know him?” Ravonna says, trying not to sound too excited.

“Miraak... I... I'm... I'm not sure that I do." He sounds troubled. There’s a moment of silence as he seems to concentrate on remembering whoever this Miraak is. At last, he responds – “Just remember, Raven Rock is sovereign territory of House Redoran. This is Morrowind, not Skyrim. While you're here you will be expected to abide by our laws. Any questions?”

She rolls her eyes at the assumption that she’s from Skyrim, just because she’s a nord, but ultimately decides not to start an argument. This guy seems important.

“Who are you?”

“I am Adril Arano, second councilor.”

“Oh... It’s nice to meet you!” she says awkwardly.

“Your flatteries will get you nowhere, outlander. Now, do you have other questions?”

“Do you know who Miraak is?”

"I... I'm unsure. I swear I know the name, but I cannot place it."

“Can you tell me anything about him then?”

"I don't think so. I'm not... The name has something to do with the Earth Stone, I think. But I'm not sure what."

“Right, the Earth Stone...” she says, obviously confused. That’s where Lucien steps in.

“It’s one of the All-Maker stones. Six in total, scattered throughout the island. I’ve read about those. I think it’s that one over there” he points to a stone behind Ravonna. The darkness makes it hard to see, but that is definitely a green light going up in the sky.

“By Sheogorath’s madness... now that’s something” she says, almost at a loss of words.

“These are dark times for the people of Raven Rock” Adril says in a low voice, looking around as if he’s telling her the world’s most hidden secrets. “If I were you, I’d board the ship and go straight back to Skyrim. Whatever’s going on there, it’s better than this.” He sounds desperate, and only now does Ravonna manage to see the bags under his eyes. But before she can think about it too much she sees her companions ahead, looking at the surroundings amazed. Only Lucien has waited for her with a worried look on his face.

“Something’s definitely going on here. Something dark, I think. Fascinating, but dark.” He says as Ravonna catches up to him.

“I don’t know, I just have this feeling that we’re going to be alright. We’ve seen magic before. The College of Winterhold has those lights going up in the sky. Only they aren’t green. And Miraak? Maybe he’s just some poser, desperate for attention. Come on, we’ve dealt with worse than a cult leader.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right. I’m probably overanalyzing things. But how does he know about the dragonborn? And how does he know it’s you?”

“I guess the words go around Tamriel faster than we thought.” She gives him a reassuring smile. “We’ll check on this stone tomorrow. In the meantime, let’s find that local tavern and have some Sujamma or Flin.”

“Did you know that Flin is actually Cyrodilic brandy?”

“Don’t ruin Flin for me” she squints her eyes at him and starts powerwalking towards Rumarin and Inigo, not before taking Lucien’s hand and dragging him along with her. She has a funny way of showing him she’s not actually mad and he’s actually right. It’s just that the dunmer are a petty people.

“By the twin moons...” is all that Inigo could mutter at the time. It was a very pretty sight. The sun had already set, and the small town was surrounded by pretty lanterns. The steps of the temple were full of candles on each side and the market was a sight to see. Ravonna felt a smile forming at the corners of her mouth as she stepped into the market, seeing a small, domesticated netch was floating next to a stall. The smile turned into a grin when she saw the giant mudcrab on the tavern and a sign ‘The Retching Netch’. The market, however, seemed empty. Just a few inhabitants wandering around. Just as they were about to head inside the tavern, the door swings open. A guy wearing blacksmith clothes comes out.

“Oh, I am in your way. I am sorry!” Inigo says

“The master calls” he responds, absentmindedly.

“Excuse me?” asks Rumarin, still not getting out of the doorframe.

“The idle mind sleeps” His voice sounds lifeless and monotonic.

“Oookay then, whatever you say” Rumarin responds, thinking the guy is insane and exchanging looks with Inigo.

“He draws near” says a lady behind the blacksmith. That same dreary tone in her voice.

“I am his hands” continues the blacksmith.

“What?” Ravonna asks, feeling uncomfortable.

“He draws near” The lady responds. “I am his hands”.

“I wouldn’t try too much. It’s all they say, every night after the sun sets.” The guard patrolling the area says. “It’s some sort of curse. A trance, if you will, that some of our inhabitants fall into. It’s been a few weeks now, and every night they gather to that damned stone, building some sort of shrine.”

“Why?”

“I’ll be damned if I know. I think that stone is messing with their minds. Or maybe it’s something else. There’s a he that they keep mentioning, a master. I wouldn’t advise on going too close to that wicked thing. It even affected some of my colleagues.”

As the conversation continues, Lucien spots others, all going towards the shrine.

“Hey, maybe we shouldn’t go there. You heard what the guard said. Right, Ravonna?”

“I’m definitely going to see what’s happening. You don’t have to go. Go to the tavern, I’ll be right with you.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t do this alone.” Rumarin says. “You know, in case you start reciting absurd poetry.”

“Right. But I don’t think it’ll affect me. It hasn’t so far.”

“I’ll come with you. I’d much rather be brainwashed than having to deal with brainwashed friends. Might as well get hypnotized by a giant rock together. Who knows, maybe it’s going to be the perfect bonding opportunity!” He starts shouting that last sentence, because Ravonna is already approaching the stone at a fast pace.

“Ok, but if you’re not back in an hour, we’re coming. I really don’t like this.” Lucien says.

“Don’t worry. We’ll be back in a jiffy”. Rumarin said, running to catch up with Ravonna, but she’s already almost there.

“Here in his shrine” says a lady carrying a big piece of stone.

“What?” Ravonna asks.

“That they have forgotten”

Ravonna steps closer to the shrine. Several inhabitants seem to be working on it, building arches around it. The stone is glowing with a green light.

“Here do we toil” a dunmer says, never looking up from the stone.

“That we might remember” another one continues.

“What in Oblivion is going on in here?” she whispers, feeling a bit overwhelmed. She looks at Rumarin, who seems just as worried as her, furrowing his thick brows.

“Far from ourselves.” A guard continues.

“He grows ever nearer to us”

“Our eyes once were blinded”

“Now through him do we see”

“Who are you talking about? Who is he?” Ravonna asks.

“Our hands once were idle” another one says, and Ravonna feels like she’s losing her mind.

“Now through them does he speak”

“And when the world shall listen”

“And when the world shall see”

“And when the world remembers”

“That world will cease to be” says another dunmer, sending a chill down Ravonna’s spine as the poem ends.

"You there... You don't seem to be in quite the same state as the others here. Very interesting. May I ask what it is you're doing here?" a dunmer asks her, his voice sounding quite irritating, but it’s a breath of fresh air compared to the lifeless chanting the workers started again.

She turns to look at him and immediately sees the Telvanni robes he’s wearing and thinks to herself that the problem is serious if a Telvanni bothered himself to show up.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?”

"You may call me Master Neloth. It's true that I normally prefer to stay home and conduct my research in peace. Everything's so much more convenient there. But, given that something seems to be taking control of the minds of all the inhabitants, I thought it worth investigating."

"So your first name is Master? That's weird." Rumarin says, earning a punch to the shoulder and a look from Ravonna.

“What are these people doing?”

“Building something, clearly. And yet they don't seem to have much to say about it. I'm very interested to find out what happens when they finish.”

“Have you tried to stop this?”

“Certainly not! Doing so would interfere with whatever is going on, and I would be unable to see how this all turns out. What brings you to Raven Rock?” he says, before Ravonna can protest.

“I’m looking for someone named Miraak.”

“Miraak... Miraak... It sounds familiar but I can’t quite place... Oh. Wait. I recall. But that makes very little sense. Miraak's been dead for thousands of years.”

“What? What does that even mean? How – ”

“I'm not sure, but it is fascinating, isn't it? Perhaps it has some relation to what's going on here. Quite unexpected. I'm afraid I can't give you any answers. But there are ruins of an ancient temple of Miraak's toward the center of the island. If I were you, I'd look there.”

A moment passes as Ravonna idly nods to the information given. “Do you think they are in pain?”

“I don’t see anything that would indicate that, no. But what they are is useless, to me. There’s one forsaken thing outside Tel Mithryn, my home...”

“Maybe all of the All-Maker stones have this effect on some people.”

“Certainly! You...” He steps closer to her, examining her, staring through her very soul. But she doesn’t let herself be intimidated by him. She’s dealt with Telvannis before. She’s immune to any rude, racist, or arrogant remark, so she stands a bit straighter and stares right back at him. “You’re different. There’s... something about you and I can’t quite put my finger on it. Come find me in my home. We may have work to do” he says as he leaves, not even letting her respond. She wasn’t going to respond anyway. All that she manages is a smug grin as the wizard’s shoulder brushes hers when he passes by.

“What if I try to touch it? Let’s see what happens” Rumarin finally speaks up. He’s been totally mesmerized by the shrine and the way it’s glowing with a green light, and it turns out that he hasn’t paid attention to the wizard at all.

“Absolutely not!”

“But it’s so… shiny” he says, as Ravonna grabs his arm and starts dragging him back towards the tavern. He’s much heavier than Lucien, but he lets himself get dragged, feeling a bit lightheaded by the sudden realization that she cares about him. It’s still hard for him to comprehend and accept the fact that these people care about him and accept him for who he is. He wonders if Marcurio is thinking about him, if he will still feel the same after they return to Skyrim. Somehow the worries that they’ll abandon him creep up again and he stops dead in his tracks. Ravonna was going at a relatively fast pace, and the sudden stop makes her bump into him.

“What’s wrong?”

“I just – I –”

“Hey. I know it’s a lot to take in, but we’re in this together. All of us. And it can’t affect us all. It didn’t affect us.”

“Good. Because if something were to happen to you, then I’d have to avenge you, which would be quite a hassle with this Miraak guy.”

“Aww, you’d avenge me?” Ravonna says, still holding on to his arm, swinging it a bit in a playful, but sweet manner.

“I mean I would try.”

“I’d avenge you, too. In a heartbeat."

“I’ll drink to that! Now, let’s get that Spliced Root Cake, shall we?"

***

The tavern is friendly. Quite some people are in there, but not too many. Ravonna is greeted with the smell of Sujamma and freshly baked bread. The sound of a lute and a drum, dancing with each other beautifully, completing each other, fills the room. She feels the eyes of the townsfolk on her as she goes down the steps and into the main area. She spots Lucien and Inigo at a table and starts walking towards them. The concern in their looks disappears entirely as she and Rumarin make their way there. Lucien gets up, and starts to walk towards them, almost tripping.

“Guys! Are you ok?”

“Yeah. Told you.” Ravonna says and she goes straight to the bar.

“Welcome to the Retching Netch Cornerclub, home of the finest sujamma that will ever grace your lips.” Says the dark elf behind the counter.

“Just what I wanted to hear! Pour me one in the biggest mug you’ve got!” Ravonna feels her cheeks starting to hurt from smiling so much. She all but buries her face in that mug, realizing how thirsty she’d been.

“This.” She points at the mug. “This is amazing. You weren’t lying about fine sujamma.”

“Thank you, outlander. It is a personal recipe.” The dunmer smiles at her. He seems nice and welcoming, which is just what the fellowship needed after all that.

She allows herself to relax for a moment, closing her eyes and taking it all in. They’re in Solstheim. They’re safe. They’re in a tavern. And it’s wonderful. All the good memories of hearing and telling tales, singing songs, cooking, drinking, coming home, they all come to her at once. Coming home. Blacklight. It wasn’t even home. Home is here. Home is everywhere she goes as long as she has peace of mind and her companions. Her dear companions, who have apparently relaxed as well. She can hear them. Lucien is talking with conviction about how the dunmer are making their sujamma, and he’s surprisingly very on point. He nailed the process down to the finest details. She can hear Rumarin cracking jokes in his sarcastic-but-affectionate tone. She can hear Inigo humming slowly to the melody that the bards are singing. The bards. The melody. The melody!! They’re singing the Red Mountain drinking song!

“Oh, now that is a good song!” She quickly gets up from the counter after taking another generous swig. Slight regret makes its presence felt, because now she realizes that drinking so passionately before eating was not the wisest of ideas. She can feel her vision starting to blur from getting up too quickly. As she turns around, she expects to feel the cold floor, along with the awkwardness and shame of falling, but instead, she can feel a firm chest against her face and an arm around her waist, holding her in place. She quickly looks at her mug. Still intact, thank the Gods. But seeing her companions at the table, all looking at her, trying not to laugh, she realizes that the man is not, in fact, one of them. Her face starts to burn with embarrassment. She refuses to look up at him for a moment.

“Well, I’ll be damned, miss. Haven’t seen this much excitement in this tavern before!” his voice rasp and weirdly melodious, with lots of inflections. He laughs, loud and genuine. And that’s when it hits her. Her eyes open wide as she freezes for a moment, taking this all in. It can’t possibly be him. Maybe she’s just too wishful, never losing her hope that he might be alive and that she would see him again one day. Small tears start forming at the corners of her eyes. Before she knows it, her other hand - the one that isn’t gripping tight on the Sujamma mug – is holding on to him for dear life, hugging him. ‘Please, be him', she thinks. There was only one way to find out.

“Everything alright, miss?” he says, and still, she can’t bring herself to look at him. Afraid that it’s just her sick imagination.

“Teldryn?” is all that she can say.

“How do you know –”

And that’s all the confirmation she needs to look up.

“By Azura! Ravonna?”

“Hi.” She says, her voice barely a whisper as a few tears fall down her cheeks.

“Gods, I thought you were...” he can’t even continue the sentence. Right now, he’s too busy hugging and squeezing the life out of her.

“Not yet” she laughs and hugs him just as tightly.

“Oh, how much you’ve grown” he says, breaking the hug to look at her. “Look at you! A beautiful, strong nord woman indeed, just as I predicted.” He laughs again.

“I missed you so much!”

“Likewise. How have you been?”

“Busy.” She pauses for a second, not knowing where to even start.

“Well, we have all night.” He said with a soft smile.

“Everything all right?” Lucien asks, as if he knew this was his cue.

“Yes! Everything’s great. Lucien, this is Teldryn." She excitedly turns to Teldryn, “You must meet my companions!”

“Oh! So you know each other.”

“Oh, you have no idea! I know this one ever since she was but a baby. Loudest damned baby I’ve ever seen. But she was as loud as she was adorable.”

“Teldryn's my adoptive dad's brother. "

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir!” he says, shaking his hand. Fascinated and excited to finally meet someone from Ravonna’s past.

“No need to call me sir, boy!” he says, smiling softly at this thin, short, and eager young man.

“Sorry, sir – I mean Teldryn!”

“I like him” he says, turning to Ravonna.

“I’m quite fond of him, too. He’s been with me the longest. Come on, let’s meet the others.”

He instantly knows what kind of a person Lucien is. Teldryn has always been good at reading people. And this gentle, kind looking fellow? He’s absolutely perfect to be in Ravonna’s crew. He knows Lucien has been there for her in her hardest moments, calming her down and reminding her not to be too harsh on herself. He can see it in the way they look at each other that they’ve both seen the other at their worst and at their best. He knows Ravonna would protect him at all costs, and he knows Lucien would do anything to keep Ravonna calm and never let her vengeful side get the best of her. This little guy is the heart and soul of the company.

By the time he got to the table, Rumarin had already dragged a chair for him. And then they drank, ate, and drank some more. They talked so much that Teldryn stopped feeling like a stranger to them. It was getting especially interesting when he started telling them all about Ravonna’s embarrassing, but funny stories from the past. It was all so good, that Ravonna starts to feel a bit guilty. She is the Dragonborn, for Gods’ sake! Bound by destiny to save everyone from the World-Eater. And now there’s this mysterious Miraak guy who controls the minds of the people on Solstheim and wants her dead. And despite all this, she is having the time of her life, drinking her 6^th Sujamma bottle and reminiscing about how she conjured her first flame atronach and managed to burn a whole ash yam garden, and then used illusion spells to make it seem like nothing happened.

“What?! I can’t believe that worked.” Says Rumarin, impressed.

“It did, for about two days. The lady thought the whole city was haunted when she tried to pick up the ghost-ash yams!”

“I still cannot believe you did that. Although it wasn’t the most righteous thing to do, I was so damned proud. That – that was the moment I knew you were going to become a better mage than I.” Teldryn says.

“What was I supposed to do? You know Unille is crazy! If she found out it was me, she would have... I don’t know turned me into a scrib or something.”

“Riiight...except she didn’t do any magic.”

“She would have paid some wizard to do it. I just know it.”

“Speaking of scribs...” Teldryn says, a very amused tone in his voice tells Ravonna all she needs to know.

“No! Absolutely not. You’re not telling them the story with the scrib!”

“What story?”

“I wanna hear the one with the scrib!”

“This is about to get interesting!”

Ravonna frowns at her companions, who have never been more excited. It’s like they thrive off of her embarrassment, but they think it’s so endearing, and she kind of knows that. So she just settles for an eyeroll and orders another round of Sujamma.

“She was about 16 at the time. And for some reason, she was still afraid of scribs!” Teldryn said with laughter bubbling up in his throat.

“It wasn't fear, they are disgusting!”

“Anyway, she had gone to take a shower, and met a very nice-looking scrib out there, if you ask me. He was a big boy.”

“He had NO PLACE in the women's washroom!” she said, defensive, but smiling nonetheless as her companions started laughing.

“Fair enough. So she screams her lungs out, takes the entire shower curtain with her to cover herself and comes in the tavern’s main area, running and splashing water from her hair everywhere. Safe to say that every client was startled. Some amused, others terrified. She all but climbed on her father, urging him to go and deal with it. Even though she was becoming a pretty powerful mage, if you ask me.”

“I didn't wish to kill him. He was disgusting, yes, but that doesn't mean he deserved to die.”

“And it's a good thing she didn't kill him. As it turns out, he was some mercenary's pet. Apparently, they are very loving animals!”

“Who keeps a scrib as a pet? I tell you, it’s just this guy and he even gave him a name! I can’t even bring myself to say his name…”

“Well I don’t give a f*ck. His name was Mikael, if I recall correctly.”

“f*cking Mikael!” Ravonna says full of spite.

“Wait the scrib had a name?” asks Lucien, wondering how has he never thought about scribs as pets before.

“Yeah! I remember the scrib, but I sure as Oblivion don't remember the mercenary!” Ravonna says as everyone laughs.

Hours pass, but it feels like mere minutes, and they all know they have to get to bed. Teldryn’s been told about the whole situation, and he still can’t believe that Ravonna is the Dragonborn. Pride mixed with worry fills up his soul, but her whole attitude about it puts him at ease. Oh, she’s always had this way of going through life, never taking it too seriously and straight up refusing to think too much about things. For this, he’s always admired her. So he goes back to his usual room hopeful. Her words still resonating: ‘I just have this feeling that everything will be fine. We’ll deal with it.’

Ravonna feels her head spinning as she drops down on her bed, giggling. Yep, Netch leather beds. Feels like childhood. As she shifts under the covers and blows out the burning candle on the nightstand, she feels her heavy eyelids closing. It’s been a day, lots of emotions and a bit too much Sujamma, maybe. Falling asleep should be as easy as saying ‘Miraak’, right?

Right. But unfortunately, just as she falls asleep, she can hear it. His voice, loud and deep in her head.

“Here in my shrine

Here in my temple…”

Chapter 4: Stressful times and sleepless nights

Chapter Text

Without realizing, she gets up from her bed and starts walking. She’s caught in a trance, and she doesn’t even try to fight it. It feels... easy. Almost natural. She leaves the tavern with nothing but the robes she sleeps in.

The road to the temple is not an easy one, and it may be full of surprises and things that want you dead, but Ravonna’s eyes are fixated ahead, her gaze lifeless, just like everyone under Miraak’s influence. Her walk, just as lifeless. She moves like a marionette, with weird and unnatural mannerisms. The path she walks leads her to a small reaver camp, but against all odds, she slaughters everyone, scaring the life out of them first. She doesn’t even look at them when she strikes them. When the deed is done, she hasn’t even got a scratch, even though she just fought six armed reavers, only using spells and shouts. She had nothing else. When she finally arrives at the temple, stumbling through so many dragon skeletons and hypnotized folks, she starts to walk faster, being attracted like a magnet to the tree stone. Ignoring everything in her trance, she puts her hand ahead and touches the stone.

The moment she touches the tree stone is the moment she starts to feel something. She quickly gains consciousness and it’s awful. Her vision is blurry and darkened. She looks at where her hands are supposed to be and sees them, green with black veins that look more like tentacles, very blurry and just for a second. It’s like consciousness comes and goes, quickly, like a pulse.

“I thought your will was stronger than this, Dovakiin.” Miraak’s voice resonates in her head. “I know you’re Dragonborn, just like myself. I heard the Greybeards calling for you deep in my core. I could feel it the moment you stepped foot on the island. Big mistake. For you. Great opportunity for me. Your presence, it gives me power. I’m draining you. And it’s only a matter of time before I return to my full power and be master of my own fate agai-”

She wakes up as she hits the ground. A very concerned Inigo lays right beside her.

“By the twin moons I thought I could never tear you away from that stone!” he says, “Did you not hear us at all?”

Looking up, she can barely see the silhouettes of her companions, the sun is shining so bright in the sky she can barely stand it. She just groans and covers her eyes.

“Hey, are you alright? Are you hurt?” Lucien’s voice is gentle, calming.

“I – he spoke to me! I’m going back there.”

“Absolutely not! Calm down, let’s talk about this.”

“It’s Miraak. He was… in my mind.” She says, rubbing her eyes. “Where in Oblivion are we?” she looks up, seeing the enormous temple and the dragon bones and skeletons scattered everywhere. That poem resonating everywhere from the hundreds of people building around the temple. The sight is overwhelming. “His power… it’s stronger here. I can feel it.” She groans again.

“Let’s just go back to Raven Rock and do some research. We can’t dive right in there with no information.” Lucien speaks out.

“I’m going in there and killing that bastard!” Teldryn says, full of rage.

“I know where we have to go. The Telvanni. He was the only one that knew who Miraak is.”

“Do we even know where he lives?”

“He marked his home on my map.”

“But… how is that even possible. I was there with you, he didn’t touch that map.” Rumarin says, tilting his head in confusion.

“He’s a Telvanni. I’d be disappointed if he didn’t do a weird trick like that. Let’s go.”

“But you didn’t have breakfast!”

“Well, Teldryn. Does it look like I can get breakfast anywhere near? Let me just go in there and have nice breakfast with Miraak. Maybe a tea party as well, while we’re at it!" She sighs, trying to calm down. She got too angry and he meant well. "Come on, It’s not too far.”

“What would you do without me and my miraculous snack bag?” Inigo says, offering a bun to Ravonna.

“We’d be starving. Literally. Thank you.”

***

“And you’re saying that you had no control over your body? Fascinating…” Neloth says, examining her with his eyes from head to toe.

Ravonna sits in a chair, holding to a mug of Canis Root tea, still a bit shaken by it all, but the environment of Tel Mythrin makes her feel better. It’s been years since she’s been in one of those giant mushrooms. She fondly remembers training with Narellya, going to her tower in a time of need and desperation and leaving there a changed woman. She had no idea how many things you can do with magic if you have ambition and creativity, but now she knows, and it's all thanks to the ex-Telvanni woman. Lucien is absolutely flabbergasted by it all, while Teldryn’s not impressed. He’s seen this all his life. Rumarin and Inigo, however decided they’re ‘not going anywhere near that floating device-thing’, resorting to wait outside.

“I have no recollection of going to the temple.”

“Fascinating indeed.”

“We also found this on one of the cultists, back in Skyrim. Lucien?”

Lucien tears his eyes away from the library. “Yes? Yes! Coming right up.” He gives Master Neloth the map eagerly.

“By the nine! What are those inscriptions?” asks Talvas, staring at the map from behind Neloth.

“I’ve seen these before. It appears to be the same as the inscriptions on the pages of the Black Books.” Neloth says, ripping the map from Lucien’s hands and rushing to his designated office. The rest of them follow him. In there, on the Staff Enchanter was one of these black books.

“What is that?” Teldryn asks, truly feeling overwhelmed by the situation.

“Daedric artefacts. Created by Hermaeus Mora himself.”

“Holy sh*t!” Lucien gasps. It’s not often that he uses this sort of language, but this is truly remarkable. The God of Knowledge himself is involved in this. Despite the danger and the mind control, he can’t help but feel excited.

“Take it easy, kid.” Teldryn pats him on his shoulder.

“Well, what does this have to do with anything then?”

“Nords. Ever so impatient.”

“Oh I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that I want to put an end to this as soon as possible. Look, I can’t go back to sleep. Not when sh*t like this keeps happening! If this is what all those brainwashed people feel… we need to stop this.” She gets angry for the second time that day, and it’s only noon.

“Ravonna, you need to rest.” Teldryn says “You don’t look so good.”

“We may have to enter this Temple of Miraak’s. Perhaps he’s hiding there.” The Telvanni Wizard added.

“I’m not going near that thing again! That magic surrounding it, it almost drew me in too!” Teldryn says.

“I felt it too.” Lucien says.

“Maybe I can work on a spell for that. I may need some ingredients. Talvas! Come here.” Neloth says, Rushing to his alchemy room. “Do we have any heart stones? And nirnroot.”

“We can get the ingredients for you, sera.” Teldryn says.

“Very well. See, Talvas? It’s not so hard to be useful! I shall make a list. As for your Dragonborn friend, I may have a spell to make her sleep.”

“Where is Ravonna?”

***

The last thing she remembers is opening the books and tentacles, pulling her in. Her vision is blurry, but she hears his voice again.

“The time comes soon when – What?” Miraak turns towards her, surprised and a bit offended by the interruption. Surrounded by Seekers of Knowledge, corrupted by Hermaeus Mora and three dragons, it looks like Ravonna interrupted an important meeting.

“I uhh. This is uuh. sh*t.” Is all she manages to say before casting a ward, barely shielding herself from Miraak’s lightning spell.

“Another mage, I see.”

“Look, this has been but a miscalculation on my side, I had no idea that opening that damned book would teleport me right in the middle of this… thing.”

“Well” Miraak says, looking at the powerful lighting spell building up in his hand, “lucky me. I didn’t think we’d meet so soon.”

Ravonna laughs nervously. “Neither did I, to be completely honest.”

“Seize her.” He said to the seekers, and turned his back to her.

“No, NO!” she conjured two storm atronachs and a big magical wall to separate herself from everything. ‘There has to be some way out. I can’t face him, not like this.’ She thinks to herself and suddenly feels exhausted. The dreadful realization that she is still in her sleeping robes makes her blood boil. Why did she have to open that book?

Fighting and conjuring her way through Apocrypha, Ravonna finally managed to find a floating black book. She jumped and caught it midair and opened it with no trace of hesitation. Wherever it would take her would be better than here. Thankfully, she was teleported back to Tel Mythrin, surrounded by a very concerned fellowship. Even Inigo and Rumarin were there.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Teldryn asks, helping her up.

“I saw him. He’s got an army of – of tentacle monsters! And his mask… looks like tentacles, but also like a dragon priest?”

“So he’s a dragon priest? Great, another one of those.” Rumarin says, with a hint of frustration in his usual sarcastic tone.

“Of course the first Dragonborn was a dragon priest! Why didn’t I think of that? I’ve been researching in the wrong places…”

“Don’t beat yourself too much over this, Lucien. He’s evil, he’s been terrorizing the whole island of Solstheim and he’s trying to kill Ravonna. I say if he bleeds, we can kill him.” Inigo adds.

“I will kill that bastard myself! Where is the damned book?” Teldryn growls.

“You may not want to do that.” Neloth’s voice can be heard loud among the protests and fighting that just erupted among the fellowship. “Black Books are… dangerous to the simple, normal folks. Myself included. The reason Ravonna seems to be mostly intact and still coherent might be her dragon soul. It might also be why Miraak survived in Hermaeus Mora’s realm for centuries without turning into a Seeker, or worse. Those tentacled monsters were once scholars, thirsty for knowledge. They were seduced by the Black Books, and then corrupted.”

Lucien felt a chill run down his spine, thinking about how he could have been one of those poor souls seeking knowledge in Apocrypha if the circ*mstances were different. Still, he feels knowledge call to him. It’s almost hard to resist. He takes a step back, swallowing hard. Locks eyes with Talvas. That look was enough to understand that he feels very much the same. It’s scary. Terrifying, even. To have everything you ever wanted right in front of you, but for a great price.

“You can’t go in there with me.” Ravonna says, voice weak and sad.

“Nonsense! I’m going with you. I can’t let you do this alone. I won’t abandon you again!”

“Teldryn! You heard Neloth. It will turn you into a tentacled shell of what you used to be!"

"I can't just let you go alone!"

"This time I really need you to let me go. And you didn’t abandon me. You were off with the guy who hired you, you had no way of knowing…”

“But what if you don’t come back?”

“Then pray. Pray to Akatosh that he give Tamriel another Dragonborn to fulfill the prophecy and save the World. Hope.” She steps ahead, gripping on her staff tighter, lifting her chin up. She is a nord after all. She will face her demise with bravery and dignity. “Hope that the next Dragonborn will succeed where I failed.” She lets out a sad laugh. “And drink in my name only the best mead. Sing my songs, tell my tales, but in joyous manner, for we got to live at the same time on Tamriel, and we truly had the best of adventures. I am truly honored to have had such brave, funny, brilliant and perfect companions. I am so thankful to have met each and every one of you.” She smiles, feeling her eyes water and her voice shaking.

The room is silent for a moment, safe for a few sniffs coming from here and there. No one really knows what to say. Slowly, Lucien steps forward, closing the distance between them with a tight hug.

“Words cannot describe how grateful I am that I came to beg you to take me with you that faithful night back in Cyrodiil,” he laughs and sniffs some more, “You truly gave me the adventure of a lifetime. I wish I could do something, anything!”

“Shh” she comforts him, embracing him, rubbing his back. She suddenly feels another warm body hug her, and then another, and another. The fellowship remains in the group hug for a few moments. A pure, sincere moment that shows just how much they care. Even the stone-hearted master Neloth’s lips curve into a small, sad smile. “It’s okay, though. I might just pull this off. And it’s not like I’m going back right now! I need some healing. And Sujamma! That special one from The Retching Netch!” There she was, the cheery Ravonna everyone knows and loves, lightning the mood like no other. “Tsk, tsk, tsk, you’d think I’d gotten used to being underestimated by now.”

***

After days of thorough investigation, some side quests for the people of Raven Rock, earning a manor and preparing and sleeping only with the help of Neloth’s miraculous spells, the fellowship finds itself at the Temple gates.

They expected the temple to be difficult, but they did not expect a total nightmare filled with cultists, draugr, giant spiders and two word walls that might be the coolest shout Ravonna has learnt, after Storm Call, of course. But this one made her stronger and more shiny with astral dragon scale armor! However, any drop of excitement she had had left her body when she saw the Black Book in what seemed to be the core of the Temple.

“So this is it, huh.” She manages to say.

Chapter 5: A song-worthy battle

Chapter Text

After saying her goodbyes again and making sure she has everything she needs, crying, hugging, and crying some more, she was ready to open the book and head into the unknown. She will get out of this victorious. She has to.

This book is worse than the other one. Much worse. So many chapters, so many Seekers, Lurkers and so much knowledge. Books everywhere, some Ravonna has never even heard of. The temptation to just stop and read or hoard everything for later is strong, but she came here for a reason and that’s to end Miraak.

She feels like she’s wandered for hours. Some chapters are full of a kind of darkness that hurts and fills her with fear and dread that she didn’t think it was possible to feel. The kind that makes her scream uncontrollably, yet no sound comes out of her. It’s hell.

After wandering through endless mazes, fighting those abominations and solving puzzles she never thought were able to exist, she reaches the final chapter.

***

The unfriendly sight of a massive dragon greets her as she reaches the last chapter. He was truly enormous. Almost as huge as Alduin, and so, so terrifying.

“Drem yol lok, Dovahkiin.” The dragon says, making her skin crawl. “Lord Miraak has been waiting for you.”

“Who are you, his pet?”

“Krin mey (courageous fool). You are a fool to challenge Miraak. His thu'um is supreme. I will happily take you to him and witness your demise.”

“So you are his pet. Where is Miraak, exactly? I think I can reach him by myself.”

“He is at the summit. Up there. I sincerely doubt that you can reach that place by yourself.”

She looks up at where the dragon pointed with its head. There was a large arena-like area very high up and far, far away. Surrounded only by that gooey, black water. “So that is where he wants our final battle to take place.” She nods. “I must give it to him, he has a flair for the dramatic.”

“Climb aboard and I will carry you to Miraak.”

“Very well.” Ravonna says, trying her best to hide her fear and hesitation. She could levitate there, but it would consume all of her magika. ‘I’m about to ride a dragon. It’s fine. This is fine. Don’t think too much about it and definitely don’t look down.’

The ride is a mess. Once the dragon took off, Ravonna instantly held it in a death grip, wrapping her arms around its neck, holding on for dear life and pressing her cheek to the dragon, snapping her eyes shut.

“Oh Gods, oh f*ck. sh*t. sh*t! Slow down!”

But her cries were in vain, the dragon ignoring her completely. He had one task and that was to bring her to Miraak in one piece, and quickly. His patience was running out and he was itching to get out of that damned place.

By the time they reached the Summit, Ravonna’s hair was a tangled mess, her face red and her heart rate was beating at an alarmingly fast pace. She tries to seem put together, climbing down from the dragon and heading towards where Miraak waits for her.

“And so the First Dragonborn meets the Last Dragonborn, at the Summit of Apocrypha. Poetic, really.” He says, his voice making her blood boil. She remembers what it felt like to be under his control, and how all those people must feel, being his brainwashed slaves, forced to build his temple for Gods know how long. She remembers how he sent cultists after her, like one would send assassins. All of those thoughts made her angry. And all that anger gave her strength and confidence. ‘I can do this, I can defeat this fool. He’s powerful, intimidating and strong, but so am I. I’m also Dragonborn. Nothing more and nothing less than him. I am enough.’

“Oh, I’ll show you poetry!” She says, casting two fireballs in each hand, but not striking him yet.

“But before we start all this…” he says, gesturing vaguely between them, “I wish to know your name.”

“We’re in a daedra realm, about to have a fight to the death…and you expect to exchange pleasantries?”

“Well, in all honesty, I don’t care much for that, just thought I’d give you one last moment of pride before your inevitable defeat.”

“It’s Ravonna. Winter-Born. I only tell you this so you can curse my name for eternity wherever it is you go after you die. Now, have we talked enough? Because I can talk all day. Insults, being intimidating, making threats… nothing new to me.”

“Courageous fool with an inclination for jokes and sarcastic remarks… I must say you’re not what I expected.”

“Oh, but you’re exactly what I expected. A pretentious mad man, who hides behind a mask and thinks he is intimidating. Thought you’d be taller, though.”

“Enough! Mora! I gave you the Dragonborn. Release me!”

“What – ”

“This was all part of a bigger plan. I give Hermaeus Mora a new champion, a Dragonborn, and I can be free again.”

“Change of plans, my champion.” A very unsettling voice said from somewhere above them, speaking slowly. When Ravonna looked up she was shocked and disgusted to see a cloud of eyes and tentacles looking down at them. She remembers those terrifying tales of a Kraken, a creature that lives deep beneath the sea. She shudders at the thought. “Apologies, Last Dragonborn, I didn’t yet introduce myself. I am Hermaeus Mora, I am the guardian of the unseen, and knower of the unknown. Daedric Prince of knowledge... Two Dragonborn existing at the same time… in my realm. Truly remarkable! However, there can only be one champion! You must duel. Last one standing gets to taste freedom again and gain all knowledge in my realm.”

“We had a deal!” he cries.

“Never make deals with a daedra, Miraak. I must admit, you gave me power. You have served well, but this is something else. This will be most entertaining. A legendary battle.”

“You heard the man… err- tentacle – eye? The daedric prince! You heard him. Let’s dance.” Ravonna says, wasting no time to cast ebonyflesh on her.

"Your power!" he says, apalled.

"Yes, well, you're not draining me anymore." she is quite co*cky. Proud, even.

"What kind of sorcery is this?" he couldn't believe it. He thought he had the upper hand with the help of Apocrypha, but she seems protected from all that.

"The kind that you will, sadly, not even get the chance to comprehend. This ends now!"

Miraak couldn’t believe it. He made a deal with Mora and he did everything he had to do, he’s served him for so long with the hope that one day he will see the sun again, and feel the taste of mead and watch the dawn and hear a birdsong. But no, the daedric prince had other plans. Now he had to fight this poor woman to the death and then what? Surely he will not release him, just like that. There’s a catch. There’s always a catch. All this rage built up in him and he just started to take it out on her. He has no choice, after all. He would do anything for freedom.

They start attacking each other with the worst spells, shouts and weapons they have. It’s a spectacle: sparks, fireballs, echoed shouts, conjured arrows, wards, all flying everywhere. She was actually good at this, much to Miraak’s surprise. He’s never faced an opponent as strong as her. Except for Vahlok. He remembers his battle with the other dragon priest, and how they moved the very land they fought on. He remembers how close he was to meeting his end there, and how it was Hermaeus Mora who helped him, physically dragging him to Apocrypha and keeping him here as his champion ever since. And now, he’s faced with another opponent that could defeat him and this realization frightens him to the core. He quickly calls for the Seekers to aid him, but is met with Hermaeus Mora’s voice ringing loudly in his ears.

“Now, now, Miraak. There is no way out of this fight. You must prove to me that you are truly worthy. No daedra intervention this time.”

“Trouble in paradise? Seems like you’re not Mora’s favorite toy anymore. Such shame!” Ravonna says. She can’t help but banter in fights, taunting him in a sarcastic tone.

“Enough!” he screams in frustration and shouts “MUL QAH DII-” but he’s interrupted by Ravonna, shouting faster.

“FUS RO DAH” she shouts, fully striking him, throwing him across the arena, his mask plucked from his face by unrelenting force. He falls hard on a set of steps, desperately reaching for his mask, but it was too late. It was lost to the abyss, flying over the summit into the black sea of tentacles, leaving him more vulnerable and exposed that he has been for thousands of years.

“NO!!”

“A simple shout, really. The first one I’ve ever learnt. Simple but effective, it would seem.” She says, stepping closer.

Standing above him, it’s the first time she gets to see his face, and it’s quite a surprising sight. A pale face, clean-shaven, with frightened, brown eyes and furrowed brows, almost covered by hair in the color of honey. His braids were almost non-existent at this point, but his hair seemed... soft. Like the rest of his face. He had very soft, almost kind-looking features. sh*t. It’s definitely going to be harder for her to kill him now that she sees him as a person. A beautiful person, at that. But she must remember that the most beautiful snakes are often the most poisonous, but just as she starts coming to her senses, she is struck by a cyclone shout and sent across the arena.

“YOU! You ruined everything! I will defeat you, with or without the mask and be master of my own faith again!” he says, voice cracking. He’s had this mask on for so long that it’s become a part of him. He didn’t think it possible that he would lose it just like that. The utter shock takes over his body, attacking her viciously with his staff and the strongest fire spell he knows.

***

After what feels like hours, Ravonna is absolutely exhausted, only dodging his attacks with wards in an attempt to preserve her energy, but another fireball, combined with a fire breath shout sends her collapsing to the floor, coughing lots of blood. Despite this, she shows Miraak her best bloody smile, looking up at him.

“Is this all the ‘mighty First Dragonborn’ can do? Pathetic.” She says, panting, opening her last healing potion and taking a careful small sip.

“Oh I am just getting started.” Miraak responds. ‘Two can play that taunting game.’ He thinks to himself, even though he is exhausted and beaten-up as well. Perhaps if he would stall, he'd recover a bit. “Tell me, any other important titles under your name beside Dovahkiin?” He asks, approaching her.

“Why do you care?”

“Because once I am out of here, I’ll be taking those. I will take your place in the world, and everything will be as it was meant.”

“You think people won’t notice the sudden change in the Dragonborn’s appearance? Say, how she suddenly became another person: a blonde man of all things.”

“Things happen. I believe they will happily accept me. I defeated you, after all, which makes me better than you. And as soon as I am in control, they won’t care. Maybe they didn’t care at all to begin with.” He says, and a moment passes, Ravonna’s eyes fixated on the ground now, kneeling on the floor. “Silence is an answer, too. And your silence tells me that you have no other titles, you’re not that impressive. Not by Dovahkiin standards. You’re a nobody. An impulsive nord woman who thinks she is charming… I’m sure no one will miss you” he pauses for another moment, because now Ravonna has lifted her gaze back to him, clenching her jaw and holding back tears. “Did I strike a sensitive chord?” he says, thinking that maybe he went too far with this taunting game, but he would do anything for freedom. Maybe all these harsh words were for him, not for her. Maybe this was to convince himself that he is doing the right thing, and ease his guilt that he might slay a hero in cold blood.

“You know nothing of me! You have no idea who I am.” She screams, getting back up on her feet again. “You’re an egotistical man who thinks he knows everything just because he is Hermaeus Mora’s pet.”

“I am no one’s pet!”

“You’re a coward! If it weren’t for your daedra friend, you’d be dead. Dead! Killed by a fellow Dragon Priest. Betrayed by your own kind.” She feels satisfied after seeing his expression change from confidence to anger and frustration. “They turned on you. They hated you. Where are your friends now? You have none anymore. No one even remembers you! Do you even know how frustrating it was to roam the entire isle of Solstheim, asking everyone about ‘Lord Miraak’ only to see confusion in people’s eyes? No one knows who you are. No one cares about you, not even one scholar cared enough to write about ‘The mighty First Dragonborn’. The only thing I found was a vague tale. I connected the dots that it was about you and some jailor guy, destroying the grounds you fought on. I have friends and family waiting for me to emerge victorious from this battle. They love me. And I them!” She steps closer, laughing bitterly in his face, squaring up to him. He’s only a couple of inches taller than her, and not so intimidating anymore, without the mask. “I’ll drink a pint for you, Miraak, after I get out of here. ‘For the worst bastard I’ve ever met and the best fight I ever won!’” she says, gesturing a toast with her magika potion, taking a generous swig. She hits him with flames straight from hell.

They continue their fight for what feels like days, unending. Maybe days truly have passed since they first started the battle, who can really tell. But now it was different, after all that taunting and banter. Now it was personal, and it felt like it, their attacks more and more ruthless. Just when they thought the other was finally giving up, they strike, surprising each other and themselves. Ravonna had no idea she could fight like this, she had no idea she had that much fight in her. Miraak thought he’s faced his worst enemy in Vahlok, but he is proven wrong. This fight is much, much worse.

“Hi fen luft hin viik naal dii halle, hi mey. Zu'u los zol mul than hi. Zu'u los faal diist Dovahkiin. Til can nunon kos gein Dovahkiin ahrk nii's zu'u!” (You will face your defeat by my hands, you fool. I am stronger than you. I am the first dragonborn. There can only be one dragonborn and it's me.) he says, trying to postpone the fight just for a little bit to catch his breath, now collapsed on the floor.

“What in Oblivion are you saying?” Ravonna says, laying next to him on the floor. It would seem they both collapsed at the same time, wondering just how long will it last.

“You do not speak the language of the Dovah!” his voice is breathless. What has this come to, with both of them exhausted. He begins to wonder if this is his new curse: bound to fight an opponent as strong and resilient as him for eternity.

“I’m almost 30. Not learning another language unless I have to, or I want to. And right now, it’s neither of those cases.”

“Then bask in your ignorance all you want. I think it’s time we end this.” He says, slowly getting up, calling for his dragons. They are under his control, after all. In a moment, all three of them landed, surrounding Ravonna.

“So it has come to this. Face it, you can’t defeat me alone! You need your brainwashed pets. Shameful!”

“I can live with that shame. Once I am free.”

“Then you are a coward. No honorable man would resort to this!” She shouts, feeling her heart beat faster. Slowly getting up, she realizes that there is only one last resort. ‘Remember, this spell is to be used only in the biggest emergency possible. And it is to be used only once, for you will not live to cast it again.’ Narellya’s words come to her mind. She had hoped she never had use that spell, but Miraak leaves her no choice. She takes the last sips of her magika potion and prepares herself for the spell.

“Perhaps I’m not honorable, but I will be free. I am sorry it has come to this.”

“As am I” she says, through gritted teeth. Casting the spell, she starts levitating, crossing her legs in the air. Her hands radiating with pure red energy. She doesn’t even know if the spell will work, but she has to do it. She can’t let this mad man into the world. It’s almost… poetic. How two Dovahkiin fought so much that they both perished in the end.

“What are you – ” Miraak asks in a rush, seeing the giant red magical circle forming around them. It’s full of symbols and runes, all unknown to him. He tries to stop her, but finds that he can’t move and neither can his dragons. He can feel the dread surround his soul as he looks at her and sees the once emerald green eyes now glowing red.

“Forgive me, Akatosh, for I have failed you.” She whispers.

Right before the moment came to cast the spell, Hermaeus Mora’s voice echoes through all of Apocrypha, appearing menacingly above the two Dovahkiin.

“ENOUGH! You have destroyed my realm! I won’t let you obliterate it with your foul experiments! Bother other daedra, destroy your own realm with your fighting for all I care. BEGONE!” And with that, his tentacles grasp both Dragonborn, wrapping them in darkness.

Chapter 6: Welcome back to the real world, [redacted]

Chapter Text

“I’m going in there.”

“Teldryn, you can’t!” Lucien protests. All companions stood surrounding the black book, guarding it, waiting.

“She’s been there long enough!”

“We made a promise to her. An oath.”

“I know, lad. I just can’t – ”

“She meant a lot for all of us…” Inigo’s voice is sad and shaky.

“We can’t stay here forever.” Rumarin finally utters the words that everyone has been thinking about. In his mind, however, endless sad thoughts flow. ‘I know it’s selfish, but I want her back. What if she was the glue that held us together. What now? Do we hold a ceremony in her honor? How am I supposed to just move on? I need to stop thinking!’

“Just a little longer. Don’t lose faith!”

“Lucien, we’ve been here for five days. The supplies are all gone. She would’ve wanted…” But Rumarin can’t even bring himself to say it, slowly feeling his last droplets of hope that he has held onto for a while let go of him. "She wanted us to move on."

“Perhaps we should… take the book with us? She came through the Black Book back at Neloth’s.”

“As much as I hate the damned thing, perhaps you’re right, lad.”

“But we have to agree that no one opens it. We promised her.”

“Alright.”

“Guys is it normal for it to float?”

“What the – ”

But the books started twisting violently, opening all by itself, revealing huge tentacles, spitting both Dragonborn out and slamming shut, falling on the floor with a loud and threatening thud.

“Mara’s mercy! This can’t be happening.” Teldryn says, followed by everyone else in all different words of expressing their shock amazement. She was back.

“Ravonna! Ravonna, look at me. Can you hear me?” Teldryn rushes to her, kneeling down beside her.

“She’s still breathing, thank the Gods.” Lucien says, checking her pulse and holding her hand.

“What happened?” Rumarin gasps, seeing Miraak on the other side of the room.

“Two Dragonborn fighting.” Ravonna manages to mutter after some silent moments. “Really wouldn’t recommend it.” She chuckles, her laughter provoking her to cough blood. And somehow, the weight that’s been pressing on her companion’s souls is lifted off completely with those words.

“You’re back!” Rumarin shouts, rushing to her, followed by Inigo. They help her up to a sitting position and wrap her in a gentle, careful hugs.

“Told you I’d pull it off.”

“I never doubted you for a second!” Teldryn says with a shaky voice.

“I highly doubt that. I doubted myself several times back in there. He really was something else. I never had a fight like that.” She nods towards where Miraak lay, and everyone’s attention turned to his seemingly lifeless body in the other corner of the room.

“What do we do with him?” Lucien asks.

Ravonna tilts her head, looking at him. He definitely breathed just now. “Did you guys see that?”

“Did he… move?” Rumarin asks, concern in his voice.

A moment passes and his chest undoubtedly rises and falls, as if he were breathing. Everyone freaks out. Everyone but Ravonna. She expected this.

“I didn’t get to strike the final bow. Hermaeus Mora spit us out before I had the chance to. It would have killed us both, destroying his realm in the process. He may be alive, still.” She says, finishing a vigorous healing potion and a stamina one after that, finally getting the strength to get up. Walking up to him and giving him a nudge with her foot. Unresponsive, yet alive. “Take him along, I want a word when he wakes up.”

“Are you joking? We could kill him now and be done with it!”

“He could be useful. Teldryn, you have not seen Alduin. But I have. He is no mere dragon. We could use him. And he is an honorable fighter. Doesn't deserve to die like that.”

“And if he refuses?”

“I find it difficult to believe he is completely devoid of reason. But, if he refuses, I kill him. Simple. I've fought him once, I can do it again. Besides, he hasn’t roamed the earth in five thousand years. I'll use his confusion as an advantage.”

“I think it’s a good idea. The teaming up, I mean. Not the fighting... We need all the strength we can get to defeat Alduin.” Lucien says. "I was at Helgen, too. I know what he's capable of." He bows his head, remembering that awful day.

“Very well, but I don’t trust him one bit. Help me carry him!” Teldryn says, walking up to the unconscious man.

They get him up. Inigo and Teldryn each holding onto a leg and Rumarin, being the strongest of the fellowship, grabs his torso.

“How were you not mesmerized by his face? Looks like he was sculpted by the Gods! It's... distracting.” Rumarin says, staring at the First Dragonborn.

“Trying to kill me is kind of a dealbreaker. And you know I’ve never felt anything for anyone. I’m immune to that stuff.”

“I know, but still!”

“That’s it! I’m telling Marcurio.” Lucien says, finally the fellowship was whole again, bickering.

“Don’t you dare! Although… once he sees him, he’d understand.”

***

The trip back home was slow, Ravonna felt all the lingering effects of her legendary battle. Still, she was happy and proud of herself, content, traveling with her companions again.

The next few days were quiet, with no progress from Miraak and lots of sleeping and recovering for Ravonna. Thankfully, before going to the temple, the fellowship managed to solve a political debate that ended in murder and were awarded by Councilor Morvayn. Right at the edge of Raven Rock, a big dunmer manor was left with no inhabitants. It has enough rooms, two stories, a big living room and a nice kitchen. Plus a big arcane enchanter that Ravonna appreciates very much. The Councilor found it perfectly fitting for the fellowship. The cultists seemed to have all disappeared and the people affected by Miraak have no recollection of anything. It’s as if nothing happened. Now, Ravonna and Lucien stand beside Miraak's bed, watching over him, being ready for anything and everything if he wakes up.

“Should I just… slap him?”

“As much as I would like to see that, I doubt it is a good idea. What if he wakes up shouting, you know? The thuum.” Lucien says. “It’s getting late. I should head to sleep. There’s still the matter with the mine to be dealt with.”

“I know.” She says, eyes fixated on Miraak.

“You don’t want to leave him unattended, do you?”

“There’s no way I’m trusting him. Who knows what his plans were, once he got his freedom?” she sits down on the chair by his bed, preparing for her turn to watch over him. “You know, sometimes… well, all the time, actually, I wonder if we’re doing the right thing.”

“It’s normal to doubt yourself. We all do. That’s life.”

“But this could endanger everyone. It’s a delicate situation… a paradox, even. After all, he only wanted to be free. But the means he used to earn it…” she sighs deeply.

“And that’s why we should hear him out. I could go to Tel Mythrin tomorrow and ask some vague questions about a spell that wakes someone from a coma.”

“We’ll see. Go to bed. I’ve got this.”

“Very well. Do not kill each other please.”

***

Time passes, and no sign of waking up from Miraak. He’s been like that for four days. However, it was the first time Ravonna was keeping watch. She was only now fully recovered to do so. Keeping watch at night was peaceful. She always loved doing it. Usually it was when the fellowship set camp somewhere. She always made sure to set the tents wherever the view was most breathtaking. She loved the night watch the most. She could watch the moons and the stars all the time, basking in their beauty, listening to a distanced waterfall, or the frogs croaking. There were a few attacks, naturally, but nothing she couldn’t handle, and the fellowship was up and ready to aid her all the time. She remembers fondly of the times they gathered by the fire, drinking whatever was available and singing their hearts out. ‘The most important weapon a person could have on the road is a lute. I once scared a bear with a song! No fight needed there.’ She would say, in a drunken state of bliss. Her lute, Lucien’s drum, Inigo’s laughter and Rumarin’s jokes. They were happy. They didn’t need anything else. It was them against the world. And a wave of hope fills her at the thought that they may be able to do all of that again. But until then, however, there was the Miraak issue.

‘Has anyone tried shaking him? No, that didn’t work. Maybe a strong nudge? Nothing. What if I just forcefully open his eyes. Oh, Gods that is creepy. He’s looking right through me. Let’s not do that again. How about a little shock? I can’t wait here forever for him to wake up!’ she thought to herself, casting a very faint lightning spell in both her hands and placing them on his chest. Nothing. ‘Guess we have to go stronger.’

By the third time she shocked him, the spell more powerful each time, he jolted awake, gasping for air, eyes open wide. He looked around and jumped when he saw Ravonna’s piercing gaze on him, standing by his bed with her arms crossed. He quickly reached for his sword or his staff, anything.

“Oh, that is completely pointless. Do you think I’m dumb enough to leave you with your weapons?”

“I don’t need weapons!” he says, weakly casting a flames spell that barely touches Ravonna like a light warm breeze.

“Right. Let’s not do that.” She sits down on the chair again.

“What do you want? Where are we?” he pants, exhausted from casting that spell.

“Nirn. Solstheim. Raven Rock. I just want to talk. Negotiate.”

He thinks for a moment. Solstheim.Nirn. They're out of there. He got out. He remembers Hermaeus Mora casting them out. He made it. But at what cost? “Negotiate what?” he manages to say.

“A temporary truce, perhaps.”

“Why would you want that?”

“Look, I don’t like this any more than you do, and I don’t know how much you know of the state of the world right now – ”

“The return of the Dragons. Alduin. I’ve read about it in Apocrypha.”

“Good. So you’re up to date. Which means you know that the only one, well, the only ones, who can stop Alduin, ‘The World Eater’ are those that are called ‘Dovahkiin’.”

“Of course I know that! Did you think of me as a complete and ignorant fool? I know things you don’t, dilon hah (dead mind)!”

“Well then why didn’t you stop Alduin in the first place and none of this would have happened?”

“I... I don't have to explain anything to you.”

“Yes… you chose to ally with the dragons. Be the leader of the Dragon Cult.”

“You know nothing of me! You weren’t there five thousand years ago! Do not judge my actions, mey (fool).”

“Your fancy dragon words mean nothing to me. No need to get all worked up about it. Bottom line is, do you wish to fulfill your prophecy? Do you wish to stop the ending of the world and save it, with all the good and bad within in? Because I do. I want to save this beautiful mess that is our world. Whatever it takes.” She asks, with a fiery passion that Miraak can’t help but admire. It really impresses him that she is so determined to save their world, even with all the bad going on. She acknowledges the beauty in it, which he relates to a bit too much. The beauty of Tamriel, even in the littlest of things is what kept him going in Apocrypha. It’s what made it all worth living for and fighting for to earn the freedom to roam again.

“I do.” He mutters after a moment and sees Ravonna relax her shoulders, her expression softening a bit. They stood like that for a moment, neither knowing what to say or do next. The silence was interrupted by the loud growl of his stomach. “Ugh!” He hisses, wrapping his arms around his stomach. “I forgot about that feeling.”

“Terrible, isn’t it? Bodily functions. I would have stayed in Apocrypha if it meant I never had to deal with those again.” She walks to the table where a plate full of food was. “I’m only half-joking, I think. Here.”

“What is that?”

“Food?”

“I know that much, but this? I have never seen anything like it.” He holds the sweet snack in his hand, inspecting it.

“That’s a sweetroll.”

“So this is what they look like? I have read about them…” immediately regretting how vulnerable and pathetic he must seem to her, yet he can’t help but be amazed. How many other things that didn’t exist back when he roamed Tamriel were to be explored and seen and felt? It was all exciting, really. But now he’s here, and Ravonna won’t leave him to it. Another moment passes, and he finally says, looking at his plate: “Can’t a man eat in peace?”

“I’m afraid not. Trust is not so easily earned. Especially after that.”

“I see” he says, reluctantly taking a bite of his grilled leeks and cheese sandwich. It was hard to be this exposed, maskless. He hasn’t felt this seen since before joining the Dragon Cult, with his family and friends back in Atmora, but they were all gone now, and he was surrounded by strangers that hate him. He feels a bit easier after Ravonna preoccupies herself with a book.

“Deathbrand? I’ve read about him.” He says, unable to stop himself. He needed to break the silence that surrounded the tension-filled room. It's been so long since he's talked to anybody.

“Doesn’t surprise me. You probably read everything.”

“Yes, well… It is said that his treasure is on this very island.”

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.” She responds, dryly, not looking up from the book.

“I remember seeing his treasure map in Apocrypha.”

“Do you now?” she finally lifts her gaze to him. Still piercing cold, green eyes. Like moss after a storm, almost frozen.

“Yes! I do.” He rubs his temples, setting aside his now empty plate. ‘Please gods, I hope it doesn’t make me sick. I ate that too fast. It's been so long since I've had food... Wonder if there’s more.’ He tries to get up, despite Ravonna’s concerned look. He falls, as soon as he sets his feet on the ground. The floor is cold and humiliating, and she has no intention of helping him. “Ugh.”

“Yeah, maybe try not to do that? You’re weakened.”

“You don’t say.”

“Just thought I’d inform you.”

“How very kind.”

“This is me being kind and considerate after everything that happened.”

“I’m trying to help you, for Gods’ sakes!” he raises his voice, struggling to get up.

“How can I know that? How can I know that you don’t want it for yourself?!” she says, in an even more raised tone. It’s okay, though, the manor is big and they’re not waking anyone up with a bit of screaming.

“You… can’t.” he says, defeated. He puts himself in her shoes and finds that he wouldn’t trust himself either. “But I’ll tell you this much. I don’t want to fight you. Perhaps Akatosh intended this… If we are to work together in defeating The World Eater, I won’t try to harm or kill you. That I promise. At least until we deal with Alduin.” He sits on the floor, resting his head on the bedframe. Gods, he is not going to get up from there on his own.

“Good. No killing each other until we deal with Alduin. Sounds good to me.”

“I would also propose helping each other, if that’s not too much to ask…”

“You want to get up, don’t you?”

“What do you want me to do? Beg for it? I won’t be deprived of all dignity.”

“I hate you. But I’m not that cruel. Come on.” She reluctantly offers him a hand, slightly regretting being this harsh. Seeing the look in his eyes fills her with sorrow. He’s just a man. A man with his own troubles, fears and feelings. Why is she dehumanizing him so much? To protect herself from something else? Is it because hating him is much easier than the alternative? No. she is stronger than this and she will not fall for his charms. She will not fall for the one who sent assassins after her. He is no better than the man who sent the Dark Brotherhood after her father. And, after all, this could all be part of a bigger plan. Who knows what his evil mind is plotting. His mind is evil. It must be, because if it isn’t, and this is truly him… no, no, no. She buries all those feelings deep, deep down.

“Thank you. Now, do you have a pen and some paper, I might be able to draw that map for you.”

“And then what?”

“And then I’ll give it to you!” he rolls his eyes. “It’s worthless to me anyways. In this environment, where everyone hates me…” he leans on the bed, gripping the bedframe hard. It’s all he can do to prevent the tears from forming and falling on his reddened cheeks.

“Oh… Well, I’m sure we can… find some trinkets you like, perhaps?” ‘Why am I trying to comfort him and why am I so bad at it?’

“Whatever. Just give me the pen.” ‘Are the others like this too? What have I gotten myself into…’

***

It seems like the others were not quite like that. They didn’t have to deal with his wrath. Only Ravonna was unfortunate enough to witness it. But they weren’t much nicer, either. After all, he did try to kill their friend. But all this anger, silent treatment and odd looks he was receiving… it all felt deserved. He could feel how much they love and care for her. He wonders if she knows how much she means to them, and then he remembers her words in Apocrypha. How she said that she loves them and how she’s fighting to get out of there to see them again. It’s been so long since he had his family with him, that he forgot what if feels like. To be loved and cared for. Last time he felt that was before that dragon attacked and killed his whole family. So, so long ago. At least Ravonna knows how lucky she is, but does she know just how badly Miraak wants to feel at least a little droplet of that love? By the way she looks at him, he would say definitely not. And yet, he wonders who she truly is, to everyone else. She can’t be the icy-cold Last Dragonborn who couldn’t care less to her companions. That’s how she presented herself to him. But if they love her that much, she can’t be anything else but… lovely.

Days pass and he seems to be recovering. A few of the companions are slowly warming up to him. That Lucien boy keeps asking questions and apologizing for it. He’s quite endearing, Miraak thinks. Out of all of them, he’s been the nicest. He seems to be the most empathetic person Miraak has ever met. Inigo was very upset about what he’s done to Ravonna, but once he started listening to him and his side of the story, he could see him starting to accept him. That was the case for most of them. He couldn’t quite make sense of Rumarin yet. He kept making jokes and sarcastic remarks, but he said those with a certain bitterness in his voice. Teldryn, however, wouldn’t even talk to him. Blinded by rage, he would always just stare at him. His watching shift was Miraak’s least favourite.

“How are you doing today?” Lucien’s cheery voice filled the room as he entered.

“Better. The bath was really nice.”

“Oh, yes! Ravonna prepares the best baths.” He says, sitting on the chair. “She just… knows the perfect aromatic oil combinations. And truly the optimal water temperature!”

“She prepared that?” Miraak furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Yes.”

“I see.” She did that. She prepared a bath for him and didn’t put ice-cold water and poison in it. In fact, it was the nicest bath he’s ever had.

“You seem… surprised.”

“I just – I didn’t expect her to do something so nice to me.” Damn it. Damn all the Gods. He cannot be stoic for once in his life, can he. He is frustrated by his sincerity and vulnerability, but talking to Lucien is… easy. Safe.

“She’s not all bad, you now? She’s actually amazing. But she holds a mean grudge. I imagine trying to kill her might be the reason she’s like this.”

“At first, when I heard about the return of the Dragonborn… that was the plan. I was to absorb her soul, hopefully giving me enough power to break free. Then, Mora found out, because he was in my mind, constantly. He offered me a deal. I give him a Dragonborn, and he sets me free. I was blinded by hope.” He takes a deep breath, sinking deeper in the pillow that was propped on the wall. “It was harder to kill her once I saw her, once I saw… that she was a real person, and not just a glorified hero with no personality. I thought I was a failure of a dragonborn.” He lets out a bitter laugh. “And I thought that by the fourth era, Akatosh had created the perfect Dragonborn… and in comes this pale nord woman with her ridiculous rose staff, dressed in robes that are at least three sizes bigger than hers, swearing and taunting me. She said some hurtful things to me. I did, too…”

“Perhaps you should… talk to her?”

“I’m here for a reason, and that is to aid you in fighting Alduin. Nothing more.”

“And yet here we are, talking. Bonding, even. Not everything has to be duty. I used to think like you. Do this quest, learn that spell, stress about the future all the time, but all of that changed after I met her. I learnt how to live in the present and just have fun. In this world-state, we really don’t know how long it’s going to last. So have fun. Bond with people. Make amends. And never take anything too seriously. It pains me to see Ravonna like this, not practicing what she preaches. But I think that deep down, she wants to make amends too.”

“It certainly doesn’t look like she does.”

“Then why are you wearing her robes?”

“I – What?!” He looks down at his robes. Soft, purple, smelling like lavender, and by the way he feels, faintly enchanted to ease the pain.

“Exactly. She cares. She even enchanted them! Here. If you want to get to know her better.” Lucien says, handing him Ravonna’s journal.

“Is she comfortable with me reading this?”

“Oh, please, she reads this to random people in taverns. Always brags about it. Take her songbook too. It's her pride and joy.”

Miraak can feel a sudden wave of emotions he can't understand. She gave him her robes that she enchanted to ease his pain, despite everything. 'Why would she do that? I don't deserve it one bit after our fight...' he thinks. He eagerly opens her journal, and several sketches fall out of it.

“Ah, those are Inigo’s sketches. He just loves drawing us. Usually with Ravonna’s kohl that she uses for her makeup.” Lucien says, pulling the chair closer so that he can watch them again.

There are several kohl drawings of the fellowship. The first one that he sees is of the fellowship having a toast with huge, cartoonish wooden tankards. They all had wide smiles. There was Ravonna, Lucien, Rumarin and another long-haired man. Rumarin had his arm draped around his shoulders.

“Who is that?”

“Oh, that’s Marcurio. He sadly couldn’t make it to Solstheim with us…”

“Why?”

“He got stabbed in the leg by a falmer. The dagger was poisoned with something… he’s still not recovered.” Lucien is somber now. He’s worried for him. They – well, Rumarin receives letters from him regularly, but he doesn’t mention his leg or his situation in the newer ones.

“Oh…”

“But I’m sure he’ll be fine. The whole College of Winterhold is looking after him. And he’s the toughest person I know. He may be short, but he’s strong.”

“Maybe I can take a look at that wound of his when we get to Skyrim. I was a healer before all this…”

“Really?” Lucien asks with an excited, high-pitched voice.

“Yeah. Wasn’t the biggest fan of hunting, or killing… I preferred to help, and hang around in the kitchen, pick up alchemy ingredients… that sort of stuff.”

“I can’t even imagine how tough life must have been in Atmora.”

“Never thought about it, really. It was… home. Was it cold? Yes. But I was surrounded by family and friends, and that warmed me enough, in here.” He points to his heart with a sad smile. Oh, how he missed them. His brother, always looking out for him and protective, his friends, always ready for mischief, his mom always soothing and loving, the friendly wolves, always eager for cuddles and belly rubs, and all those jolly fishermen, bringing supplies and songs and happiness along with them everywhere they went. Well, not everything was perfect, but it was home. It was familiar. "It wasn't all perfect, you know? I had my hardships back then, too... But I choose to focus on the good... and try to forget the bad."

“I’m sorry.”

“I - Let’s not dwell on the past too much.” He says, turning back to the sketches.

***

“Oh! And this one is from when we jumped from Bard’s Leap Summit. To this day, Ravonna says that was our best camping spot. It was beautiful, I’ll give her that, but we got attacked by Forsworn every five minutes. They had a camp nearby.” Lucien comments on a drawing of the members of the fellowship, all lined up to take the leap, on a wooden plank. Ravonna was in midair, doing a pose with her lute and smiling. Inigo was right behind her, cheering her on. Lucien was next, trembling and furrowing his brows and Rumarin was in the back of the line, flexing his muscles at a very flustered Marcurio. Miraak can’t help but smile.

“Did you actually do the jump?”

“Yes! All of us! And then we met with the ghost of a bard and talked to him for hours.”

“That’s – even Marcurio? Didn’t you just tell me he complained about the cold all the time? And that’s how you two bonded.”

“Yes. I jumped to meet the bard, and he jumped because Rumarin dragged him along.” He says and they both laugh.

After a while, Lucien leaves him to it. He was well enough to remain on his own. Keeping watch at all times was ridiculous, and Lucien finally convinced the fellowship to cut Miraak some slack.

The drawings were all depicting a group of friends having fun and going on all sorts of adventures. Stealing cheese from the Blue Palace? Becoming Meridia’s champions? Drinking with Sanguine himself? It all seemed unreal. His gaze couldn’t help but linger on Ravonna, almost always in the center of the drawing, looking happy, content and absolutely glorious. Inigo definitely idolizes her. He wonders if he will ever get the chance to see her like that. He likes the Ravonna from drawings and from Lucien’s stories. When he gets to read the journal, he realizes he likes the Ravonna from the journal even better. He even feels as if she were there, telling the stories. It’s personal, full of her opinions and thoughts. All that she’s been through, and she still finds the strength to joke and have fun. Her traumas do not define her. It’s the sarcastic remarks, the love for music, the way in which she writes songs and crosses over words, trying to find a better rhyme, the way she would do anything to do good and save innocent people from harm, the weird fascination she has for brewing alcoholic drinks and gathering recipes from all over Nirn, and yet refusing to learn alchemy because she can just buy the potions and hoard them, the way she refuses to braid her hair, resulting in inventing a protective spell in order not to burn it off or something. Those are the things that define her. She was interesting, and crazy and stupidly brave. After reading pages from her journal, he feels like he knows her. She lives a life full of danger, leaping straight into death sometimes, yet she makes it look fun. He caught himself smiling, while reading her journal. He wonders why is that. Should he go downstairs for the first time? Maybe they’re all having fun there. He should find a good reason… but why is he doing this? Maybe he shouldn’t think that much. Just live in the moment… and not take everything too seriously. And so he gets up.

Chapter 7: Moonlight conversations

Chapter Text

He struggles a bit down the stairs, but this is the most progress he’s done. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, they will be proud and happy that he is finally out of bed. He’s felt so weak ever since he came back on Nirn, the millennia spent in Oblivion now finally showing the consequences. Everything seems to take a toll on him. Every step. Every breath. It's like his body is barely accommodating to the normal again. In Apocrypha, the only thing he felt was numbness. He tried to feel. Gods,did he try, but was met with nothingness. Not even the sharp and bitter end of his blade seemed to make himfeel. Not even letting him to put an end to his misery once and for all. No, Mora didn't let him do that until the opportunity to have another Dragonborn has showed itself. But all these feelings, all these memories are getting blurrier now, thankfully. Maybe it's the influence Nirn itself has on him, or his poor, shattered and exhausted mind and subconscious is trying to protect him. But he chooses to focus on the present. And right now, he is making a lot of progress. All on his own too. He got out of bed and started walking.

It’s that tiniest bit of hope at the back of his mind that maybe they’ve all warmed up to him. He's had that since he woke up for the first time. He hates himself for it, but he is a hopeful soul. Always has been. This led to enormous amounts of sorrow in his life. However, it's something he can't control, perhaps. That part of his mind decided to be the loudest, as he makes his way to the living room. Slow, steady steps. One in foot in front of the other. Teldryn is reading something, Lucien and Inigo are playing some sort of card game and Rumarin is preparing dinner. ‘Is he the one that’s been making my meals, I wonder? ’. He thinks to himself, a wave of gratefulness towards the altmer passes through him. The food was extremely good every time. He seems to be really enjoying himself, concentrated on the cooking, with his dark golden hair tied in a low bun, humming and swaying his hips to a melody that is no longer existent. 'Perhaps Ravonna played something to them, since she's a bard. Would've like to have seen that.' He thinks, really curious about how she sounds like when she's singing. No one noticed him yet.

“Right, I’m off to the market. Anyone want anything?” Ravonna asks, lacing her boots.

Should he say anything? No time like the present... plus Lucien's words resonate in his mind again: 'have fun, bond with people, make amends' He takes a deep breath. "Actually I do need some things." Miraak says, standing awkwardly at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone was staring at him now.

"Well, I wasn't asking you!" She rolled her eyes.

"Such hospitality. I'll go with you then."

"I don't think so."

"Fine. We go to the market. At the same time. Separately."

"Ok fine tell me what you need. I'll get it for you..."

"When you say it like that I feel like a burden. I'll go get it myself."

"With what money?”

"Uhh..." he didn’t expect this, this was not going as he’d pictured.

"Exactly. You are a burden. Another reason to fight Alduin as soon as possible." She instantly regrets the words coming out of her mouth. 'He looked sad. I don't want to make people sad. Maybe he means well. Everyone says dumb sh*t in the heat of the moment, like I just did. However, not everyone sends tens of cultists, tries to steal your life away and say dumb sh*t.' She leaves, slamming the door behind her, still trying to convince herself that she's in the right. What was this coping mechanism? Why was she speaking to him with such hatred and poison. The less she thinks, the better, perhaps.

Miraak feels defeated. He hates this. He hates having fights and never reconciliating. He swore to himself that he'd never leave things on bad terms with the people close to him. Not after what happened with his brother. That, he can never forgive himself for. And since he's working with her and her companions, they're the people closest to him. He lost everyone else. Would it be that hard for them to accept him? For Ravonna to forgive him? But they didn’t care for his big moment. It was ruined. He ruined it with his presence. He struggles to form a sentence, but can’t think of anything to say.

“Are you okay, Miraak?” Lucien asks softly, and he feels the tears forming in his eyes.

“I – yes. I just – ” but he has to turn around before the tears start falling down his cheeks. ‘Be a man’s man and don’t cry. Crying is for weaklings, you soft-hearted little boy! Why can’t you be like your brother? You’re a failure!’ his father’s words ring into his ears and he shivers, wanting nothing more than the earth to swallow him. And so he climbs the stairs as fast as he can and heads straight to his chamber. There, he can finally cry for hours.

***

The cold breeze felt nice against her hot face. She got really angry in there. It’s the type of anger that is born from fear, but overshadowed by guilt. But why was this feeling persevering. She thought it was the end of it when she decided to hate him. And yet, when she screamed at him, throwing the most hurtful words she could imagine, a part of her was screaming, demanding her to stop. It made her feel bad. It made her feel like running up to him and hug him, and stroke his soft hair and tell him that everything will be okay. He’s not a burden, and he’s doing them a great service in helping with Alduin.

The market was almost closing, but she got to buy everything they needed. She contemplates buying three freshly baked sweetrolls. A sign of apology. He did like them a whole lot. Maybe finding those in the kitchen would make him smile. It dawns on her that she's never seen him smile before. She feels a certain softness at the thought of his smile, but quickly shuns it away. After getting to the manor, she jumps in the shower in an attempt to calm herself, letting the warm water gently fall on her. But her mind is invaded by thoughts of Miraak and his sad eyes. Her inner self screaming at her still. ‘Why am I doing this? Why am I being such a jerk? I shouldn’t – ’. Guilt. Regret. Feelings she wished never to experience again. She remembers these feels all too well. When she wasn't home to defend her father from the assassins. When she left Hjaldir and her old life behind to pursue some sort of self-righteous revenge quest. When she burned the Falkreath Dark Brotherhood sanctuary to the ground, not caring who was inside. She made a promise to herself that day to do everything that is in her power to never feel those sentiments again. And she failed, because she feels them now. Deeply.

She finds that she can’t even sleep. Should she knock on his door? Everyone’s sleeping. They stopped watching over him two days ago. He was doing better. She finds herself at his door, wondering what in Oblivion is she doing. ‘This is wrong. I can’t just come knocking out of the blue. It would ruin his night. I have caused him enough sorrow as it is. Gods, I need some air.’

She goes outside and heads to what has become her spot. Up the hill behind the manor, climbing on the most stable boulder. There is a clearing. Red Mountain visible, erupting. It makes her feel nostalgic, like she’s back home, when her biggest concern was what to have for dinner. She misses those times, when life was simpler. Her thought bubble is violently popped by the sight of a person, sitting exactly in her spot. And it wasn’t just anybody, it was Miraak. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise? Or a wicked curse. Whatever it is, she is sure that all the gods of fate are laughing copiously right now.

“Wanted to steal my identity, right? Well – ” she says, approaching him, “Stealing my favorite spot is a start, I’ll give you that.” She says, wondering why on Nirn was she doing this, and yet, she couldn’t help but try to undo some of the damage that she did earlier.

He jumps up, completely shocked to see her right there. “Oh! I’m sorry, I – I can leave.” He starts walking away.

“Wait! You can stay.”

“I don’t want to be a burden to you.” His gaze is fixated on the ground.

“You’re not. I… want you to stay. I have to tell you something.” She turns to him, who has now approached her reluctantly. “ Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things. I’ve been a proper asshole to you these days. It’s just that – ” she sighs, putting her palm over her chest and looking utterly sincere and genuine in her sorrow.

“You were hurt by me. I sent assassins after you and you hated that. You hate assassins.”

“How did you know?” Ravonna furrows her brows.

“I read through your journal.”

“Oh.” She looks down at the ground, ashamed of herself.

“I’ve said some things… back in Apocrypha. And I tried to kill you. Savagely and violently, but that’s not who I am. Gods... I was just trying to get out of there. I thought it was the only way. It seems that I was driven mad by the illusion of freedom... But you’ve hurt me too. You’ve said things, you tried to kill me and maybe the blame is somewhere... in the middle?" he lifts his hopeful, yet terrified gaze up to her.

A moment passes, her gaze still fixated on the ground. “I think so too.”

“I didn’t like you. I thought you were angry and impulsive and full of hate, but that was all that I saw… until I read your journal, and heard the stories from Lucien, and seen Inigo’s sketches. I saw that other part of you. Not directly, but I would like to witness it, if you let me. And I would like to show you who I really am. Our battle does not define us, kril sil. (brave soul)”

“What are you proposing?”

“I only wish to make amends.”

A silent moment passes. It feels like nothing to her and an eternity to him. “I’d like that.” She says in a soft voice, her lips forming a small smile as she looks up at him. She’s never been this nice and soft to him before, a surprising fact to them both.

He holds out his hand to her, but she’s trying her hardest not to let her guard down, trying to find an excuse not to touch him, but her heart said otherwise, acting faster than the brain this time, shaking his hand. Even his hand is soft, just like his hair, just like his eyes, just like everything about him.

“Nice to meet you, Ravonna Winter-Born.” He says, smiling, and she feels surrounded by warmth, hearing him say her name for the first time, touching her in a friendly manner for the first time. Why is she seeing him differently all of a sudden? Why is he the softest, cutest, warmest being she’s ever seen?

“Nice to meet you too, Miraak from Atmora.” They both laugh and sit on the ground, looking at Red Mountain’s endless eruptions.

"Winter-Born, huh? That's quite the nordic name for someone raised in Morrowind."

"I suppose so. By everyone's calculations, I was born in the winter months. Hjaldir... he is the one who gave me this name. Said I still had to have something nordic in me." she chuckles. "It was nice, growing up with him. Seeing a nordic face among the many dunmer made me feel a bit more at ease. At least I wasn't the only one with fair skin and green eyes."

"You do not know when you were born?"

"How could I? I never knew my mother." She states, realizing that he actually doesn't know her whole story.

"I'm so sorry about that." He wonders what kind of a person would he be, were it not for his mother.

"It's alright."

"Hjaldir? I've seen that name before. In your songbook." Miraak says, attempting to change the subject.

"Yes. He wrote many songs. In fact, I'm a bard because of him. My love for music is his doing" she chuckles silently. She misses him so much. She can only hope that he is doing alright.

"Music... that's something I haven't heard in a long while." The realization hits both of them like a strike of lightning in a violent thunderstorm.

"Well, that's about to change soon, now that you're stuck with us." Ravonna can't even begin to comprehend millennia spent in silence. Miraak hums in agreement. Hope dawns on him again. He will hear songs again. He can do that. Minutes are spent in wistful silence, both of them seemingly lost in their own oceans of thoughts.

“By the way, it’s uuh – It’s actually Fenrik.” He says, and Ravonna’s heart skips a beat, but she doesn’t know why.

“What?”

“My real name… before becoming a Dragon Priest. Miraak was given to me after joining the Dragon Cult. I was to be their Mir-Aak, their Allegiance-Guide, their leader.” He says, voice full of sorrow. “I wasn’t very good at that.”

“Why did you join the Dragon Cult?”

“I do not wish to burden you with my sad backstory, Ravonna. You’re a cheery person, I bet that’s the last thing you want to hear.”

“I told you that you’re not a burden. I didn’t mean what I said then. My rage took control of me. I am sorry. Truly.” She says, barely resisting the urge to pat him on the shoulder.

He takes a deep breath. She deserves to know, so that they’d be even. It would be easier to show her a journal, but alas, he had no journal to show.

“I joined the Dragon Cult because I was afraid. And because I had no choice. I was Dragonborn, the first and only being who could slay dragons and consume their souls, but I was still just a man. I couldn’t defeat them all. They were afraid of me, and I of them, and you know what they say: If you can’t beat them, join them. That was stupid of me, but I was terrified and I just lost everything I had. The Dragon Cult, it… gave me purpose, it hardened me. I was a scared, soft-hearted boy, nothing more.” He shifts his body to face her, but can’t bring himself to look at her. He just wants to feel seen and listened to for a while. “I was Fenrik Brynjarson, the healer with a bit of a passion for cooking. Fond of plants, tea and tree-climbing. Not very fond of battle, armor, or hunting. The so-called manly businesses. My father, Brynjar; his name literally translates to ‘warrior in armor’, he did not approve of my aspirations. I was to be a mighty hunter or a brilliant blacksmith, marry a simple woman and procreate. Because having descendants was the most important thing, for some reason. And no woman would look at a soft-hearted weakling. I have no intention of marrying or procreating, so my softness was doing me a favor here anyway.”

“That’s… wow. People in the First Era were crazy. Now no one really cares about what you do with your life. I mean, I’m in the same boat as you, as far as marriage and kids go, but no one really judged me for it, let alone been offended by it.”

“It seems that we do have some things in common, after all.”

“I suppose we do.” A moment passes, and the only thing that could be heard was the wind blowing through the leaves in the trees. “You didn’t like it, did you? The Dragon Cult.”

“I despised it. But some good came out of it, too.”

“Like what?” she tilts her head, looking at him.

“Before my joining, I got through a training process. That’s where I learnt more magic beside healing, how to fight properly, how to act, how to read. Back in Atmora… reading and writing weren’t a thing. I was mesmerized by it, always thirsty for more. Look where that got me.” He lets out a chuckle filled with sorrow. “Maybe no good came out of it after all…”

“Maybe things will work out. It’s not so terrible in the Fourth Era, is it?”

“Life is… challenging. Can’t say if it’s better or worse yet. Depends on a few factors.” He says, looking up at her, smiling, making her heart slam into her chest.

“Fine, I’ll try to make it more bearable for you. New quest.” She smiles back.

“I shouldn’t thank you yet.”

“I deserved that, I suppose you shouldn’t.”

She took it gracefully. He expected more fighting, shouting and lots of stubbornness, but he found warmth, softness and tons of charm instead. She truly was charming, and now those stories and sketches make more sense. They’re both taken aback by how easy it is to talk to each other, or get lost in each other’s eyes, which they are definitely doing right now. They can’t really help it, and for a moment, time seems to slow down, and the moons seem bigger and brighter, as if they are getting closer and closer, trying to catch what the two Dragonborn might be talking about.

“When did you know?” she asks. “When did you know you were Dragonborn?”

“You are determined to hear my full sad story tonight, are you?”

“Only if you feel comfortable sharing.”

“I do. I have shared it to those who listened. Your companions.”

“You… did?” the clear differences in expectation vs. reality don’t seem to cease tonight. He continues to surprise her with his openness.

“Do I detect a hint of betrayal in your voice, Dovahkiin? Perhaps jealousy, even?”

“Don’t push your luck! I’m surprised, that’s all.”

“Forgive me for not telling you, but you haven’t been the most approachable…”

“I suppose you’re right. Do continue.”

“One night, they came to me. All of them except for Teldryn. Lucien convinced them to hear my side of the story. He is a gem of a little man.”

“He really is.” She smiles fondly.

Seconds pass as both of their smiles fade, knowing what’s next.

“It was back in Atmora. The weather was getting colder, almost freezing everything. I was gathering firewood with my brother, and for some Gods-damned reason we started talking about the ships leaving for Skyrim. My father did not agree. He said it’s cowardly to just up and leave, and he wanted us to stay there and bravely face our demise.”

“Gods…” she says, lacking other words. A feeling of rage was building up in her. This father of his, he hurt him. She could see it in the way his voice trembles when he talks about him, and the sorrowful look in his eyes. All she wanted was to go back in time, even if just for one second, and punch that bastard, and tell Fenrik that everything is going to be fine. She feels this overwhelming urge to protect him from all that heartbreak.

“My brother… he wanted to cover for me, to let me go on one of the ships. He was going to stay, though. He was the perfect son to my father, always obedient, always the strong warrior, but when it came to me, his little brother… he would always stand up for me. He understood me and my different aspirations. But that led to many fights. I never wanted him to get in trouble on my behalf. And yet, he always defended me, facing our father’s wrath, too.” He took a deep breath, while she just looked at him, listening, seeing. “He had this… fear of disappointing him. Sometimes I felt as if he were brainwashed. I – I didn’t want to leave him behind. I loved him. But mother was gone, and all of my friends have already left or were thinking of leaving, and only the purists were to remain. I said that I won’t leave there without him. We ended up fighting, hurting each other with words. I just stormed off. I went to the beach, to look at the sea and try to make out the Skyrim land that you know today, but it was too far away. So I stared into nothingness… I stared until – until I heard a menacing roar, and I saw raging flames. The village had been attacked by a dragon. Betrayed by the very beast they worshipped. My folks… they were all – ” he takes a deep breath, calming himself. It doesn’t get any easier, telling this story, but it does feel better to feel seen, understood. “If only I had just gotten there sooner, I could have saved them, but no! I had to be a coward and run away. I never got to make amends with my brother. Only to hold his lifeless body in my arms and scream in agony. I killed that dragon. I don’t know how… I just know that I absorbed its very essence and then all the survivors kneeled before me. I hated it.”

“Fenrik, I – I’m so sorry.” She touches his shoulder this time, comforting, soothing him as best as she can without overstepping any boundaries. She couldn’t just stand there and do nothing, but she wants to take all the hurt away from him.

"Next thing I knew, I was surrounded by dragons, all talking to me in words I didn't understand. Words that made my soul twist and turn in agony. They... forced me to go to Skyrim. They earned a following. The infamous Dragon Cult." He grimaces. "I was tortured, brainwashed, or should I say 'corrected' as they put it. Eventually, they gave me the Mask and the name. That Mask... I am so glad I am rid of it. It was corrupting me, making me numb to everything. I never knew what kind of power I held within my soul for a long time. Until... well, until I did. And once I started killing the dragons after I snapped, I couldn't stop. The dragon souls... they were making me more hungry, filled with desire to kill them all. That's how the rebellion started. And the beginning of the end for the Dragon Cult. I came to Solstheim, which was part of the mainland, as you already know. A few other priests and dragons joined me in our cause. Vahlok came after me to put an end to the rebellion, and I'm sure you know the rest."

She just nods with furrowed brows. So much information to process. What he just said... his motifs were not so different from her own in her revenge quest.

“Thank you. This means much to me. I appreciate you were willing to talk and listen. I hate being on bad terms with people.”

“And now I understand why. Thank you for sharing this with me. Truly.”

They stay like that for a moment. “It was hard, you know. Having to accept that no one was ever safe. There was never such a thing… safety. I was foolish to believe in it.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “I believed that dragons were protectors of our people. And finding out first-hand about betrayal and dread… it was terrifying.”

“I can’t imagine. I was brought up in a land full of dangers. I guess that I always knew that safe was just an ideal… far, far away from reach.”

“I envy you for that. If only I were more prepared…”

“At least you know the feeling of safety. Even if it was a false sense of security, even if it was not real, you still felt that. I wish I had known the feeling… even if just for a little bit." Ravonna sighs. "We should probably… get back. It’s getting late and I’m starting to ramble.” Ravonna breaks the moment, but hates herself for it, retrieving her hand from his shoulder. It felt… nice. Dangerously so. Had she been burying all these feelings in vain? Is there any way to get out of this or is she in too deep now?

“Yes. Of course!”

She gets up. “Need a hand?”

He doesn’t, but he does want to touch her again, so he lets her help him. This time he doesn’t feel bad for it, and she doesn’t feel as cold and unreachable as she did when he helped him all those days ago. They begin walking back to the manor.

“So… I may have a few questions. I didn’t read the whole thing yet, but… You spent two whole pages insulting that Vilkas guy. Did he hurt your feelings all that much?”

She chuckles. “Now that I think back on it… no. It was just his attitude. Not accepting any help from an ‘outsider mage’ even though I helped them defeat that giant. And thinking he’s so much better than me because he’s a member of the Companions of Jorr-something, and a mighty, strong two-handed warrior." She says in a mocking tone. Does she really mean all of these? Is she truly over it? She can try. So she takes a deep breath and confesses: "I shouldn’t have gotten that angry. But he chose the worst day ever to mess with me. I barely escaped execution and saw Alduin for the first time. Along with a city destroyed and many, many dead people. I haven’t slept in two days, and had the worst mage robes imaginable with no enchantment table nearby.”

“That’s… a lot for one day.”

“Looking back, I can see why he was the way he was.” She laughs, shaking her head. “I was a rugged, bloody mage, accompanied by an even more rugged, bloody mage who was more excitable than me, Lucien looked like a proper lunatic. And we were barging into the city he swore to protect, screaming about dragons.”

“I see how that could be unsettling.”

“Still, I have no regrets. If I didn’t challenge him to a duel that had both of us carried away, shouting insults and destroying some poor farmer’s crops, I wouldn’t have ended up in the Whiterun Jail, therefore, I wouldn’t have met Inigo. Sometimes things just work out.” She says, catching herself looking at him.

“Maybe so.” he stops to look at her. They got back to the manor, and yet neither really wanted to open the door, letting the moment linger for just a little bit.

“Fenrik?”

“Yes?”

“What happened to the brainwashed people? And the cultists? None remember anything.”

“Being in that realm gave me powers I couldn’t access otherwise. The plan was to let them go after I got out. Unharmed and with no recollection of what happened.”

“Oh.”

“Looking back, they probably deserve to know what happened to them.”

“As much as I like to be just, they would hunt you down if they knew… Let them believe it was the All-Maker. Let them believe it was for a holy cause, because it puts their mind and soul at ease.”

“Your words… How do you know how to say the most comforting stuff?”

“I was trained to be a bard, remember?”

“Hi los faal pruzaan sonaan. (You are the best bard)”

“I… don’t think I want to know what that means” she says, opening the door, while he lets out a chuckle that warms her entire heart. She truly has no idea what that means. Maybe Fenrik can verbalize his emotions after all.

She helps him on the stairs, even though he doesn’t need it. He’s doing much better, but she feels the need to help him, to make up for the times she didn’t.

“Here we are” she says, now by his door.

“Thank you for tonight.”

“Thank you. For staying. Even though I was awful to you.”

“Guilt is in the middle. Remember that.”

“Yeah, well… in the middle, but slightly turned more towards me. Anyways! It was really nice meeting you, Fenrik from Atmora.”

“It’s Brynjarson.”

“No, it isn’t. You’re not your father’s son, nor are you defined by him.”

“Thank you.”

“Lots of thanking going on here. You’re not supposed to thank me yet, remember?” she gets a laugh out of him, and no victory compares to this one, to be the reason for his laughter. His smile could brighten even the darkest corners of Tamriel. “I didn’t expect you to open up like that, honestly.”

“You thought I’d be brooding? Mysterious and dark, all the time?”

“Yes, actually.”

“I’ve had time enough to do that in Apocrypha. This is my chance to start anew.” He pauses, taking a sigh of relief, leaning on the doorframe. “And maybe it’s not so bad here after all.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge.” she says, quickly walking away, letting the conversation die.

'Well that wasn't so bad, was it?' He thinks to himself. Maybe tonight the nightmares will go easier on him.

Chapter 8: Second chances. Second chances everywhere.

Chapter Text

The nightmares went easier on him that night. He only woke up, muffling his screams about three times. It's not like the nightmares will just vanish all of a sudden. It will take healing. Lots of Healing. And not the physical kind, he could have cured himself by now if that were the case... Soul healing. Mind healing. Life healing. He wakes up early, as usual, and goes to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror still feels weird, he is so real it almost feels unreal. He's here now. Out of the planes of Oblivion. But seeing his growing stubble feels even more real. That didn’t happen in Apocrypha. It’s like time stopped. He was still the same age of 28. It certainly feels like that. The only difference is the knowledge and torment. And this stubble, and his hair is down. He remembers shaving and braiding his hair every morning in his Dragon Cult days. A few moments of peace and routine before he had to be Miraak. But now, looking at his reflection, touching his fuzzy chin and neck, running his fingers through his long, soft honeyed hair, he doesn’t really know if he wants to change much. He sees this as an opportunity to distance himself from ‘Miraak’ and to really start doing what he likes. He wants to do what makes Fenrik happy. And right now, some sweetrolls would make him incredibly happy.

After washing himself, he gets downstairs, wondering if anyone is awake. No one. Right, the kitchen.

‘Okay, let’s see what we have here. Leeks, tomatoes, cheese, more cheese, ash yams, even more cheese. Maybe I shouldn’t prepare anything. I don’t want to make a mess in the kitchen and upset everyone. They have just started warming up to me. But this kitchen is amazing. So well-equipped. Look at that oven! If that even is an oven... I never got to use something like that. Stop it. You’ll set the house on fire. Maybe Ravonna knows how it works and can show me. Or Rumarin. He seems to be the one that can cook. But I’m definitely making the snowberry dumplings later. Always dreamed of those back in Apocrypha…'

He is very happy to find some sweetrolls. After taking care of those, he heads to the living room, the biggest area in the house. It’s an open room, with big libraries on its walls, a huge enchanter, a smaller alchemy table and an office. In the center a smaller coffee table sits, surrounded by two sofas and an armchair, all covered in colourful Dunmeri blankets. He sits in one of those, cozying up and continuing his work on the Deathbrand map.

As time passed, the companions all started waking up. Teldryn was the first. He didn’t say a word, going for a morning run. Next, each of the companions greeted him, doing their little morning routines. Rumarin was preparing breakfast, Inigo did some stretches and Lucien plopped down near him with a book in hand and a big mug of coffee in the other, but was immediately distracted by the map, so Fenrik told him all about it. Ravonna was the last to wake up. A faint hum could be heard from the bathroom while she washed up.

“Morning, everyone!”

“Well, aren’t you cheery! What happened? Secret stash of wine?”

She laughs at Rumarin. “I told you I’d never keep a secret wine stash hidden from you.”

He narrows his eyes at her, but decides to let it go. “Kwama eggs ready in three minutes, everyone!”

“Do you need help with setting the plates?”

“Inigo, my man, I’d appreciate it.”

With that, Inigo joined Rumarin in the kitchen, and Lucien went to the bathroom for his morning washing routine, which he can do only after finishing his coffee, leaving the two Dragonborn alone in the living room.

“Good morning.”

“It is! I think I’m finally done with the map.”

“Really?” she sits down next to him, looking at the map.

“So I realized that drawing a map from memory is… more challenging than I’d like to admit. There’s scales and details to consider… So I took a map of Solstheim and decided to draw over it, but I didn’t want to ruin your map. Because you only have this one, right?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine – ”

“Don’t worry, it proved to be too complicated anyways. There’s too many details to draw over. It would have been chaos!”

“Right…” she says, distracted by his sheer enthusiasm. He is excited. His freedom is finally setting in, and he feels like what he is doing matters.

"I'm sorry. I'm getting too invested in this. It's just that... I've never searched for a pirate's treasure before. It's exciting. And Deathbrand was... legendary. Did you know that he fought bravely along Hammerfell in the war with the Thalmor? Successfully defending the shores of Hammerfell and even gaining back the Stros M'kai island from the Thalmor... He was a master of ship combat. It is said that his ship was indestructible!"

"I've read about that... I may have developed an obsession with this guy ever since hearing about him. There's something about him... the way he fought for freedom, it seemed like he lived a life controlled by no one but himself. No prophecies, no people telling him what to do..." She sighs. "I know this is ridiculous, but I feel somehow... connected to him. The strong desire for freedom, finding home in a land that is not his own, despite being a nord... I don't know. The more I learn about him the more I find myself getting closer to him." Miraak nods, lost in thought. "I'm rambling, sorry. Tell me about this map."

“Do not apologize! I, too, find Deathbrand fascinating! And about the map, I put it against a window and put a blank paper over it, and drawn the island’s outline and main points of interest. And then, using my memory and some passages from the book, I was able to make… this!” he gestures towards the map. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but he seemed incredibly proud of it, and Ravonna couldn’t help but smile.

“Fenrik, that’s great!” she picks it up and inspects it, trying to conceal the look of confusion. “Why are there several x marks, though?” she says, as Lucien gets out of the bathroom unnoticed. He freezes up, looking at them.

“You see, I remembered reading further about this in Apocrypha. Some commentaries and studies about Deathbrand as a person. I almost didn't! They were so recent! But so is Deathbrand and his death! Not even 30 years have passed. Essentially, he hid his treasure in various places in Solstheim, so that no one would find it in its entirety. But get this! Every small treasure scattered around the island contains a hint. All the hints put together reveal the location of the real treasure. One that is truly remarkable.”

“How do we know if we have all the hints?”

“I believe it will all make sense once we uncover them.”

Inigo makes his way to them, followed by Rumarin close behind. They just wanted to announce breakfast, but were stunned by the sight before their eyes. Ravonna and Miraak. Sitting on the same sofa, quite close to each other. Talking. Like friends. And smiling. Miraak explaining something to her, gesticulating excitedly and Ravonna nodding, listening to him, with a smile on her face? What in Oblivion was going on?!

“I say we start our adventure as soon as possible, then. You up for it?”

“I think I’ve recovered almost fully. I can feel my magika refilling.”

“That’s good to know. How do we speed up the process?”

Did… did she just say that she wants him to heal faster? The companions exchange looks.

“Well that’s certainly not something I expected to see this morning.” Rumarin says, finally.

“What?” both Dragonborn ask at the same time.

“You two just… coexisting in peace?”

“Oh, yeah! We’re… we’re good. For now.” ‘For now? Why the f*ck did I add that. It's weird, but I hope we can stay like this.’ Ravonna thinks to herself.

“Did something happen?”

“We decided to talk it out, that’s all.” She says.

“It’s awful to live on bad terms with someone, so we made amends.” Miraak says, smiling at Lucien, who is now grinning from ear to ear.

“You have no idea how happy that makes me!”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it, Lucien!” Ravonna says, annoyed.

“That’s good news. I’ve got some more good news for you: breakfast is ready.” Rumarin says, and the whole fellowship heads to the kitchen.

***

“And then, I told them that the snail was exquisite indeed, and that I once had a diet that involved eating snails exclusively for a fortnight! Of course, this is all bullsh*t. I’ve never eaten that in my life, but I’m telling you, the snail wasn’t even that bad… if you ignore the texture, and the taste, and the smell, yes.” Ravonna says, while Miraak is almost choking on his food from laughter. She was charming, indeed. She has a certain charisma, sitting with her legs spread and taking so much space under the table, unapologetically unaware. Her big sleeping robes radiating enchantments and lavender and her hair was lazily tied in a low bun. Expressive eyebrows furrowed with every scandalous sentence. Drinking spiced tea from a huge mead tankard. Her soft hands, with no trace of calluses indicating that she relied on magic for almost any task, getting creative when she had to. Expressive hands, gesticulating in a weirdly gracious manner. She was idiosyncratic in the most captivating and charming way.

“She fooled those pretentious Thalmor better than I. And I grew up with posh Altmer!” Rumarin says.

“Oh, come on! You do not give yourself enough credit." She turns to Miraak. "This crazy bastard managed to seduce a Thalmor soldier and take all his clothes! He didn't even have to sneak into the Embassy! He was dressed in that poor and now heartbroken bastard's Thalmor robes. He just... walked in there and took what we needed and freed all the prisoners. No one suspected him." She laughs. "Besides, we overshadowed everyone at the Embassy with our dance.”

“Of course! I’m the most skilled seduceranddancer. You should really see what I can do with a pole.” Rumarin winks.

“I don’t think I want to.” She laughs.

“Neither do I!” both Lucien and Inigo speak at the same time.

“Cowards. All of you.” He responds, with amusem*nt in his voice. “I’m off limits anyway!”

“Oh? We’re that serious, I see?” Ravonna raises her eyebrows.

“I – Well…”

“Look at him! He’s in loooove!” Lucien sings.

“I didn’t know Altmer could get this red!” Inigo adds, much to Rumarin’s horror.

“Okay, fine! Iamin love with him! And have been for a while. I – I haven’t felt like this before. But I know that I would do anything for that man.”

“Rumarin, that’s beautiful. It’s song worthy, to be honest.” Lucien smiles.

“That could be arranged.”

“Ravonna, no!” Rumarin buries his face in his hands. He only gets this flustered when it comes to Marcurio.

“Ravonna, yes!” Lucien and Inigo find each other synchronizing their words again.

Miraak doesn’t interfere. He doesn’t even know where he would fit in this fellowship. But they sure are entertaining to watch. They’re good people, each of them with their own personality and quirks. Their banter flows so naturally. And they didn’t even shun him! He starts to think that this might be the right place for him.

His thoughts are interrupted by Teldryn barging in the manor, back from his morning workout with a letter in his hand.

“Letter for you.”

Rumarin jumps up and starts running towards him. “Must be my man!”. He snatches the letter from Teldryn, who just rolls his eyes. “For the Dragonborn.” Rumarin says, disappointed, after reading the first line.

The two Dragonborn exchange looks, amused. Both asking themselves the same question of'Which one?'.

“I am sure it is for you. I would be concerned if it was for me.” Miraak says.

“About time I receive a letter!” she quickly takes the letter and starts reading it. “Lads! It’s a party!” She excitedly tells the fellowship.

“A what?”

“A party invitation. From the Skaal village. They’re celebrating the… oh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Umm. It’s nothing, really. A… weird Skald celebration. We’re not going.”

“What? Who are you and what have you done with Ravonna?” Lucien asks.

“He’s right. You never say no to a party. Free food and drinks, you know?” Inigo adds.

“I know, it’s just…” she hopelessly locks eyes with Miraak.

“What are they celebrating?” he asks her, although, by the way she’s looking at him all concerned, he’s got an idea.

“They’re umm – they’re celebrating the defeat of Miraak.” She swallows hard, not knowing what to expect. A silent moment passes. “I thought they forgot all about it. Didn’t you wipe their memory?”

“This must be the work of Hermaeus Mora. Petty bastard must have made them immune.” Miraak says.

“At least he’s not hunting us down.”

“He’s afraid of us, he wouldn’t do that. I see this as some sort of punchline to this joke. Nothing more. He has a... twisted sense of humor.”

“Well, you’re the one who spent five thousand years with him…” Ravonna says. "Although, I have to admit, it's pretty funny."

“We’re going.” Miraak says, much to everyone’s surprise.

“We really don’t have to – ”

“It’s okay, Ravonna. I’m fine with it.”

“Are you sure?”

Is he? Could he ever be sure about this? Can he fully let go of ‘Miraak’? Miraak was a big part of him. The powerful part. Miraak made him feel invincible at times. Miraak made him feel safe. A mask he could hide behind. When he was Miraak he was the opposite of Fenrik. He wasn’t scared, soft and full of feelings, and that felt good for a while. Not feeling meant not hurting, but it also meant not laughing, smiling, or feeling content. It was just numbness. But since he lost his mask, he felt everything. Hopelessness, loneliness, despair, guilt, anger, frustration, but he also smiled for the first time in thousands of years, and even laughed. He felt soft again, he felt nostalgic and charmed. It all made him feel alive for the first time in a long, long while. How is he so certain in this uncertainty? ‘In this world-state, we really don’t know how long it’s going to last. So have fun. Bond with people. Make amends. And never take anything too seriously.’ Lucien’s words resonate in his mind yet again. This party may be a great opportunity for closure. Closure, but also getting closer to the fellowship.

“I… haven’t been to a party or celebrated anything in so long…I forgot what it feels like. I would like to be reminded, if that’s okay with you.” He smiles.

“But they’re celebrating your death!”

“And I am dead, after all. Miraak is gone. That’s what they know.”

“And are you… fine with that? With me killing you?”

“Can’t say I like it, but it’s much better than the alternative. Being hated and hunted down by the entire isle of Solstheim is an unsettling thought. And I know what truly happened, and so do you. Our duel has no conclusion.”

“We’ll see about that. After we deal with Alduin. Until then, however, I believe we have a party to attend to, apparently.” Ravonna smiles, surprised.

“Yeah! What are we wearing, Ravonna? We didn’t bring the clothes we wore at the Thalmor Embassy with us…” Rumarin says, disappointed.

“sh*t. This would have been a perfect opportunity to wear the fancy dress with the corset…” she sounds even more disappointed.

“I assure you that is not what you want to wear. The Skaal village is known as the coldest region on Solstheim. I’ll take three furs, thank you.”

“Lucien, it’s a party! You'll scare the people by looking like a frost troll.”

“You already have a layer of fur, Inigo. So don’t even!”

“I don’t think it’s that cold…”

“Oh, you’re not allowed to complain either, Atmoran! I bet you think this is short-sleeved weather.” he points his finger at a giggly Miraak.

“It is!”

“Absolutely not. My arms would freeze and then fall off. I’m dressing in furs and nothing can stop me!”

“Do we even have anything fancy with us?”

“Ravonna, don’t even worry about it. I've read that the Skaal dress in the warm, practical clothes. You’d be overdressed.” Lucien continues.

“Well it’s a power move! Make everyone feel underdressed, and suddenly, you’re in charge.” Ravonna raises her eyebrows. She will never pass on an opportunity to wear fancy wizard robes.

“I… don’t think that’s how it works.” Miraak intervenes.

“It worked at the Embassy.” Rumarin says.

“We’ll get some fancy furs from the market. There must be some for sale, right?” Ravonna says.

“I don’t give a skeever’s ass what we wear. Ravonna, can I have a word?” Teldryn asks, annoyed.

“Sure.” She says, walking to the living room and he follows, away from the rest of the fellowship.

“What is going on here?” Teldryn whispers angrily, once they get in the living room.

“We’re going to a party?”

“With the enemy! Who you are suspiciously friendly with this morning.”

“Look, we talked it out. There’s no point in constantly being miserable until we deal with Alduin. He’s… part of the fellowship now. And there’s no place for hate here.” She finds it difficult to utter these words. A part of her is screaming, angry, frustrated: ‘He doesn’t deserve your sympathy! He sent cultists after you. He wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you and your friends, were the circ*mstances different!’

“Silly girl. He’s going to stab you in the back. He’s going to stab us all!” Teldryn says, his words almost unleashing her vengeful side. She has to take a deep breath.

“And why would he do that? We’re at peace, for now. No reason to kill each other. I’ll deal with it once Alduin is dead. We’ll have our duel, and I’ll… I’ll deal with him then.” She says, finding this sentence even more difficult to finish. Everything’s confusing.

“I don’t trust him. I don’t like him.”

“Give him a chance. No place for hate in the fellowship, remember?”

“He tried to kill you!”

“And I tried to kill him!” she snaps back.

“He did it first! I can’t believe you’re defending that monster!”

“He’s just a man. With feelings of his own. Have you even tried talking to him?”

“Why would I? So that he can manipulate and corrupt me, too? I won’t be fooled like you and your companions!”

“There is no reasoning with you, is there?”

“Not when he tried to take your life!”

“I see. I haven’t forgiven him either. It’s just that – ” she sighs, trying to find her words, “I find it… tiring. To be angry. I find it pointless as well. Why make our lives more miserable? Why should it be filled with hate and anger?”

“Because it’s what keeps us going.”

“I don’t think I’m defined by vengeance anymore. I’m trying to distance myself from that. That life… It didn’t suit me. For a while I even stopped admiring the sky and listening to the bards' songs. That’s how blind I was. Too focused on my vengeful task.” She says, satisfied that she’s found her flow of words again. Teldryn blinks at her. “I got my revenge, by the way. Burned the sanctuary to the ground. You know what it brought me? More nightmares. Yes, The Dark Brotherhood is a horrible, horrible thing. But in my quest to destroy it, I had become what I hated the most. A cold-blooded murderer, who was driven by hate and revenge." she continues, her vision getting darker, feeling as if darkness wraps around herself like a snake. She shudders at the memory, but she has to say it. She has to tell him what happened. And she has to work on herself. Admitting it is the first step. "I couldn’t even look at my own reflection. I hated it… It’s hard, but I’m trying to change. To be better. To make the old me - the good me - proud. And it may sound foolish, but maybe Miraak is my chance to do that. To learn how to let go. To have a companion that has done me wrong, but in the end, has become a friend. I felt like I was truly living again after I started travelling with friends. They helped me enjoy life again. They made me laugh, they reminded me that life can be beautiful." She says, as she makes her way back to the kitchen, but stops and, without turning to face him she says, over her shoulder: "And that there’s more to it than revenge. I hope you can see that one day.” She goes out into the kitchen to drag her companions to the market to buy some party clothes.

Teldryn sighs, but can’t help the smile that is tugging at his lips. She starts sounding more and more like his brother. She’s got his kind soul, Teldryn’s bravery and Hjaldir’s charisma and wit. How did she manage to get all the good traits from them? By Oblivion, he can even learn a thing or two from her. Oh, how the tables have turned, he thinks. However, this party will be a nice change, so he welcomes it.

Chapter 9: A celebration turned metaphorical

Chapter Text

“Soooo, your brilliant shortcut is supposed to have us cross that river?” Lucien asks, trembling and wrapped in a hooded bear fur coat.

“So it would seem.” Miraak responds, his lips forming a thin line. “Hm. How did we not see this?” he turns to Ravonna.

“Well I thought it was just a path, ok? And we’re late…” she looks at him apologetically, yet defensive.

“We’re late because you just had to enchant everything.” Lucien says.

“I’m always prepared, my dear. Looking fierce and deadly! Why are you looking at me like that?” she narrows her eyes at Miraak.

“It’s just that… You remind me of the ridiculous wizards from those over-the-top adventure books. It’s preposterous!” Miraak says. His smile turns into a chuckle when he sees the look on her face, repressing her smile. She wants to be angry, but she can’t. Banter is always good. She is wearing blue robes, decorated with sparkly stars. And, as a cherry on top, a grey, wizard-like hat, that doesn’t fit the outfit whatsoever, but it makes her feel happy. And it compliments her long, black hair quite nicely, surprisingly. He thinks for a moment. She does have the ability to make anything work. That outfit wouldn’t suit anyone, and yet it’s so perfect for her.

“I’m the Dovahkiin. I’m supposed to be preposterous, don’t you think?”

“Whatever works for you, strun do fille (storm of stars).”

“You’re just jealous of these robes, admit it.”

“I’m alright.” He shakes his head at her. They were running short on options, so he only got a black pirate-like shirt and some grey large linen pants. Nothing extraordinary, but he doesn’t want to stand out at all, so it works just fine for him.

“No, I think you’re the jealous one. I have the best robes in here. I think it really brings out my eyes!” Rumarin says.

“You stole the temple robes, you lunatic! If the priests find out, we’re screwed.”

“Relax, Lucien. I just borrowed them. Really love the design and soft fabric.” Rumarin says, caressing himself.

“Crazy bastards!” Teldryn chuckles under his breath, wearing the classic dunmer clothes.

“Maybe we can keep them. I haven’t seen such nice robes in Skyrim. Do you think I could be a priest?”

“Sera, only if priests of Sanguine exist.”

“That’s it. I found my calling. I regret to inform you, but I must leave and fulfill my prophecy!” Rumarin says dramatically, putting a hand over his heart, while Ravonna gasps in an over-the-top manner.

“Guys? We’ve been standing in front of the river for a while now. Any chance we make our move? Poor Lucien is freezing already.” Inigo pleads, although he was loving the banter. He is wearing blue robes that match his fur.

“Right. So what do we do? Do we just… cross the river?” Rumarin asks.

“Nothing on Nirn can convince me to actually do that!”

“You Imperials and your low cold tolerance… I’ve got a plan.” Ravonna smirks, while Rumarin gets lost in thought at that.

‘If only he were here…’ he thinks to himself. It’s all so confusing. How is it possible to miss someone this much? Their relationship barely had a chance to bloom, and then they had to leave him behind. Worrying everyday that the next letter will bring bad news or even worse, announcing Marcurio’s death. That, he couldn’t bear. With each moment that passes, he wants to get back to Skyrim more and more. To make sure he’s alright and to hold him and kiss him and taunt him again…

“Why do I have a bad feeling about this?” Lucien’s voice interrupts Rumarin’s thoughts.

“Relax. We’re on house Redoran territory, am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that means that the Empire doesn’t make the rules here.” She smirks.

“You’re not thinking of…” Teldryn intervenes, gesturing above the river.

“Oh, but I am! You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do it again!”

“Oh no…” Lucien says.

“We’re going to levitate!”

“Last time you did that, you ended up in jail, Ravonna!”

“Because it was Cyrodiil. And people there are… close-minded.”

“You’re saying the empire is close-minded?” Lucien asks, a hint of offense in his voice.

“Well, yes. Sometimes. Of course, your mother is an exception!” She puts her arms up in defense.

“Like that floating-device-thing in Neloth’s house? Also when did that happen?” Inigo wonders.

“It’s a great story! I can’t believe I haven’t told you already! But I’d prefer it if we were in a nice tavern with some mead. It’s that kind of story, you know?”

“Oh, I know.” Lucien says, rolling his eyes.

“Now let’s go. But I can only take one at a time!” Ravonna excitedly points her finger at Lucien, and then at everyone else.

“Are you serious? Can you even lift me?” Inigo cackles.

“I’m enchanted to the brim! I don’t even have to lift you up, just hold on to me.”

“How do I even?”

“Are we really doing this?” Teldryn asks, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

“We’re here. We’re late. And the other way is around the mountains. It would take days.”

“I can’t believe you’re talking me into this…”

She gives him a smug smile. “Now…” she says, bracing herself, “who would like to go first?”

“There’s no way I’m doing this again.” Lucien says, crossing his arms.

“You know what they say: third time’s the charm.”

“Third time?” Rumarin asks, even more upset that he didn’t know this.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Lucien says, giving Ravonna a sharp look.

“You’re making everyone nervous. It’s really fun, actually. Just like flying.”

The fellowship exchange looks. After a moment of silence, a most unexpected companion speaks up. She was expecting the loyal Inigo, or Rumarin, who has become her ride or die, but another voice responded.

“I’ll do it. Let’s see how good of a mage you really are, Dovahkiin.” Miraak speaks up.

“Oh, I thought you didn’t mind the cold water, Mr. Atmoran.”

“I don’t. but these lovely linens would get dirty. And that would truly be preposterous. In the worst sense of the word.”

“Very well.” She rubs the back of her neck nervously. It’s been a while since she’s done this. And out of all people, why did it have to be him? Her vengeful nature is threatening to break the walls that she had carefully built in the last few days, but as she looks at him and sees him raising his eyebrows at her, eager, and not vengeful at all. The look in his eyes seems genuine. Sure, he was bantering, but that only meant that he fit right in with the fellowship. “Just… hold on to me.” She places his arm over her shoulders quite aggressively and he lets out a chuckle. “Nervous chuckle?”

“Absolutely not. I’m not afraid of heights, you know? I used to ride dragons, for Gods sake – oh!” she took him by surprise as she started floating in the air, quickly gaining height.

The vengeful part of her is telling her to just drop him, but she manages to land smoothly, burying the revenge deep down.

“Still got it.” She smirks.

Miraak takes a few steps back, placing his hands on his hips, shaking his head in disbelief. She actually did that. He’s only read about levitation magic before. To see it, and be subject to it, was entirely something else.

“That was – ”

“Amazing, I know. Save your flattery for later. When you might need it. I’m not about to fly you across Solstheim whenever you want.”

“You have to teach me how to do that and flattery won’t be necessary.” He says, rising his hands up in defensive manner.

“Maybe I like the flattery… And a preposterous wizard never shares her secrets!” She winks at him, because it felt natural in the moment, but keeps on wondering why she did it.

After crossing the bridge carefully and walking the distance, the fellowship finally arrived at the Skaal village and was greeted warmly. Upon entrance, they were all given snowberry crowns and a shot of some of the strongest alcohol that has graced Ravonna’s lips. Tradition, the Skaal called it.

“That is absolutely amazing. I would like to know the recipe.” She says, holding the small glass to her heart, tears forming in her eyes from the strength of the drink, while Lucien and Miraak have a cough access.

“You’re going to have to talk to Elmus for that. He’s the one that does the brewing. I’m sure he’s here somewhere.” A Skaal woman says, smiling at them, while an older nord is laughing at Miraak and Lucien’s agony.

“Seeing folks drinking that for the first time never gets old!” the old nord laughs.

“I need water!” Lucien says, his face now as red as a beetroot.

“By the Gods, the All-Maker, and everything else that people believe in these days…” Rumain says, wrinkling his nose after taking the shot.

“I’m already drunk… I think” Inigo says, tilting his head at the empty glass.

Teldryn is trying very hard not to show it, but the strong alcohol impressed him too. It’s left him speechless, even, so he resorts to nodding and giving them a ‘not bad’ look. Miraak, on the other hand, walked up to the nearest house to lean on it.

“You okay?” Ravonna asks him.

“I – uh – I’ve never had anything this strong in my entire life. My throat feels like the way Red Mountain looks!” he says, making Ravonna laugh out loud and he can’t help but smile, despite the awful burning feeling in his throat. She looks lovely like this, with her head slightly bent backwards and eyes closed. She laughs with her whole face, and he finds that very endearing. Hopefully, he’ll get to see this side of her more often, because he’s liking it more and more.

“That was good. Too good. I might steal it.”

“Steal away.” He bows, still trying to ignore the burning.

“Dragoborn! It is truly an honor to stand before you!” an older Skaal says, approaching them. He’s accompanied by many Skaal people. By his side is a young nord woman.

They all bow to Ravonna and she exchanges looks with Miraak.

“Oh! Really, there’s no need for that, please.” She says.

“There is! You defeated Miraak. You set us free from his grasp!” the woman says, sending a wave of mixed feelings towards Ravonna. Pride? Guilt? Sorrow, perhaps? She feels it all, and as much as she hates it and is grateful for it, Miraak is right behind her, very much not dead.

“I – I mean… Well…” she looks at him. Miraak gives her a reassuring smile and a nod, and it’s all she really needs to let hell break loose. “I – Yes! I kicked his ass, actually.” she smiles at him playfully and pridefully, while he has a confused and slightly amused face.

‘So this is how you like to play along, laat Dovahkiin (last dragonborn).’ He thinks to himself. “Well yes, but it seems that he put out a good fight. You were badly injured after the fight.” He smoothly intervenes. “Not to mention how you almost ran out of healing potions.”

“I suppose he did put up a good fight. I also could have used an ace I have up my sleeve that would have been quite extreme. Luckily, that wasn’t necessary.” The tension is rising and the two Dragonborn could feel it.

“Good thing you didn’t do that. Would have been quite foolish, wouldn’t it?” Miraak says, stepping closer, putting on his best fake smile. She squares up to him.

“I almost had no choice.” Ravonna says, firmly. No trace of a smile can be seen on her face.

“Fair enough.” His voice is barely a whisper now. ‘What was this? What were we doing? A weird power display? Or was it more than that? Is she going to poison me tonight or will we have another heartfelt moment?’

Ravonna also seems lost in thought. Her ugly side threatening to get out of the cage now more than ever. She can feel her face reddened, burning. ‘This is what he does? After all I’ve done for him? After getting out of Apocrypha, I could have ended him more times than he can count! Leave him to rot in his cursed temple. That’s what I should have done. I welcomed him in my fellowship and I accepted his aid gracefully and this is how he repays me? He’ll see. He’ll get my wrath. But I can’t erupt now. I feel like Red Mountain. But Gods damn it, that line was actually good. He made me laugh with that. I can’t cause a scene, I must focus.’

A few moments of silence later, the Skaal exchange looks, not really understanding what this tension is all about.

“I do believe introductions are in order!” Lucien says suddenly. He gives Ravonna a desperate look.

“Right… Of course! I’m Ravonna Winter-Born. Some call me Dragonborn, others call me friend… and some call me names I can’t quite understand yet.” She gives Miraak a piercing look, only to be stunned by his smile. ‘He did not just laugh in my face. Is that a real smile or a fake smile?’

“It’s an honor to meet you, Dragonborn, slayer of Miraak. I am Storn. Shaman of the Skaal Village. I see you got acquainted with our welcoming tradition.” He smiles. Despite everything, her rage fades away quickly. Maybe it was the strong alcohol, or Miraak’s seemingly genuine, soft smile, but she was feeling content.

“Please, the honor is mine. I have heard many stories of the Skaal. It brought me comfort to know that there are other nords living on Dunmeri land.” She smiles, bowing to them.

“And we wouldn’t have it any other way. Be proud of who you are, Dragonborn. And don’t let anyone make you feel unworthy. Nords are a perseverant and strong people. You are a walking evidence of that statement.” Storn’s voice is soft, yet firm. He takes both of her hands and bows. Miraak smiles at that. After reading all about what the nords came to be, it is nice to see two very different nords show respect to each other like that. Storn and Ravonna were different in every meaning of the word, and yet, they admire each other and find common ground. Perhaps not all modern nords are stubborn and close-minded, as the histories depict them.

“Now, let us celebrate the brave Dragonborn and our freedom!” the shaman says, and turns to lead them into the village.

“Did you – did you hear that?” Ravonna turns to Miraak, “Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it? ‘Slayer of Miraak’” her voice full of teasing inflections, smiling. However, there’s still something cold, distant about her.

‘It does have a nice ring to it. Words cannot describe how relieved I am that Miraak is dead. I have wanted this ever since the concept of Miraak came to be. This might be my chance to live my life as I want. My rebirth.’ He thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Instead, he just shakes his head, smiling, because it’s all he can do in this moment.

***

The Skaal turn out to be very welcoming, gifting them with warm, traditional cloaks, organizing a festival-like event in the village market, offering the best traditional food and drinks. They listened to the fellowship telling tales of their adventures, they celebrated and sang to the northern lights, which beautifully lit the ash-filled sky, giving it an eerie, ethereal look.

There is a feeling deep down that Fenrik cannot quite grasp. Freedom? Relief? Rebirth? Happiness? Belonging? A true sense of self? Perhaps all of them, at once. He mingled a bit with the village members and with Lucien and Rumarin, but mostly, he’s been lost in thought tonight. He’s dreamt of this moment for a long, long time, to be free of the Dragon Cult, of Hermaeus Mora’s tight grasp, of Miraak. It’s a weird feeling that he gets in his chest, perhaps for the first time in his life. He feels as if his own soul trembles with joy, dancing to the song of the wind blowing through the trees and the birds singing in the night and Red Mountain silently erupting and the fires cracking. The song of life. The song of freedom.

“I’m going to need another one of those magical little glasses of… alcohol elixir for this one!” he could hear Ravonna say, her accent thickened by the alcohol. An interesting blend of dunmeri and nordic. However, the nordic side being more predominant now. “Thank you, kind sir! Lucien! Did you write the recipe for this wondrous thing?” She asks, taking the shot and shuddering.

“Yes, ma’am! It’s… in one of my pockets, I’m sure of it.” Lucien responds, having a bit of a drunken lisp.

“Alright! I can always sing this song better after some drinks! This is an old song of my people. I’m thankful to have had a remarkable nord who made sure I never forgot my roots growing up. Let’s just hope I don’t mess this up too much.” She says, turning to Fenrik. Her eyes obviously indicating that she’s talking to him.

Nothing could have prepared him for what he was about to hear. Ravonna singing an old Atmoran song. All of a sudden, he felt even more overwhelmed. He remembers the song like he heard it yesterday, although it’s been thousands of years. He never thought it possible to hear it again. It was a party song, about having a good time and reminiscing about the good memories. He remembers his sailor friends coming home. He remembers running to the inn, excited to see them again and hear about their adventures. He remembers them singing this song all the time. And before he knows it, his vision is blurred by tears. He quickly wipes his eyes, not for shame, but to see her better. A waterfall of feelings of gratitude fill his soul as he watches her sing the song. She is anything but graceful. Playing a fiddle that she somehow received from the Skaal, dancing and jumping around and singing to everyone and no one in particular, messing up the lyrics, clearly having learnt them phonetically, her wizard hat now on the ground, because she banged her head too much, but she doesn’t care. The pure joy she gets from singing is contagious. She is happy, joyful, and so, so beautiful, the fire they gathered around illuminating her face just right, the northern lights accentuating her beautiful, long raven hair, her big, preposterous wizard robes swaying with her to the song. Fenrik finds it hard to look away. There she was, in her element. Wherever she goes, there she is, being unapologetically herself. It aches to think about the possibility that this could be a constant in his life. Ravonna. The Laat Dovahkiin (last Dragonborn). His murderer. His savior. His mortal enemy. The one his heart craves and yearns for. He refuses to think further about this matter. It's complicated and she surely doesn’t feel the same. Maybe it’s just the alcohol and the wave of emotions he has been feeling tonight. Hopefully that is the case. He wishes that is the case.

He is sitting on a bench that is glued to someone’s house. It’s a bit farther away from where everyone is celebrating around the fire, but the cold never bothered him. This is nothing compared to Atmora. It’s quite pleasant, actually. The weather seems perfect. Just like the whole night. He laughs softly at the thought of a conversation between him and his past self, the leader of the Dragon Cult. He wouldn’t believe himself. He wouldn’t believe it possible, to be able to celebrate the death of Miraak, and the rebirth of Fenrik at once. He looks down at his mead Tankard, who is now almost empty. He tries to remember how many tankards did he drink tonight, but his thoughts are interrupted by Ravonna slamming herself down on the bench, sitting next to him, provoking a small earthquake.

“Wha – ”

“Enjoying yourself? I personally think it’s a great party” she smiles at where the Skaal have gathered around the big fire.

“It’s better than I would have ever imagined.” He responds, being surprised by his sincerity. Maybe he’s had too many drinks. It doesn’t help that he hasn’t had any alcohol since leaving Atmora.

“Right, well, I’m glad that you’re having a good time. However – ” she turns to him with a facial expression he can’t quite read, “ – care to tell me what was all that about?”

“What?”

She squints her eyes at him. “Don’t play dumb, you know what I’m talking about.”

“I think I do… but just to be sure – ”

“Your weird little mind games when we arrived at the village!”

“Yes. I knew it was about that…”

“Well?”

“I do not like that type of magic… It is reckless.” ‘The thought of you sacrificing yourself like that makes me restless. I do not want – ’

“It is only to be used as a last resort. That’s all…” she says, looking at her feet, feeling defeated. It was reckless and stupid of her to try to use it. There needs to be a Dragonborn or else the world will end, at the claws of Alduin. She almost killed them both. She almost destroyed the world, Akatosh has put his trust in her and this is how she repays the God?.

“I know. I only wish it were different. I wish you didn’t feel the need to use it…”

“I know.” She takes a deep breath, holding it for a few seconds and releasing it with a big sigh. “But I don’t really want to think about it. It kind of ruins the mood, you know? I shouldn’t have brought this up.”

“I was the one that brought it up. Back when we entered the village.”

A silent moment passes and Ravonna turns to him. After a second she bursts into laughter. When that laughter is met with a confused look, she explains her feelings.

“I’m sorry.” She barely says between giggles. “It’s just so funny to me how life works.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, some nights ago, we were killing each other, and now we’re almost fighting over who is supposed to be apologizing. How did we get here?!”

He laughs along with her, feeling lightheaded from the alcohol. “I have no idea. I'd call it a pleasant surprise.”

“Well then, let’s make most of it! I need another one of those magical shots, and they are a lot more fun to drink with somebody.” She says, getting up and offering her hand.

“There’s magic involved?” He says, taking her hand and trying to get up, but she lets go of his hand, falling on the snow. She was laughing again and she almost dragged him with her.

“Oh, Gods!” she gets up and shakes the dirt and snow off her robes. “I thought a man as well-read as you would be able to spot a figure of speech. I didn’t mean actual magic!”

“Oh, give me a break, vahdin (woman)! It’s been a long night and I haven’t had a drink in five millennia!”

“Whatever. Your fancy dragon words don’t make up for it!” She looks directly in his eyes. They’re close to each other. Just like in Apocrypha when she got up and in his face. The pose so similar, yet so different. Like looking in a mirror and seeing the complete opposite.

“Hi los ful brit. (You are so beautiful)”

“Shut up, s’wit.” She says, not understanding a word from his dovahzul, but her face doesn’t indicate any trace of anger.

“I know what that means.”

“You know everything, don’t you.”

He thinks for a moment. “Not everything, no. I’ve read books, yes, but I don’t know much about you.”

“Okay, alright. Here’s a fun fact about me: I really want to go take that shot.”

“Fiiiiiiine.” He lets himself get dragged to the main area of the party.

***

And what a party it was! The elders, along with Teldryn retired to their homes. A very nice Skaal offered to let Teldryn use her son’s bed, because her son wanted to stay with the party.

The party moved inside the Skaal tavern shortly after that. Drinks, songs and even more drinks. It seems both the Skaal and the fellowship needed something like this. It makes Ravonna ask herself when was the last time the fellowship had a proper party like this. A question she can’t answer, her mind blurry and cloudy from the alcohol. She takes a deep breath, tankard full of mead in hand. It’s her third in a row. Competing with Rumarin and Slaskr, a Skaal who has a very high alcohol tolerance, apparently. But no matter how much she tries to drown herself in alcohol and other thoughts and party tricks, her stubborn mind won’t think about anything else other than Fenrik and his smile and his soft eyes and his soft hands, as she pulled him up to take that shot, and the way he tied up his hair in a messy bun, leaving golden soft curls fall on his smile-curled cheeks. She shakes her head, as if to shake the thoughts out of her mind. She starts drinking.

Hours full of drunken shenanigans, dancing on tables, drinking contests and party tricks pass. Eventually, everyone either passed out or went to sleep wherever it was available. Rumarin, Ravonna, Inigo and Fenrik were unfortunate enough to be the last ones to go to sleep. Now they hopelessly look at the common sleep area and the beds, all occupied.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Rumarin says, revolted.

“There is no way to move them. It would also be kind of rude.” Inigo intervenes.

Rumarin pouts. “Well, I ain’t sleeping on a bedroll. I’ve done that enough in our adventures!”

“You’ve been sleeping in Severin Manor for the last couple of weeks!” Ravonna protests.

“Lucien sleeps too well in there… I’ll see if I fit in that bed.”

“There’s no way you – ” but Ravonna is interrupted by the thud that resonates through the hall. That would be Rumarin plopping down on the bed Lucien was sleeping in, drunkenly unbothered. Lucien has the lowest alcohol resistance, bless his heart, but he seemed to have had the time of his life tonight. By the wall, there are several bedrolls, brought there by the Skaal who wished to stay with the fellowship. They truly had the best intentions. It’s just that they never really had such a big party, with Trisk Mead hall members joining as well, and the Tavern was not built to host so many guests. So they make their way to the bedrolls, avoiding stepping on the people who passed out on the floor.

“Well, at this point I don’t even give a sh*t. I think I’ll fall in love on the way to the bed at this rate.” Ravonna mutters.

They stop dead in their tracks.

“What did you just say?” Fenrik asks, eyes now wider than ever.

She chuckles nervously. What a dumb thing to say. Why on Nirn did she get it all mixed up like that?

“Asleep! Gods… I meant asleep. I have no idea why I said that!” she raises her arms in defence.

“Suuure…” Inigo squints his eyes at her, giving her the sudden urge to punch him if he utters another word on this matter. But by the way she is looking at him, he understands and moves on, but not without giggling.

Fenrik is still taken aback by it, moving a bit slower. What was that about? He didn’t see Ravonna as a ‘falling in love’ person, but to hear her say it… it almost gives him hope in this drunken state. But everything is blurry and spinning, so he refuses to think further, plopping down on the bedroll. She does the same, right in the bedroll next to his, truly not caring about anything anymore, or so she tells herself. She will worry about feelings and hangovers tomorrow.

Chapter 10: The best cure for a hangover is raiding an ancient tomb, of course!

Chapter Text

He slept like a log. He’s surprised to wake up in the same position that he went to sleep in. He’s even more surprised to realize why he’s awake. He hears it again, closer this time. A knock on the window? He hears it in his very soul. He gets up and instantly regrets it. Where is he and why is he feeling like he’s already dead? His mouth feels like it’s been filled with cotton, his head hurts and everything is spinning. It is way too bright outside. What happened? He looks around the chamber and sees people passed out anywhere and everywhere. He sees Ravonna, sleeping in the bedroll next to him and he remembers.

‘So last night was real, and not just a figment of my imagination that I’ve created as a coping mechanism.’ He thinks to himself, remembering how it truly felt like he rose from the ashes of Miraak and became Fenrik again last night. He watches Ravonna sleep. She seems so comfortable, even though she’s sleeping on the floor. He smiles fondly, remembering the sound of her voice as she sang in old Atmoran, remembering how her hair swayed in the wind and the way she smiled at him, remembering…

His thoughts are cut short by another knock. Louder this time, right at the window next to him. He rubs his eyes and braces himself to seem as okay as possible. It’s probably a skaal. He hopes it’s a skaal. He opens the window, the ice-cold breeze waking him up a bit.

“Ah! There you are. I was getting worried. Thought I’d stay here and knock all day.” An old man says, fresh and smiling. Tharstan.

“Uuh, sorry about that?”

“Well it’s almost noon!”

“What’s this about?” Ravonna’s sleepy voice can be heard from behind him.

“There you are! Are you ready yet?”

“Ready. For. What?” she asks, deadpan, the bags under her eyes now more prominent than ever. She steps forward to the window.

“For our adventure, of course! You promised last night…”

“Oh…” she sighs dramatically, rubbing her temples. She remembers vaguely.

“I told you about this revolutionary discovery of mine. It is of most importance – ”

“Yeah, that nordic… ruin-thing?”

“We do not know it for sure, but remember that I paid most handsomely, and you gave me your word that you’d offer protection for a humble academic, such as myself… I’ll give you some more time, it would seem that you need it.” He offers them a look. He didn’t even know who looked worse.

Ravonna shuts the window and leans her forehead to it. It’s cold and unpleasant, but maybe she’ll wake up from this nightmare. She is not, in fact, dreaming. She realizes this when Fenrik starts talking to her.

“I – What kind of deal did you make last night?”

“Don’t.”

“Ravonna…”

“What?” she finally turns to looks at him. Gods, he does not look good.

“I don’t feel so good.” He furrows his brows and starts breathing heavily.

“Oh. You… need some greasy food, and lots of water. Do you need to sit down?”

“I don’t think – ” is all he gets to say before rushing to the plant pot that was thankfully right beside him. And he’s spewing all over that poor plant.

“Mm-mm” she shakes her head. “I’m not dealing with this.” And with that, she goes towards the door to get some fresh air, thinking about nothing and everything at once. She needs to process all of this because it’s too much for her poor, hungover mind.

“I’m sorry.” He says, followed by the most ungodly growl…grunt…snarl? He has no idea what it is, but he is shaking and wanting this to be over. He doesn’t remember vomiting being this violent and unpleasant. sh*t. The whole ‘process’, if you could call it that, becomes a bit more bearable when a pair of hands start holding his hair up, and a voice asks him if he’s alright. Who was that? It sounds so familiar, and yet, he cannot put a face on it. He wants to look up, but is afraid he’d just spew all over this helpful person who was nice and kind enough to give him comfort in a moment when he needed it.

He's finally done after a few more excruciating minutes that feel like an eternity. When he looks up he sees the most unexpected pair of amber eyes.

“There you go. Finally got it out of your system, eh? It sure sounded like you were throwing up all of the monsters from Apocrypha…” Rumarin says.

“I like to think of it as me releasing all of my demons. It did feel like that. Gods…”

“You did great.” He winks at Fenrik, and only now does he see the braid in Rumarin’s hair.

“That braid.”

“Figured you wouldn’t remember about it…” he says rather sadly.

“No, no! I think it’s coming back to me…”

~

“And then I just started running. Couldn’t stop. That life was over, no more. I will never be one of them. Racist, exclusivist, slave-owning bastards! They wanted to make me marry some rich altmer woman to ‘ensure good relationships and nobility’ and to ‘preserve the exquisite family genes’. Auriel’s bald, shiny hair…”

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” Miraak responds, leaning on the balcony pillar, sympathizing with Rumarin more then he’d ever expected.

“I knew I had to get away from that place immediately. It was life on the run or screaming on the inside forever in a loveless marriage, stuck in a country that I despise, surrounded by posh idiots, whose minds are more closed than the f*cking Lexicon.” Rumarin says, finishing his drink in a big, emotional gulp. “You know, I started… never mind, it’s stupid. I don’t even know why I’m telling this to you of all people…”

“You have no idea how much I relate to all of this, don’t you?”

“I… suppose I don’t. sh*t, I’m being a dickhe*d. I’m sorry.”

“I understand. Trying to kill your friend didn’t put me in the best light…”

“I know, but I’ve heard you side of the story, and yet I’m still being an ass.”

“I deserve it.” Miraak swallows hard.

“No. don’t say that. Every decent person deserves a second chance. And you seem more than decent, Miraak.” He pats him on the shoulder. “But don’t take this as flirting, I’m a taken man, you see. I have the loveliest, tiny bastard waiting for me in Skyrim!”

“A second chance…” Miraak sighs wistfully. “That seems to be the theme of the night for me. Thank you. And please, do call me Fenrik. I’m trying to get away from the whole ‘Miraak’ persona…”

“Fenrik.” He nods at him. “Suits you better.” He says, putting the biggest smile on Fenrik’s face, softening his features even more.

“What did you want to tell me?” Fenrik asks, trying to change the subject before he gets too overwhelmed and turns into a drunken, emotional, sobbing mess.

“Just that… I don’t know why, but after that, I kept praying to Mara. I was feeling truly alone. And I searched for company in the wrong places. I’ve had many…adventures. But no matter how much I wanted to pretend it wasn’t true, all I wanted was to fall in love. For real. I’ve never told this to anyone, but…” he trails off.

“What?”

“It’s just that you’re so-” he takes a moment, trying to find his words in his drunken daze, looking into Fenrik’s gentle honeyed eyes “-comforting. I feel safe here and now, as if I could tell you anything.” He says, making Fenrik inhale sharply.

These might be the kindest words he’s received in a long, long time. And the most unexpected acceptance. He doesn’t know what to do, but he should probably do something, because it’s been some silent moments and all he did was stare at Rumarin, dumbfounded.

“Is this truly how you feel?”

“Absolutely. Alcohol makes me as honest as the day is long.”

He feels his eyes water, and he cannot stop himself from stepping closer, wrapping his arms around the altmer’s waist, letting his hot tears stream down his face. He is surprised once again when Rumarin hugs him back.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through everything you went through!” the elf says, his voice indicating that he’s crying too. “This is probably your first hug in thousands of years.” He sobs, trying his best to give Fenrik the best hug.

Fenrik smiles through the tears, against his collarbone. He feels warm and soft against the tall altmer. The laugh escapes him as his realization dawns that this is, indeed, the first good physical contact he’s had in so long. And by the gods, does it feel amazing. Unreal, almost. He even feels sad when Rumarin lets go.

“I’m so sorry, I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable…”

“You needed that. And you know what? So did I. This is what drunken shenanigans should lead to. I probably wouldn’t have done that sober, unfortunately. But I’m happy now. This was good.” He says, trying his best to tuck his hair behind his ear. Gods, his hair was a mess. Tangled by all the dancing; and the wild wind they were experiencing on the Tavern’s balcony wasn’t helping.

“I can help you with that.”

“What?”

“I could fix the hair problem for the night. If you allow me.”

“Oh! Of course!”

~

And that’s how that braid ended up in Rumarin’s hair last night. Fenrik thanks all the Gods for the fact that he remembers that moment. He never wants to forget it again.

“I’m glad you remember.” Rumarin’s voice in softer than ever, smiling at him.

“I’m glad I remember, too.”

Their little moment is ruined by the pained moans of Lucien, signalling that he woke up.

“Ugh!” he lets out a long grunt, rolling off the bed and falling on the floor. “Gods. I’m never drinking again.”

“That’s what you said last time. And the time before that…” Inigo’s voice is muffled by the pillow that he holds against his face. There is too much light in here for the hungover bunch.

“And why did you let me get drunk again?”

“You’re a big boy, Lucien. You could have… I don’t know… stopped?”

“I thought I had self control, but alcohol takes it away from me. Like a – a…” he gesticulates with his hands, trying to think of a comparison. He was ridiculous and adorable sitting on the edge of the bed with puffy eyes and a bird’s nest instead of his usual neat blonde hair. “Great! Now I’ve lost my witty remarks too.”

“Wait ‘till you see what ol’ Tharstan has in store for us.” Rumarin says, not yet leaving Fenrik’s side.

“You heard that?” Fenrik wonders.

“Oh, yeah. Couldn’t sleep much after dawn.”

“How do you deal with this so well? Are altmer truly perfect?”

A chuckle escapes Rumarin. “Maybe we do have a higher resistance. There’s also years of experience behind. Although this is no bragging matter.”

“Shut up. Just… shut up. You’re literally good at everything.” Lucien says with a grumpy face.

“I think Mr. ‘I’m an academic’ needs breakfast. And a gallon of coffee.”

“Oh, great. Now you read minds, too!” Lucien protests.

“Can you two be quiet? I’m trying to get those holy extra five minutes of sleep before I have to face the new day.” Inigo says, his face still buried in his pillow.

Fenrik decides to just take this all in. It’s happening so quickly. A few days ago, the fellowship seemed so different to him. Cold, upset, tired, distant. And here they are, so real and genuine. Bickering, yet caring, completing each other. All of this while including him. Alcohol truly brings people together, but maybe it’s not just the alcohol. Maybe it is more than that. Maybe he was also a missing piece in the puzzle that is the fellowship. Hope dawns on him as all these thoughts run wildly through his mind. Maybe his place is here. With them.

***

Fenrik needed some convincing, but he is sitting at the big table in the dining room now, ready to eat, even though he feels like a grape that has now tuned into a raisin, but a rotten one, devoid of all life and essence. The elders, along with the conscientious young Skaal who woke up earlier and more fresh prepared a big breakfast for the fellowship, once again showing their almost unmatched hospitality. However, everyone was being too damn loud for poor Fenrik’s cloudy state of mind. He casts a healing spell for his throbbing headache.

“Ah, I see you’re the company’s healer!” asks Storn the Shaman.

“I’m trying to be… yeah.” Fenrik responds, looking directly to Ravonna, who has weirdly seated herself as far away from him as possible. She quickly averts her eyes somewhere else. His gaze lingers on her for a few moments, still looking for any sign of approval, but decides to let it go. Too soon, perhaps. But she seemed so close to accepting him last night. So warm, so open, so happy.

“Very good. Healers are important and admirable. Not everyone manages to be that. It’s reserved for the gentler souls.” Storn interrupts his train of thoughts. “Healing magic suits you well. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Thank you.” He says, solemnly. “But it cannot help me further with this hangover, it seems.” He shakes his head, smiling.

“I might have something to help you with that.”

“Do not bother on my behalf. This is embarrassing, I shouldn’t have gotten drunk in the first place.” He hides his face with his hair, bowing his head and letting it fall freely on his face and on his shoulders. He hasn’t done his usual braids in days. He quite enjoys the freedom of it.

“We’re human. Allowed to be imperfect and make mistakes. Finish your food and then come with me.” The old shaman smiled at him. And so he obliged.

***

After he barely managed to swallow down breakfast, regaining a little bit of life, Fenrik finds himself in Storn’s barn.

“Goat’s milk!” he exclaimed, remembering that this is exactly what he’d do back in Atmora.

“Miraculous thing, really.” Storn steps forward, opening the gate to the goats.

“May I? I haven’t done this in ages!”

“Of course. Go ahead.”

“Aren’t you a beauty! What’s your name?”

“Daisy’s the name. Pretty common for goats, I think, but it fits her well.”

“Well, Daisy, thank you for curing my hangover.” He says, milking the goat with healing magic in both hands.

“Hah! I’ve never seen such a thing.”

“It’s the least I could do. Animals are pure beings. All men do is take from them.” He sighs, giving the goat a pat on the nose. She nudges into him.

“You’re a gentle soul indeed. The dragonborn is truly lucky to have a healer such as yourself in her company.”

He smiles sadly, screaming, pleading ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’msorryI’msorryI’msorry’ remembering how he enslaved the minds of Solstheim’s people. Blinded by hope of freedom, he took it away from others. But he’s here now, and they have no idea. He doesn’t deserve this. He’s a monster.

“I don’t know about that…”

“What are you on about, boy? I’ve never seen a gentler soul…”

“It wasn’t always like this…”

“Remember what I said over breakfast? You’re allowed to make mistakes. We all do.”

“But what if those mistakes of mine were cruel and terrible?” He asks, gripping the milk bucket, eyes tearing up. Damn it to all the gods, why was his face so exposed? Why did he have to lose the mask?

“Redemption is a wonderful thing. You are righting those wrongs right now. It’s what life is all about. Be a better person than you were yesterday. Look back and see how far you’ve come. I know not what you’ve done, but I can see it in you that you are good. No man can be evil and have that tormented, soft look in his eyes.”

Fenrik has to take a huge gulp of goat’s milk straight from the bucket to keep himself from crying. Again. Lots of crying these past days. It feels almost… liberating, but the shame remains. His father’s wrong philosophy still ingrained in his mind.

The shaman laughs and pats him on the shoulder. “You are a good man. Ravonna is truly lucky to have such a person in her company and in her graces.”

He almost choked on the milk. “I can assure you it’s anything but.”

“I’m not blind. I can’t see very well anymore, that’s true, but I’m not blind, boy! Whatever spat you two have… it won’t last, ain’t that right, Daisy?” He asks humorously, earning a wild ‘baa’ from the goat.

Fenrik sure hopes the Shaman is right.

***

“Are you sure we have everything?” Lucien asks, stuffing some snowberry pies in his knapsack.

“I can never answer that question with confidence.” Ravonna sighs. “Just make sure you don’t forget your handkerchief again.”

“Oh, right!”

“Imperials…” she sighs.

“Nords…” he sighs even more dramatically. “I still can’t believe I agreed to this after last night.”

“Me neither, but hey, maybe it’ll be exciting? Tharstan certainly thinks so.”

“I must say that going to an ancient tomb while hungover was on my to-do list.”

She lifts her gaze from the Sanguine Rose that she propped herself on. “Truly?”

“Yes! I told you I was looking for different types of adventures!”

“I don’t think it’ll be anything exciting. By the sounds of it, we’ll be staring at a weird rune wall for three hours and then realize that those are not runes, but Bear claw marks, or something… No dungeon.”

“You’re probably right…”

***

She was not right.

In fact, she couldn’t have been more wrong. That ‘secret passage’ that old man Tharstan might have discovered was actually more than that, and Fenrik felt sick to his stomach when he saw what this was about. And this time, the sickness did not come from drinking, no. It came from shock and that sinking feeling of remembering everything he tried so hard to forget. This couldn’t be happening. He just let Miraak go, he was ready to start anew, but somehow fate laughed in his face again, putting him straight in front of Vahlok’s tomb. He doesn’t say anything because he can’t, feeling his legs failing him.

“Remarkable, isn't it? This tomb has been hidden for... well, who knows how long. Many centuries, I would think.” Tharstan says, excited, while the fellowship wows and looks around.

“Yeah, okay. It’s quite impressive, I won’t lie. Looks like we’re dealing with a big dungeon filled with big secrets and even bigger treasures… There better be huge treasures around here.” Ravonna says, looking at the huge hall in front of them.

“There are some sealed doors up ahead. Perhaps you can figure out how to get them open.” Tharstan guides them down the set of steps and further into the massive tomb. “I've had a look around and the only interesting thing I've found is this inscription here, and a switch below it. Now, I'm not sure if you can read the dragon language, but this seems to be a riddle of some sort. 'A sacrifice will bring you closer to that which you seek.' I wonder what it means.” He says, leading the fellowship to inspect the plaque and switch closer.

The moment Tharstan mentioned the dragon language, all eyes fell upon Fenrik. All, except for Ravonna, who has been avoiding him all day. She now preoccupies herself with the switch more. However, silence falls and she is alone in her thoughts for a few seconds, regret dawning on her. She should say something to him. She doesn’t want to get too close, but right now she’s too far and cold. Maybe a light joke? A tease? Those seemed to work perfectly last night.

“A sacrifice? I nominate Fenrik, of course.” She says, turning to them, observing all of their concerned faces, all turned to Fenrik, who was paler than a ghost, balancing himself on one of the pillars. ‘sh*t. Um… not the best time for jokes, I suppose. I’m so dumb, of course he knows this place… sh*t!’

“Are you okay, Fenrik?” Lucien asks, careful, as if any word could shatter him, if not spoken gently enough.

“I – uhh… may need some air.” He says, barely able to talk. His sight is darkening and he can hear his loud, thunderous heart slamming in his ears. The throbbing pain in his head is now returned and he can almost see his world falling apart. ‘No… this cannot be. I just let the old life go. I just got Fenrik back and shoved Miraak far, far away, only for him to come back to me as a snail, coming back to its shell. It was never over. It’s all an illusion. It’s. never. Over.’ He thinks, stumbling through the narrow hallway that they came through. He shuts the door behind him, thinking that he has truly lost all reason and rationality.

Back in the tomb, the fellowship is confused.

“There is no way he got that offended over a joke…” Rumarin says.

“I think it might be more than that…” Lucien states.

“Of course it’s more than that… Gods damn it!” she realizes what she should have realized before opening her mouth and telling jokes.

“Well, I’m not about to wait around because of hurt feelings!”

“Teldryn, don’t. I should probably talk to him.” She sighs “Unless… anyone else volunteers?”

“I would go, but you were in Ap – in there with him. You’d know what to say…” Rumarin says as Ravonna reluctantly steps towards the door.

“Trouble in paradise?” the old man asks, amused.

“Oh, yes. You have no idea.”

“They’re always fighting.”

“They’re going through a divorce.”

“He’s just not… feeling well.”

The fellowship responds, all at once, making Teldryn feel as if he’s truly losing his mind. What has he gotten himself into with this ridiculous company.

***

The iron door opens, because of course it does, making him flinch. He was going to have to face this sooner or later.

“Um, hey.” Ravonna’s voice could be heard through the dark clouds of unpleasant thoughts in his mind. For once, he wished it was someone else, someone who has already seen him this vulnerable. Rumarin or Lucien. His brother. His mom. But that’s not possible, and she is here now, so it was time to face her. But he can’t bring himself to turn around and let her see him. Ironic, when only a few nights ago, lit by the moon, all he wanted was to feel seen by her. But this is different. This isn’t about Fenrik anymore, it’s about Miraak.

“I’m sorry about that… I shouldn’t – I…” he sighs, trying to collect his thoughts.

“I understand. This is about your past, isn’t it? Before Apocrypha…”

“Yes.” His voice is faint and fragile.

“You don’t have to do this - ”

“You don’t understand.” He turns to her, finally. “This… is Vahlok’s tomb. The runes on the walls… the demanded sacrifice. I’m certain of it. This is the place that he built for himself when he came to plan his attack on me.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There is a lot you don’t know about this, you know near nothing about my old life, Dovahkiin. But you should know this. If we disturb his rest… we do not know what would happen. Last time we faced each other… the very land broke and shifted from under our feet. And the fight did not even end. Hermaeus Mora took me in. The fight had been going for long enough… I searched for knowledge on how to stop him and… and tentacles wrapped around me and pulled me into his realm. I do not know what would have happened if the fight went on…”

“Listen. He’s probably an undead dragon priest. I’ve faced two of them in Skyrim. They’re not at their full power like this.”

“You have faced dragon priests? Who?” he turns to her.

“I… don’t know? But listen, my point is: they’re weak like this.”

“Not Vahlok.”

“Well, you’re not alone in facing Vahlok this time. You’re got a fellowship and dragonborn and an annoying old man at your side.” She says, making him smile.

“Thank you, Ravonna. Hi dreh ni mindok tol hi dreh ful pogaas pruzah fah zu'u (not literal, but meaning: You have no idea how comforting you are to me.)”

“Right. Probably deserved that. I shouldn’t have made the sacrifice joke.” She makes him smile even more at the fact that she assumes quite the opposite of what he said in Dovahzul. “It wasn’t with bad intentions, just so you know.”

“I know that.”

“Well, shall we go and kick Vahlok’s ass? I think you’re more than ready to get back at him.”

“I’m not ready. I never was. I was done with the old life…”

“Maybe this is a last trial. An opportunity for closure. It’s kind of… how do I put it? Well, as one random guy once said before a legendary battle…poetic." she says, making a reference to Miraak's words in their battle in Apocrypha. "I’m making dumb jokes that have no place in this moment, aren’t I?”

“No, no. It’s weirdly comforting.” He says, truly appreciating how she can find humor even in tense situations.

“But you don’t have to do this. Our agreement is solely about Alduin’s fight. It would be wrong of me to drag you into this.”

“No. Our battle had no conclusion. This is the final chapter. My chance at closure.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Are we as beings on this world ever sure about anything?” He asks, lifting his gaze up to meet her eyes. Not so cold anymore, yet not as warm as last night, but… lost in thought.

“I suppose we’re not." she thinks for a moment, nodding. "Forgive me, but that was very bard-like of you. Kind of … poetic.” She says, masking her wild train of thoughts with humor. ‘I suppose there’s certainty in uncertainty, and that is that everything is uncertain, even our feelings and how they impact our actions towards each other. Huh. I find that weirdly comforting, so that makes two of us…’

“Oh, you are absolutely preposterous.”

“Let’s go. Before we start being too nice to each other… again...”

Chapter 11: Dungeons and Dragon Priests

Chapter Text

“Now why would Vahlok ask for a sacrifice? I thought of him as sort of a hero. Perhaps there is something he wished remained hidden in this tomb.” Tharstan says, examining the tablet.

“So what do we do? Shortest straw? I suggest we rely on pure luck and not on games of intelligence. As I don’t have much of that and it wouldn’t be fair.” Rumarin says, leaning on a pillar.

“There must be something we can throw in there.” Inigo points to the fire pit.

“It’s truly remarkable how the fires are still burning! This place is magical and fascinating! We’re probably the first ones to roam it since the first era.” Lucien's excited voice resonates.

“You get excited about weird things, my friend.” Inigo chuckles

“Says the guy who gets absolutely delighted when he sees a giant spider.”

“Spiders are exciting, Lucien. They’re so squishy! Tombs are just… ugh.” He shudders at the thought of the undead.

“You know, I’m starting to think I’m not carrying this thing with me in vain.” Rumarin says, drawing Dawnbreaker from its sheath.

“By Azura!”

“Actually, it’s Meridia.” he responds, making Teldryn roll his eyes.

“Where did you get that?” Tharstan steps in, curious.

“Well, it’s quite the story! Although I don’t suppose we have much time… unless Ravonna and Mir – I mean Fenrik are doing a full therapy session out there.” Lucien says, almost revealing Fenrik's identity, and, as if they were summoned, Ravonna and Fenrik come through the metal door.

“There you are! I was beginning to suspect you would leave us here!” Tharstan says, relieved.

“On this academic quest of utmost importance? I would never!” Ravonna says quite dramatically, signaling that everything’s fine.

“Well, lad, the story is going to have to wait until we’re out of here, I’m afraid.” Tharstan says, as the fellowship start talking and Fenrik goes a bit further to explore.

“If we’re out of here…” Rumarin says, making everyone give him looks. “What? We’re heading into an ancient dungeon! I’m not expecting the draugr here to greet us warmly and with open arms!”

“Hehehehe, draugr hugs!” Inigo laughs to himself.

“I’d love to see friendly draugr…”

“It’s okay, Lucien. Imagine them coming to you for hugs when they come to attack you!”

“Inigo, that is not as comforting as you think it is…”

“I mean it’s better than imagining them naked!” Rumarin adds.

“Great. Thanks! Now I’m going to imagine them naked and running towards me for hugs.” Ravonna says, irritated.

“You really are a merry bunch! I’ve never heard of people joking this much in a gods-damned dungeon.” Teldryn adds, not knowing whether to laugh or cry at Ravonna’s company. He expected her to make friends. She was always quick to form friendships and rivalries. He remembers so fondly when she came home from Vivec with 10 other college mates. Endryn barely found room for them at the tavern! But he didn’t expect for her to find so many folks that just... complete her so well. For once, he feels at peace knowing that they would never hurt her. It seems like they'd follow her into the depths of Oblivion, and maybe this is what is all about. Not the adventures, but the connections we built with each other along the way.

“I suppose we could use these.” Fenrik says, pointing to the draugr next to him. “The tablet didn’t specify the state of the sacrifice, so we may try without bloodshed, at least.” He adds, prompting everyone to move their attention to him.

“Let me guess, you need me to manhandle the big heavy draugr.” Rumain says.

“I would appreciate the help.” Fenrik responds.

They move the draugr to the fire pit as Ravonna pulls the handle. The gates open from both sides and the paths are now illuminated by fire which magically started burning.

“Ah! That did something! Let’s see, we need two devices to open the main gate. Probably found in each of these regions that just opened.” Tharstan says.

***

They defeat the deathlords who hold the fey fragments needed to open the gate: each in a room with a word wall, battle fury. They all witness Ravonna absorbing the knowledge from the word wall. So natural, so unintentional. It’s fascinating how she absorbs the knowledge, without as much as having the ability to read and understand Dovahzul. Fenrik remembers being in the same boat in his first days as a dragon priest. It felt weirdly empowering. He shakes his head as though to get those memories out. He remembers everything unfortunately. Just how all the power of the thuum and dragon souls slowly took over his soul, as if they were shadows, wrapping him in darkness, tightening their grip with every breath he took, corrupting him, dancing with the influence of the mask mockingly around his trapped soul.

The keys open the door with the magical bridge. It takes little for Tharstan to figure it out.

“Ah! I see. We have to be careful. We don’t know how much these magical tiles will hold”, he said, as he stepped on the first one, Ravonna, Rumarin and Fenrik following close by.

“Ah, be careful!” Teldryn yells from behind, as the tile almost fades away completely, leaving only one tile in front of them. The only issue is that now there’s an empty space between Ravonna, Tharstan, Miraak and Rumarin and the rest of the fellowship. “Watch out, I’m going to jump to you.”

“Teldryn, don’t!” Is all Ravonna can shout as they have to move further to the next tile.

“I can’t leave you!”

“You have no choice. You can’t make the jump.” She says, advancing even further and trying to keep focused, while also making sure the rest of her companions don’t fall. Down there, it’s a long drop, filled with shadows that seem to move, starving, waiting for some poor bastard to fall.

They manage to make their way to the other end of the bridge safely, yet terrified. The magical tiles don’t appear again.

“Looks like we’ll have to find another way out of this tomb.” Rumarin says, checking on Tharstan. They had to run some distance, and Tharstan’s age is showing as he pants.

“Guys! Wait for us back at the Skaal Village!” Ravonna yells.

“No! I’m finding a way to get there, just you wait.”

“Pretty sure I can handle myself in a dungeon, Teldryn. Besides, I’m not alone. We’re going to be fine.”

“You not being alone is the problem! I don’t want to leave you with that – that monster Mir – ”

“Okay, alright! We’ll see you there. Don’t take more than three days and don’t die.” Lucien quickly interrupts Teldryn, afraid that he was about to reveal Fenrik’s identity to Tharstan.

“Well, that was dramatic.” Ravonna says, blowing a strand of hair away from her face.

***

Fighting the corrupted shades and advancing further into the tomb, the group realizes that Vahlok might have been more cruel than it has been left to believe. Torture chambers filled with tools and mechanisms that Ravonna can’t even bring herself to ask about. It’s quite the contrast to Miraak’s Temple. She compares the ancient ruins in her head. Miraak’s had much more vegetation and less torture chambers. In fact, she can’t remember any torture tools in Miraak’s Temple. She remembers multiple flower pots and a big kitchen. She lets out a huff as she realized that Miraak’s Temple was only scary on the outside, with the crowd of brainwashed cultists and dozens of dragon bones scattered around. Scary on the outside and soft and lovely on the inside. Just like him. Intimidating as Miraak, but once the mask comes off, he’s a completely different person.

“I must say, this place is not quite what I expected. It is said that Vahlok was a hero. It’s a bit odd for a hero to have such a macabre former residence and tomb…” Tharstan says, inspecting the runes on the walls. They’re in a hall that very clearly leads to a puzzle door.

“It would seem that the history books are lying.” Fenrik can’t keep his mouth shut anymore.

“There are not many sources of information about this. I don’t know what to believe.”

“Yeah, well. They’re written by fanatics and his former cultists.” Fenrik says, voice filled with jealousy. He didn’t know this. He didn’t know any of it because he was in Apocrypha. He never got the chance to show people what ‘Miraak’ truly stood for. Freedom. Breaking the chains of the Dragon Cult. Very few agreed with him even back when he started the rebellion, because they were indoctrinated by the Dragon Cult. Everyone spent too much time already worshipping the dragons, they were used to it, and the element of fear entered their soul, now that dragons had proven to be ready and willing to destroy and dominate everything.

“Yes, you do have a fair point.” Tharstan says, earning a tired ‘you-don’t-say’ look from Fenrik. “It looks like this door can be opened with some sort of key. Maybe if we combine the two halves of the claw that opened the gates at the beginning of the dungeon.”

They unlocked the gate, just as Tharstan said they would and fought their way through the dungeon. Several draugr, corrupted shades and puzzles later, they find themselves facing Vahlok’s sarcophagus. Any further step could wake him up now. And it does. Vahlok rises from his tomb with unnatural, ghostly moves and quicky levitates towards the group. He immediately locks eyes with Fenrik, making him freeze. With a flick of his wrist, the rest of the group is shunned away by sheer, telekinesis force. All of them except for Fenrik, who remained frozen. Metal bars rose from the ground, trapping Vahlok and Fenrik in a cage, much to the horrors of everyone. He backs away until his back hits the cold metal bars. Vahlok was a sick man, too far gone in the indoctrination of the dragon cult. He was always easily swayed, unlike Fenrik, who would not let his spirit break.

“Mir-aak.” Vahlok roars, his voice a lifeless shout and a whisper at the same time.

Fenrik is numb, he cannot even think. He feels like he’s been threading water, waiting to drown, and now it was time to sink. And he was sinking. Sinking further into the cold metal bars and sinking further into his despair. His vision is darkening and all of the voices, screams, pleads of the fellowship and empty words of threat from Vahlok; they’re all fading. He doesn’t even realize that cold, skeletal fingers were gripping his throat, taking his breath and his life away from him. It’s not until he feels two steady hands pressing on his back that he comes back to reality.

“Fenrik! Obliterate his ass, you’re stronger than him! He’s a fancy draugr, nothing more!” Ravonna shouts, attempting to conjure two storm atronachs and a dremora to help him out, but the spell backfired, the creatures appearing right next to her and attacking immediately. She barely counters their stikes. “Okay, maybe he’s a bit more powerful than draugr! And uglier! He’s definitely uglier!”

“Tiid fah hi wa kos nahlot ahrk dir (loosely: time for you to shut up and die)” Vahlok screeched, and shoved Ravonna into a wall as hard as he could with his telekinetic powers. This awakened something in Fenrik. Something he hasn’t felt since he killed his first dragon.

“Fin gein ahraan dii fahdonne (no one hurts my friends” Fenrik shouts, breaking free from his grip.

“Fahdonne?(Friends?)” Vahlok tilts his head in bewilderment. “Un fron lost nid fahdonne, sonaak! (Our kind has no friends, dragon priest!)” He says in a mocking tone.

“Tol los ni wo zu'u los! Ni alun aan ziist tiid! (Loosely: That is not who I am! Not anymore and not ever again!)” and with that, he strikes him with a sparks spell and all hell breaks loose.

‘It would be an inconvenience if he dies. Nothing more. I shall defeat Alduin alone. Gods… who am I kidding, I don’t want him to die, because… because I want him to keep living. I want him to experience the wonders of the world again, I want – I want to see him experience the world again.’ Ravonna’s thoughts invade her mind like a flood, desperately clutching to the metal bars. Next to her stands Rumarin, just as concerned, shouting desperate words of encouragement. It’s hard. To feel this useless. To not be able to do anything but watch. Rumarin grips his braid tightly and prays to whoever may listen to give Fenrik the strength to emerge victorious.

The battle is a vicious and emotional one, especially for Fenrik who keeps yelling, sobbing, telling all of his frustrations to Vahlok, who never responds. Whether that is because he is dead and doesn’t have the brains he once had or he is simply indifferent and doesn’t care. Nonetheless, lots of words have been thrown by Fenrik. It feels… liberating. He’s wanted to say all of the ‘I’ve never wanted this’ , ‘I hated every bit of being a Dragon Priest’, ‘I knew you would come for me and fight against the rebellion, you mindless man, I did it for the people!’, ‘You are devoid of all reason and always have been’ and lots and lots of ‘I hate you’s for a long, long time. But now it’s over. He struck the final blow and Vahlok crumpled into nothing but ashes.

It should feel better, but it doesn’t. Should it feel better? Fenrik is not sure anymore. He isn’t sure of many things anymore. But what he’s sure of is a body crashing into him, kneeling besides him and hugging him.

“Gods! I was so f*cking worried for you, man!” Rumarin says, wrapping his arms around Fenik’s shoulders. He can’t really respond, but he sighs and puts his hand on Rumain’s arms, taking this nice moment in. This is very nice. Affection. He’d almost forgot how it feels. He did forget, for a time, but it turns out it was never forgotten, just buried deep within, with a mass of sorrow and destruction covering it. And he suddenly cannot stop the hot tears from falling on his cheeks.

“And I was worried for you all. Are you alright?” Fenrik says after gaining some composure.

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Ravonna says, crossing her arms. The sight of Rumarin and Fenrik kneeling next to each other reminds her of all the emotional support she gave and received from her friends in scary moments like this one. Adventure’s not all sunshine and rainbows, but she prefers to remember the sunshine and the rainbows always. “Are you… alright?”

“I’ll be fine.” Fenrik says as he casts a close wounds spell on his entire body. “Psysically, at least.” He smiles and gets up.

Ravonna huffs. ‘Motherf*cker has a sense of humor even after going through one of the darkest, most traumatic events of his life. I like that.’

“He had no dragon priest mask. Most peculiar!” Tharstan says, reminding the whole fractured fellowship that he is, indeed, in there with them.

“Peculiar indeed. Shame we can’t ask him about it anymore!” Ravonna’s sarcasm seems to have a mind of its own today.

“Such a shame…” Rumarin echoes, just as sarcastic.

“Anyway! I believe I have enough information to write my book.”

“Do you now?” Fenrik can’t help himself. Everything they know about Vahlok is a lie. ‘The guardian… Guardian my ass! Guardian of his own stupidity!’

“Do you know of any additional information?”

‘I should have just stayed quiet. What am I to do now? I have my freedom and I shouldn’t ask for more… I am being selfish.’

‘He just wants the truth to come out. And I trust him with it. This temple is evidence enough that Vahlok was a top class asshole. He needs this closure. He deserves it.’ Ravonna thinks.

“No, I’m sorry.” He slowly and shamefully says, but Ravonna speaks at the same time, a lot louder.

“He can, actually! Yes! He has… forbidden knowledge! Straight from Hermaeus Mora?” Ravonna looks to Rumarin for confirmation and he catches on quick and nods with passion.

“Forbidden knowled – how is that possible?”

“Black Books!” Ravonna shouts, feeling the idea punching her in the gut.

“Goodness gracious! How is he not a madman? I’ve heard that the black books…”

“Yeah, well… it was very brief! He stood there for, like, three seconds! Just grabbed the first book that came to him!” She continues, looking at Fenrik’s utterly terrified face. Giving him an ‘I’m trying to help you!’ look. “Besides, he’s not entirely… sane…” She trails off. “Nightmares and night terrors. All that.” to which Fenrik nods thoroughly. It wasn’t too far from the truth, that.

“Is that so?” Tharstan says, stepping closer and inspecting Fenrik.

“Y-yes.” Fenrik swallows.

“And where is this book exactly?”

“I uhh… I don’t know?”

“Of course you do! You were the last one with it.” Ravonna snaps.

“I thought you were the last one to read stuff from it…”

“No, you’re the one always forgetting where he put his things. It’s always: Oh, Ravvonna, have you seen my books? Oh, where did I put my glass of water? Ravonna, I can’t find my favourite robes!” she says in a slightly exaggerated manner, trying her best to conceal her smile.

“That… is because you’re always singing! Taking a shower? Singing. Enchanting the robes? Singing. You can’t sleep at 4 am? Let’s play the violin! I get… distracted.” Fenrik responds, while Rumarin and Tharstan are looking at them, as if they were watching a tennis match.

“I thought you liked my singing!”

“I do! That’s the problem, I like it too much! Remember what happened when I was cooking that last stew and decided to just join in on the shanties? We had ash for dinner! As if there’s not enough of that on this forsaken island anyway!” he says, playing his part. He’s surprised how easy this is, just bouncing off each other’s words. Speechcraft is truly an art, and suddenly, he understands why bards enjoy conversation so much, even if said conversation is fake and being made up on the spot to impress an old man.

“Well then get your own tavern! You can cook there all you like with no ~distractions~” Ravonna says, putting emphasis and air quotations on her last word.

“Maybe I will! And you might not even get in! It’s going to be very popular.”

“Aw, you’d save me a seat, wouldn’t you?”

“Maybe. If you’d stop being a bossy witch-bard.”

“Oh, please! You need a bossy witch-bard, or you’ll end up with no profit!”

“Well, yes, but I also won’t get anything done. Distractions and all…”

“Seems like a you problem.”

“Oh my gods, this is happening…” Rumarin whispers.

“By the nine! Will you two stop bickering? I even forgot what we were talking about!” Tharstan says.

‘Mission accomplished’ Ravonna thinks. “Look, the bottom line is: you’ll get the book. It’ll just take some time until we…” she looks at Fenrik for confirmation, raising one eyebrow at him. He looks grateful, and even though he’s a bit confused, she sees trust in his eyes. “... find it. We really need to be more organized! Especially with books of such gravity.” She sighs.

“And that settles it! Let us find the exit of this sh*thole now. The smell of death and fried Dragon Priests is getting into my hair.” Rumarin adds.

They eventually find their way out, through a cave, leading to a high point of Solstheim where there is still some nature, unspoiled by Red Mountain’s corruption. The fresh air hits them and one thing is surely true for all of them. They appreciate the freshness of the air here. They feel relieved, and for the first time today, quite relaxed, given the circ*mstances. However, all the little peacefulness that they felt is quickly chased away by a sound. A sound that is unmistakable. The roar of a dragon.

Chapter 12: Consequences

Chapter Text

“sh*t! A f*cking dragon!” Ravonna says.

“That is exactly what we needed today!” Rumarin’s voice is tired, but sarcastic.

The dragon flies right above them, but it’s too late. It already saw them, or felt their presence, because it is plunging towards them at an alarming speed. They run back inside the cave opening just in time to avoid being frozen by the dragon's breath.

"Frost dragon. Could be worse." Fenrik considers.

"You should stay here. We'll deal with it."

"Of course, dragonborn." Tharstan says to Ravonna. Clearly he doesn't mind waiting in the tomb for a little bit.

"Do you reckon we can do this? We've never been this few in a dragon fight." Rumarin wonders.

"Well, last time, we didn't have him." Ravonna nods to Fenrik.

"Fair enough. About time I see the guy who humbled Ravonna." Rumain adds, earning a punch to the arm and a sharp look from her. Fenrik finds himself involuntarily smirking. She seems like a very proud and skilled mage. To hear that he humbled her was unexpected and quite confidence boosting. He can put up a fight. He can do this. They will defeat the frost dragon.

"Wipe that smirk off yer face, will you? We're about to fight a damned dragon." Ravonna says heading out with powerful fire magic in both hands. "We need to weaken him so I can bring inferno up and in his face!"

And with that, the three of them head out and strike the dragon with all they've got. Rumarin conjures up a bow, Ravonna keeps blasting the dragon with fire magic and Fenrik joins her, uniting their flames, making the spell stronger. They look at each other for a moment, both of their expressions are those of 'not bad' with a slight smile.

The fight is not easy, no dragon fight could be easy, especially when the fellowship is so few in numbers. Ravonna's conjuration spells don't work always as intended, and she did conjure wolves instead of Dremoras a few times, but the Sanguine Rose proved to be the most useful and cherished possession of hers once again, allowing her to conjure two Dremoras to help them in battle.

Rumarin cannot help but notice how Ravonna fights as if she wanted to show how cool magic can be to some magic skeptics. But there are no such people with them now, Fenrik being a mage himself. But it seems like the Dovahkiins are still not convinced on who is the better mage, and Ravonna is very determined to prove it is her. Well, in all fairness, this is all a bit distracting for him. Both of them look great and their spells are powerful and effective. Ravonna’s hair and fancy enchanted robes are swaying in the air as she levitates to strike the dragon with fire magic. She is quite the showoff as she graciously draws powerful runes and sends them straight to the Dragon’s neck. Meanwhile, Fenrik is more grounded, yet not lacking breathtaking technique and form, his hair escaping his braids and swaying in the wind as he appears to have materialized a warhammer from fire magic, striking the dragon’s legs with the mighty force only an ancient Atmoran could have, a strength that he earned out of necessity, chopping big logs of wood for fire. Despite the distractions, Rumarin manages to strike a few critical bows with his conjured arrow.

“Damn, where’d you learn magic like this?” Ravonna asks, impressed.

“One gets tired of books in Apocrypha, eventually. Started experimenting on my own.” Fenrik responds, casting a flaming ward to protect them from the Dragon’s frost breath. Ravonna’s even more impressed, because he managed to distract her so much that she didn’t even see the dragon’s breath coming.

“Not bad. Not bad at all…” is all she says, but in her mind, she thinks ‘I need to up my magic game, I need to.’ And she does. Conjuration’s risky business for her if she can’t concentrate, but she manages to conjure ten flaming daggers, making them dance around her with telekinesis magic. She does a backflip with the help of levitation magic and as she lands further back, she strikes the dragon with full telekinetic force.

Fenrik just laughs, shaking his head defeated. “Your fancy magic will be the death of you. Or me.” he considers.

“You can have the killing blow, if you wish to redeem yourself after that.” She says, bashful.

“Humility regarding magic isn’t your thing, I take it?”

“Not most days. But alas, you humbled me a few times.”

But just as she finished her sentence, the dragon was struck by an arrow, right on the top of its head.

“Maybe that’ll redeem me a little bit. Or remind you guys that I’m still here…” Rumain says.

“You don’t need redeeming, my friend.” Ravonna approaches him, then turns to Fenrik. “Believe me, this guy right here is literally perfect and good at almost everything. You’ll see.”

“I’ve caught some glimpses.” Fenrik says, smiling at Rumarin, who was now touching what was left of his braid. The braid that represents their friendship.

However, the warm smiles are now fading, as the dragon’s soul rips itself out of its body, encircling them and eventually disappearing into Ravonna’s chest, as if swallowed.

“Ravonna, listen to me.” Fenrik’s voice is now firm, both of his arms on her shoulders. “You cannot let the dragon soul corrupt your own!”

“What?”

“Do not let it blend with your soul.”

“How am I supposed to do that?”

“I… don’t know.” he says, sitting down and leaning his head and back on a boulder near the cave entrance. “Shouts and powerful magic can be used more efficiently with the help of consumed dragon souls, consuming them in the process. You must use them. Whatever it is, you cannot let too many dragon souls live in your own soul, they will… change you." He sighs deeply. "After I started the revolution and killed many dragons - too many - consuming their souls became… addictive. It made me more ruthless and determined to end them all. I wanted to dominate them. That is not who I am. At all. I’m quite the opposite of that: I want to help, I want to heal and soothe… not to kill, dominate and destroy. I still felt my soul in there, wrapped tightly in the threatening embrace of all those dragons’ souls. I felt it trying to fight it, to escape, like a small animal trying to escape the python snake’s fatal grip. Managed to get myself free of them in Apocrypha. But I still have nightmares of being corrupted again. What will I do? I cannot afford it. Not when I have a second chance at life.” He looks up at them with teary eyes.

“That’s not going to happen. Now you know how to control it. And so do I, thanks to you.”

“Besides, you have me to remind you to shout every now and then. I wouldn’t worry too much about Ravonna. She uses the fanciest magic even in the smallest battles.” Rumarin attempts to lift the mood.

“Thank you.” Fenrik says, getting up to face them. “Thank you both, for I don’t know if I could have handled a day like today alone.”

And realization hurts both Ravonna and Rumarin. It may have been just another dungeon and dragon fight for them, but Fenrik came face to face with his past today. The past he was desperately trying to leave behind. He fought his jailor and the first dragon after the Revolution. And despite everything, he hasn’t lost the softness in his eyes or the gentleness in his soul.

“Ah, I see you’ve handled the dragon problem. Thank the gods for that!” Tharstan is once again, reminding them that he is, in fact, still with them. Getting out of the cave, he looks around to see where they are. “Ah, it seems we’re not too far from the village! Vahlok’s tomb is more deep than it is wide! Come on, we’ll be back in no time.”

***

After safely returning to the Skaal village and reuniting with the ones they’ve lost along the way, the fellowship is ready to return to Raven Rock. They’re all at the city gates, surrounded by Skaal who are sad to see them go, giving them lots of gifts, such as more magical strong alcohol and Skaal cloaks.

“It’s truly been an honor, Dragonborn. You’ve shown me that there’s much more to a hero than glory and seriousness! Never hide who you really are in order to please someone's expectations." Storn the Shaman says, holding her hands and bowing to her as she does the same. He lets go and turns to the rest of the fellowship. "That goes for all of you. The merriest bunch I've seen. Never lose your cheer, even in dark times such as these. No one wishes to live through an… apocalyptically threatening event such as this one, and yet you prove that humanity and cheer can persevere." He winks to Fenrik.

And with that, the fellowship is off to return to Raven Rock. They banter along the way and everything is almost back to normal, safe from a bit of tension and some mean stares coming from the still disapproving Teldryn.

Once back in Severin Manor, they allowed themselves an easy evening, choosing to lounge and relax, because come morning, they would deal with the mine problem. But for now, they’re scattered in the manor. Teldryn is doing an angry workout session upstairs to clear his mind. So much rage. Anger because of how easily the group has accepted Fenrik as their own, but also angry at himself. Ravonna’s words resonate in his head. “I find it… tiring. To be angry. I find it pointless as well. Why make our lives more miserable? Why should it be filled with hate and anger?” Why indeed. A small part of him truly hopes that he can find the strength to move on.

Downstairs, the fellowship are amazed by Fenrik’s ability to win a game of cards that has just been explained to him.

“That’s it, I’m done!” Ravonna says, revolted, while Fenrik has the most innocent smile on his face.

“Beginner’s luck, I suppose.”

“Beginner’s luck my ass, Fenrik! This is the fifth time in a row you’re winning. You’re far from beginner status by now!” Ravonna gets up and angrily puts her hair behind her ears.

“My man!” Rumarin high-fives him.

Ravonna starts pointing at him with a disappointed look. “You’re not supposed to side with the enemy!”

“‘Twas you who sided with the enemy first. You’re the one who brought him here.” Rumarin giggles, nodding towards Miraak.

“It was a mutual siding.” She defends herself.

“I don’t care, as long as we get to keep him.” Rumarin says, making all of them laugh.

“Does he not get a say in this?” Lucien asks.

“No. I’m keeping him and it’s final. He’s my best friend. He’s my pal. He’s my homeboy. My rotten soldier. My… sweet cheese. My good time boy.” Rumarin responds, draping an arm over Fenrik’s shoulders and shaking him with each sentence.

“Well you heard the man, Dovahkiin. Can’t argue with the sweet cheese!” He laughs, feeling his face redden because of the pure joy and the overwhelming feeling of being accepted as he is.

“No, it’s true. That is undoubtedly the ultimate term of endearment. Hell, I’d agree with it, if I didn’t suspect you of cheating your way to victory!” Her tone is playful.

Inigo and Lucien both gasp, Fenrik puts his hand on his chest to indicate being hurt, while Ravonna makes her way out of the living room and into the kitchen, in a dramatic manner.

“Waitwait! What are doing in there!” Rumarin quickly jumps to his feet.

“Don’t even worry about it!” Her voice can be heard coming out of the kitchen.

“Ok, now I’m really worrying about it.”

“For the hundredth time, Rumarin, I can make my own Gods-damned tea!”

“I’m sure you can, but you know what happened last time you tried that?”

“Fine, I’m not using magic this time.”

“Let me do it for you.”

“I can manage!”

“You signed the agreement!”

While Ravonna and Rumarin bicker in the kitchen, Fenrik turns to Lucien and Inigo, in hopes that they will clear things up.

“So what is all that about?” He asks.

“Essentially, Ravonna is banned from the kitchen or any cooking activities…” Inigo responds.

“She burns everything she makes. Because why cook normally when you can use magic?” Lucien adds.

“Somehow I’m not surprised by that.” Fenrik laughs.

“Yes, miss ‘master destruction mage’ seeks excuses to use magic everywhere. Maybe that is why she spends so much time in the shower.” Inigo shrugs.

“I heard that!” Ravonna’s voice comes shouting from the kitchen. She leans on the doorway, pointing to Inigo. “I’m taking you with me tomorrow for that!”

“Wait, what are we doing tomorrow again?”

“The mine problem. We need to help the people of Raven Rock before they kick us out for being too damn loud. Besides, we promised that old man that we’d take care of it.” She says, taking a sip of tea.

“I’m coming, too!” Fenrik gets up on his feet.

“Oh, no. You’re working on your book. We need that book yesterday!” she says.

“But I’m your healer!” Fenrik’s tone is almost that of a whine.

“We’ve managed so far!” Ravonna says, defensively amused.

“You did. I am sorry for underestimating you.” Fenrik gets up and steps towards the kitchen.

“Pfft, you’re just looking for an excuse not to write your stuff.”

“Honestly, I would much rather crawl through a cursed mine full of giant spiders than write some of my… past recollections.” He stops in his tracks, bowing his head with sadness.

‘Dumb. Stupid. Stupid! What was I thinking. I should just stop talking to him all together, for his sake… and mine. Why do I keep ruining everything?!’ Ravonna thinks, burying her face in her hands. “Oh, Gods, I’m so sorry. Of course. I’ll… make sure to bring you sweetrolls when I come back? ‘Shut up, shut up, for f*ck’s sake, I'm making it worse!’ , but despite all her negative thoughts, she uncovers her face to see him smiling, and this somehow makes things worse for her. How on Nirn is he so kind and patient?

“I would be most grateful, but really, do not bother on my account. You’ve already done so much for me. If it weren’t for your quick, creative thinking, I would not have this chance to write my book.”

“Please, it was nothing. If anything, it was fun. I’m still impressed by your ability to commit to a bit!” she says, looking him up and down.

“Speechcraft is a beautiful art.”

“It sure is.”

“Should we… I dunno… leave? I’m feeling left out.” Lucien says with awkwardly.

“No need. I still need to sleep the hangover off, and you should too, I’m dragging you along.” Ravonna says.

“Surely Fenrik needs some moral support, and I am fully here for him! I also give great suggestions! I”m like a human Thesaurus!”

“Well I'm coming. I’ve got your back, you know that.” Rumarin says, bumping his shoulder into hers, making her smile. “Teldryn will surely join us as well.”

“I’m also coming! I will never pass up an opportunity to squish some spiders!”

“Oh, Inigo! You and your weird fascination with spiders.” Ravonna laughs and sighs with gratitude. “Okay, we have enough people, you may exasperate Fenrik tomorrow, Lucien.”

“Wonderful!”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to bed. Do not stay up all night, my sweet cheeses!” Ravonna blows a kiss in their direction as she heads upstairs, making them all laugh.

***

The next day was a tough one for Fenrik, for he had to write most of his experiences from a period in his life that he despised the most. But he wrote his heart out. He did not even care of eloquence. He wrote everything . How he killed his first dragon after he lost his entire family, how he felt while absorbing his first dragon soul, how the Dragon Cult took him in and shipped him to Skyrim to become their leader, even though he did not want this, how they tortured him to bend to their philosophies, how they forcibly locked him in chambers with dragons in order for him to learn Dovahzul and Dragon Shouts, how he was supposed to serve Dragons and not kill them, even though they treated all non-dragonkind as slaves and mere sources of entertainment and instruments to prove their dominating nature, how he was forced to start wearing the ‘Miraak’ mask, created exclusively for him, how he could feel nothing but numbness while wearing it, how badly the other Dragon Priests treated him. All of that until he one day had enough, and started a revolution. Only two fellow Dragon Priests joined him, and three dragons, still unsure if out of respect for him or out of fear, as he did not talk to them much. He hated talking to Dragons. They were huge and terrifying and they all reminded him of his failure of protecting his family and his village from that first dragon. But still, he started a revolution that seemed doomed to fail against such opposing forces. While he still had a few people by his side, most of Skyrim was calling his actions blasphemy against the dragon gods, because they were too far gone, too indoctrinated, and started blindly and desperately worshiping the Dragons out of fear and fear alone.

He was so absorbed in his dark memories that he forgot about poor Lucien. He needed to take a few breaks and when he headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, he found the young imperial sleeping on the couch.

Now, after a few more excruciating hours, he feels his stomach rumble. He doesn’t feel like eating; all these memories have been making him sick, but he needs to at least try. Lucien is still sleeping. He makes himself a sandwich and stares at it. His hand hurts from writing so much. His head hurts. His heart hurts. Everything is so dark, he wonders how many hours have passed. He even forgot to light a candle, making his sandwich with Gods know what. He is almost done with his book. He just needs to write down how he got out of Apocrypha. That is, however, very hard to write down. He hates remembering it. Remembering how ruthlessly he fought Ravonna and how brutal their showdown was. Regret. The worst feeling in the world. If only there was another way, he would go back in time this instant. If only she knew how sorrowful he feels whenever he thinks of their fight, which is often enough to make him almost lose his mind.

Thankfully, his dark thoughts are interrupted by loud banging on the door. He rushes to open the door, expecting to see the fellowship back from their adventure. Instead, he just sees Ravonna, looking terrible.

“By the blue sky and the white snow.” he breathes. “What happened? Where are the others?”

“Down in the mine. The miners are helping them up with an escalator.”

“So they’re okay?”

“Yes. We got separated. Again. Knife trap. Huge one. Like… huge knives swinging from the walls.” she gesticulates with her arms spread wide, trying her best to emphasize on the incredible size of the huge knives. “Only way through was in ethereal form. I suppose dragon shouts are good for something.” She says, brushing past him and slumping on a chair in the kitchen. “Oh, not to mention a f*cking black book. And another one of your dragon priest friends. This one was cool though, full of sparks and lightning. He was … weirdly benevolent? I mean he still fought me, but when tentacles got out of the book he… he started fighting that, almost as if to save me. I escaped because of him. Oh, perfect.” She takes the sandwich.

“Zahkriisos.” He says in a somber manner. He remembers the lightning magic of his fellow Dragon Priest.

“Did you just call me stupid in Dovah-language again?” ‘sh*t, he’s sad. He’s had a rough day, full of writing down his most horrible memories. Stupid jokes are the last thing he needs right now. Gods.. why do I keep doing this.’

Much to her surprise, Fenrik gives her a faint chuckle, closing the door and sitting down beside her at the table.

“Does Zahkriisos sound like a swear word to you?”

“Sounds like you’ve got something in your throat…” at that, Fenrik laughs again. After a quiet moment, Ravonna asks: “Was that his name?”

“Yes. Sword-Blood in Tamrielic. The one of few who could be called a righteous warrior among snakes in the Dragon Cult. He did join by choice, unlike me, but… as time passed I could see it in him that regret dawned on him. I could see it in his movements, in the way he used to speak. I believe he didn’t think the Dragon Cult would get this far. He joined me in the revolution. He was always the perfect soldier.

“Zahrik- no. Zakrhiik- no! I can’t.”

“Yes you can. You sang in Atmoran.”

“You have no idea how much time it took for me to master that song. I can only sing it when I’m drunk anyways…”

“That’s how it was intended to be sung.” he shakes his head, smiling. After a few silent moments, Ravonna braces herself to show him what she believes to be Zahkriisos’ sword.

“I think I have his sword. Heavy as all Oblivion, but it helped me open a giant, red, glowy door?” she says, as if all of this was absurd to her. She keeps telling herself that she should stop being surprised about her adventures, but sometimes she cannot help it. What on Nirn was she doing with a giant two-handed sword. Fortunately, no one was around when she ridiculously attempted using it. Unfortunately, there was also no one to witness how she used it with her own telekinesis magika in the battle with Zahkriisos. Sometimes as a sword, sometimes as a shield. She unsheathes the sword and gives it to Fenrik.

Holding the trusted sword of his ally fills Fenrik with mixed feelings. For one, he is grateful it’s all over, but Zahkriisos, although wicked in his time, had proved to be a trustworthy companion, who in the end stood by his side in the name of justice. He vividly remembers feeling hope, feeling the corners of his lips slightly move upwards in years when he saw his few fellow Dragon Priests at the door of his temple, kneeling and pledging themselves to his cause, to the revolution for the people, to his revolution. And even in his undead form, he was able to discern the real enemy, and thus Ravonna escaped with his help. But he cannot help but feel sorrowful for him. His allies do not deserve this kind of fate. He only hopes that Zahkriisos can now finally rest in Sovngarde. He mutters a silent prayer to the sword, to whoever listens, to go easy on his soul, as he stood by the people in the end.

“Are you alright?” Ravonna’s beautiful, melodious voice interrupts his thoughts. It’s peculiar, how a voice can calm him down in mere seconds.

“I will be. It’s just that … so much has happened in the last few days. It’s quite hard to process all of this.”

“I’m sorry.” she reluctantly touches his shoulder, thinking that she might possibly be the worst person to try and comfort him, with a mouthful of his terrible sandwich, but she will do her best. “Wow um… what did you put in this?” she holds the sandwich a bit higher to his eye-level, laughing softly.

“I… don’t know? Is it terrible? It was dark and I am very tired…”

She immediately casts a magelight spell, throwing it to the ceiling. “It’s not terrible, it’s… interesting?”

“Oh Gods, that’s… that’s three slices of bread!” he says, horrified, now that he can see.

“It’s a… bread sandwich!

“Bread sandwich?” he huffs, still horrified.

“Well, I mean it’s a slice of bread between two slices of bread. It’s quite unique, actually. I’ve never seen this before. Is it a delicacy in Atmora?” she narrows her eyes, obviously joking, praying to all the Gods that whatever it is that she’s doing is working.

It is working, because Fenrik is now laughing, placing a hand on his chest.

“Bread sandwich! This phrase will be in my nightmares. Look, it’s not my fault you have two types of bread, stored separately!”

“Oh! The champion of the games of cards and you can’t bluff anymore? Shameful!”

“No, you’re right, it is a wonderful delicacy in Atmora. Bread is a holy thing in my culture. Everyone worshiped bread, actually! We even had a bread festival held once a year where you had to be dressed only in clothes made out of bread.”

“It’s too late, I already called you out!” she puts the sandwich back on the plate. “I think I can make something nicer for us. Let’s see…”she says, as she gets up and starts opening the cupboard for more ingredients. Fenrik instantly jumps from his seat.

“Wait, wait.” he grabs both of her hands in his. “I don’t think I can let you do that…”

“What? Oh, is this about the banned from the kitchen thing?” she laughs as if to brush it all off.

“Yes… I don’t want the kitchen to burn off. It’s a nice kitchen.”

“Kitchen’s not gonna burn. I know what I’m doing.”

“They made you sign a contract, so it must be serious!”

“Oh, come on! They let one… well… a few incidents define me as a cook. I can assure you, I’ve done this before. I’m just gonna add the ham and cheese and then use a telekinesis spell, combined with a teeny-tiny flame spell so I can lightly roast the sandwiches! It’s gonna be delicious and you will thank me.”

“Flames spell? I can’t let you do that, no.”

“Come on!”

“Look, I can see now, so I’ll make the sandwiches. I get to do all the work instead, isn’t that better?”

“No. It’s not…” she mutters, looking at him with her sad green eyes.

“Do not cast that look. It’s … not working on me!” he lets go of one of her hands to point at her.

“I’m not casting any look. I’m genuinely saddened. Haven’t cooked in forever…”

He takes her hand back in his because it felt nice. They stay like that for a moment, while he’s examining all the options. He can let her cook the sandwiches, risking a fire that could be destructive. He was unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of her magic back in Apocrypha, and by the Gods is it destructive… He could also cook, but he fears he will disappoint her with his culinary talents, or lack thereof. And then there’s the third option, in which they work together, and he cannot help but imagine how that would go. These thoughts are very inconsistent though, because he’s holding her hands. Her soft hands, so beautiful and elegant. He can’t help but imagine these hands playing the piano, singing the most beautiful and melodious tune he’s ever heard. These hands, playing with his hair, perhaps? These last thoughts are thankfully shoved deep down as someone clearing his voice loudly can be heard, and it’s certainly not Ravonna.

“Am I… interrupting something?” Lucien asks. Right, Lucien. Fenrik’s almost forgotten about him. How could he not, when all he did was sleep his hangover off?

“No!” both Dragonborn respond at the same time, letting go of each others’ hands.

“Where is everyone else?”

***

After telling Lucien about the others and letting him prepare dinner, Ravonna now sits at the table, boasting about her adventures, of course.

“And then, I started using it as a sword, but with my telekinetic powers, sending waves of red energy towards him! I’m telling you, as much as I love being a mage, I now understand the appreciation nords have for two-handed chunky swords. Wielding it, I felt like a true nord hero!”

“You weren’t even wielding it directly, Ravonna!” Lucien protests above his frying pan. He’s making potatoes, because this is the only food that would stop Ravonna from protesting that she is not allowed to cook.

“Shut up, I’m a nord warrior now.” she protests and Fenrik laughs at that, which makes her point at him, narrowing her eyes. “You shut up as well. I’m still mad at you that you didn’t let me cook.”

“And I am proud of you for resisting her charms. You saved us from a lot of trouble.”

“You saved us from a lot of trouble!” Ravonna repeats, mockingly in a high pitched, childish voice.

Her complaining and mockery were cut short by the arrival of the rest of the fellowship, looking tired, annoyed and dirty from being stuck in a mine for hours. They immediately sat at the table, hungry as wolves who haven’t eaten in days. Lucien is going to need to make more potatoes…

Inigo hands her a piece of paper. “Letters for you.”

Her first thought is that she truly cannot catch a break, but the seal of the letter intrigues her. House Telvanni.

Chapter 13: Letters, mushroom towers and the impending denial of grief

Chapter Text

“House telvanni? We truly cannot catch a break…” Lucien protests.

“But wait, there’s more!” Inigo says sarcastically, as Ravonna checks the other letter. An unfamiliar seal.

“Wait! That’s a Cyrodiilic seal! Official business! Is it for me?”

“Not everything imperial is addressed to you, Lucien. We’ll see.” she says. With exaggerated face enthusiasm, she adds: “Oh, whichever one shall I open first?”

Dragonborn,

I hope this letter finds you well and safe.

My research has concluded that nothing within the Thalmor documents that you and your companion have retrieved at the Embassy has anything to do with the return of the Dragons.

I know this letter comes after a significant amount of time, but these past two months have been full. We are all doing our best to discover what started the return of dragons. Why here? And why now? And how do we put an end to this? Questions I have not yet the answer to.

Last I heard, you were with The College of Winterhold, doing your own research about these troubling events. I never got the chance to say this, but I am grateful that you chose to make amends and work together in this… even after our rocky start with the horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

I’m sorry for the rambling. Truth is, my research was cut short. I can hardly concentrate when every now and then I hear the screeches of those beasts, never knowing when they might attack and kill everything in their path again. The good news is that it seems like Alduin needs more time after each resurrection.

I have collected multiple texts from the ‘word walls’ scattered around Skyrim. My research takes me to Cyrodiil, where I will try my best to find experts in dragonology. I’m trying to reach out to the most prestigious court wizards as well. Maybe the tales are true and they really do see the future. I need to conclude my business in Skyrim and go to Cyrodiil as soon as possible.

I will write to you as soon as I find something of importance.

Stay safe,

Delphine.

“She’s really doing everything in her power. Do… you happen to know anything about it, Fenrik? About the return of dragons?” Ravonna asks, after reading the letter out loud.

“It’s a mystery even to me. I think only Akatosh knows… if he knows, or cares anymore.”

A morbid silence falls. What if the world is truly doomed, abandoned by the God of Time himself. What happens when you’re out of time? These thoughts are racing through their heads. But Ravonna has one more thought that no one else shares with her. A memory. A dream that she had, more than twenty years ago. But why is she remembering this just now, and so vividly? Could it be a sign from Akatosh? Or perhaps her own consciousness helping her with the right thought at the right time.

“No.”

“No what?” Teldryn asks her.

“We mustn’t lose hope. Certain things don’t just happen for no reason. I’m here. Fenrik is here. What were the odds of two Dragonborn to roam Mundus at the same time when the dragons return? What other reason than to put an end to it?” Teldryn opens his mouth to argue, but Ravonna shuts him off. “It’s not a matter of why me and why him, I’ve asked myself that question too many times. What if he chose us because he trusts us? He trusts that we will get the job done. So what I’m saying is that we need to stop asking why and start asking ‘When?’ and ‘Where?’. We’ll figure it out, and we’ll do whatever it takes.”

“You’re right. That was a good speech, sonaan (bard).”

“We’ll figure it out together. All of us.” Lucien says.

“Yes. We’re not sitting this one out. Even if we're not Dragonborn.” Rumarin adds.

“Whatever it takes.” Inigo says, echoed by Teldryn.

“I knew I should have started with the fancy Telvanni letter.” Ravonna says, earning some silent laughs.

Come to Tel Mythrin. We have much to discuss.

Neloth.

“Classic Telvanni. It’s actually longer than I thought.” She says sarcastically.

“What, you thought it would just be: Come.” Rumain says deadpan.

“Exactly. They don’t waste their time with fancy words in letters, believe me. Only if you’ve upset them and they want you to spend the next two days searching in a dictionary their too fancy, eloquent words.” Ravonna pauses for a moment. “Don’t ask me how I know that.”

***

It’s early morning now. Fenrik awakens in his still dark room. The stubborn nightmares still won’t leave him alone. It feels like whenever he closes his eyes, he can see the slimy tentacles wrapping around him and dragging him into that hell; or dragons surrounding him, his family and friends dying, his dead brother in his arms, the Dragon Cult making him feel small and defenseless. The Dragon Cult. The loneliest period of his life, when it felt like nobody understood, stood up to him or empathized with him. No matter how much he is trying, he can never truly forget the torture, the manipulation, the brainwashing and how they turned him into a shell of what he used to be, a puppet that they controlled. He stares up at the ceiling, feeling like he’s threading water, waiting to drown. The drowning doesn’t come, however. Instead, the motivation to finally get out of bed comes in the form of complaining voices and metal clanging from the outside. He gets up and stretches a bit, before walking to the window and opening it. He expected a nice, humid and cold air, but is disappointed to feel ash and wind. The air was extra ashy today.

“You know, if I didn’t have to wear this, I’d be amazing at it, actually.” Ravonna whines in the yard, pulling down on a cloth mask that covered half her face.

“You’ve clearly been away from home too long!” Teldryn’s tone is amused and playful, something Fenrik has never heard before.

“It’s not as bad at home!”

“No, you’re right, it’s worse! Blacklight is actually closer to Red Mountain, I hope you haven't forgotten.” he has a big shield in his hand, encouraging Ravonna to try and hit it with the Bloodskaal blade. “Come on, you said that you were good at this!"

"I am! Just not like this. I need to use magic. I can't even f*cking hold it properly like this. Damn." she replies, somewhere between a chuckle and annoyance in her voice. She really cannot even hold it properly. The sword is huge and heavy and she suddenly has all the respect in the world for two handed warriors. How do they even last in a long battle without stopping to catch their breaths every five seconds?

“Well then…” Teldryn starts saying, laughing, “you may not want to wield it. Perhaps we can find a better suitor?”

“I am not giving this away! It’s literally the coolest thing!” she whines, and it makes him smile. He can see teen Ravonna again, young and full of life, in the Emerald Bar garden, training with him and laughing and taunting each other. He can see the growth, both physically and mentally. Back then she was smaller, clearly less skilled, but with more life in her. Now, she looks more mature, her eyes, while still with joy of life in them, were tired and have clearly seen a lot in the past years. He feels guilty for not being there when she needed him the most. He wanted to be there for her, he wanted to go through this together, because after all, he was grieving, too. His beloved elder brother had been assassinated, and thus he really felt the pain. But she chose to grieve alone and go on her own quest, which is a decision he has to respect. And truly, he feels so much respect for this woman. He couldn’t have been prouder. Being able to see her grow and become what she is now is one of his greatest honours.

“Okay then.” He steps closer, taking the sword in his hands. “We can keep it, and you may confuse everyone in battle with your methods, if that’s what you want.” His tone is gentle. He takes one more moment to look at her, seeing something in her eyes that he cannot yet grasp. The joy is still there, but it’s that kind of joy that laughs in the face of danger, that joy that is a direct middle finger to the gods. Her hair is also longer. She probably hasn’t cut it at all since… He has heard that some people don’t cut their hair as a sign of grief. He hesitates for a moment, as Ravonna has never been good at talking about feelings, same as him, but then he drops the question that has been on his lips since she bumped into him at the Retching Netch. “Are you doing alright? You know, with -”

“I don’t know.” She cuts him off, her smile immediately dropping. “I can’t think about it. I won’t…” she says, avoiding his eyes. He just nods and decides to give her the space she needs. He is in the same boat as her, pretty much. It’s better this way, and less painful. Is it the most healthy coping mechanism? He cannot answer this question, because he has no idea. “I need to go.” she says, storming off inside.

Fenrik has been watching this interaction from his room upstairs, truly feeling like an intruder, but then again, if the conversation were private, they probably wouldn’t have it in the small yard of Severin Manor, where the neighbours are also watching with confusion and concern. It really makes him think. What does she not want to talk about? What happened . It occurs to him that he knows very little about her past. However, she is clearly not ready to talk about it.
***
“These creatures are amazing! Gah! I’m so happy that I can cross this out of my bucket list.” Lucien says, still wobbly on his guar. The man is awfully balanced.

“I must say” Fenrik adds, “These guys are perfectly built to walk on ashen land! I could have never made this much progress on foot. And I’m used to walking through snow that was up to my knees!”

“That was the norm in Atmora, I presume?” Lucien asks.

“On a good day, yeah.” Fenrik laughs, patting his guar on the head. He is so gentle even with the mounts, and him being so excited to meet a Morrowind-native creature so up close and personal makes Ravonna smile. He would be so fascinated with Morrowind that he would not even know where to look, she thinks. She’d actually love to take them all to Morrowind for a while. She looks up at the always visible Red Mountain, as if to plead to it to give her an opportunity, a chance to go back home, even if it was for a little bit.

“They’re so weirdly cute! With their two thick legs and their fangy smile! Who’s a good girl? You are! You’re the best girl!” Rumarin says, making his guar excitedly strut faster than the others.

"And do not even get me started on the little sounds that they make! I feel so sleepy hearing them! I could fall asleep right here, right now!” Inigo chuckles.

The fellowship were approaching Tel Mithryn fast with the help of their new guar friends that they rented in Raven Rock. Soon enough, the giant mushroom was visible. The sounds of a silt strider were filling the ashen air, making both Ravonna and Teldryn homesick. Morrowind is still full of them, saving everyone from deadly, danger-filled, long and wild roads, where everything tries to either kill you, rob you or make you join their cult. Still, Morrowind was a beautiful land, filled with magic and adventure, and Ravonna would not change it for the world. Even this view, of Tel Mithyrin, and the silt strider, with Red Mountain looming in the background makes her crave kwama eggs and spicy root cake, along with some trama tea and Dunmeri songs about cliff racers and scribs, sung in that raspy old dark elf voice that is so common in people who survived the red year. All of a sudden, she feels the need to sing:

While cliff-racers spread their wings, so broad,

And lesser birds bend their knees, so awed,

You snarl, and hiss, and spit, and screech!

I hear the guars grunting each to each,

"What a terror! What savage speech!"

Oh to be like you.

“Ah, I need a lute for this!” she whines.

“By the gods, girl!” Teldryn laughs, as she conjures a lute and starts playing the tune of the song.

“Is this the right tune? Ah, these conjured things never get it right!” she says in a sing-song voice. She seems so balanced, handling the lute and riding the guar. It really makes Fenrik wonder how many times she’s done this. However, he is more in awe of how far magic has come since he last walked this world. Conjuring musical instruments?

“How did you do that?” He asks, looking at her with wide eyes while she tunes her lute.

“Oh, this?” she smirks, nodding to the ghostly lute. “My little graduation project! We’re supposed to bring something new to the field in the Vivec College of Mages as a final trial. I could have done something that involved more research as most students did, but I chose something more… Practical.” She keeps effortlessly tuning as she answers.

“Fascinating. And you invented this spell?” Fenrik asks, brows raised high with amazement. Fourth Era magic is really different from what he knows.

“Aye. I also had to do a boring report on it… Didn’t think they would actually read it… I-” she trails off, and Teldryn takes over.

“She literally started it with ‘Buckle up, you fancy bozos, for thoust minds are to be blown at the brilliance of instrument-binding by yours truly, your beloathed, Ravonna Winter-Born'' he recites, with a mix of amusem*nt and disbelief in his voice. This is, weirdly, the first time Teldryn has spoken to Fenrik, which takes him aback for a moment, but that moment is cut short by Ravonna’s whines.

“Tel, stop, I was a different person back then! I can do so much worse now!” she laughs, making Teldryn smile fondly at his nickname.

“I still can’t believe they didn’t have you expelled for that!”

“I could have said anything in that paper, and they wouldn’t have done anything! The spell was too good! Besides, I’ve done worse things.”

“Perhaps.”

“I can’t believe you still remember it word for word!”

“Hjaldir had it framed on the wall at the Emerald Bar, of course I remember it word for word!” he chuckles. “Gods, we really weren’t a normal family, were we? We were all so proud of you for trolling those bastards.”

“Yeah, we were…” her voice is full of sorrow. The kind of sorrow that is borne of denial and ignorance. The kind of sorrow that you refuse to acknowledge. The kind of sorrow that makes the centre of your chest hurt and tremble. The kind of sorrow you shove deep down inside because you never want to feel or face again. And so she does, shaking her head after a moment. “Not everyone was so bad in there, anyway…”

“Yes, I recall their visits to the Emerald Bar.” Teldryn says, borrowing his own sorrow deep inside. “You and that red-headed Altmer fellow were the most unlikely pair.” he laughs.

“Yeah.” she shakes nods, smiling. “Sindolyn… I wonder what he’s up to now.”

“Sindolyn, right. Altmer and their posh names…” Teldryn remembers the elegant high elf, about as tall as the ceiling, sipping tavern mead like it was afternoon tea and speaking in the most eloquent ways. It was funny, seeing them together. So absolutely different, as arrogant as he was, he was Ravonna’s good friend, weirdly enough. He was so unintentionally funny, too. One time he got so drunk that he started dancing. It was the most ridiculous thing that Teldryn’s ever seen.

Rumarin gasps loudly, putting his palm over his heart. “You had another Altmer best friend beside me?!”

“I didn’t even know you back then!”

“Please tell me that at least you didn’t marry him…” Rumarin pleads, but is met with silence and the pursing of Ravonna’s lips in a guilty gesture. “Wow.”

“It wasn’t an actual wedding! We were caught in the enchantment basem*nt! It was this huge place with all these powerful things, and we didn’t think anyone would catch us there, but we were ass-deep into an experiment when the door opened. It was one of the warlocks, too! And so we had to improvise… the place looked romantic enough for a proposal. Full of shiny stones and gems and lots of plants. We allegedly got divorced the next week, anyway!”

“So it lasted even more than it did with me…”

“Rumarin!”

He bursts out laughing. “I’m just playing with you! But in all seriousness, Mara must hate you for all these blasphemous things.”

“Probably.”

"And did that even work?"

"Oh, absolutely! It was Master Lethrand. I found love books in her office."

"Love books?"

"Romance novels. Whatever you people call them!" she responds, earning chuckles from the fellowship. “Oh! And while the topic of Cliff Racers is still fresh…” she strums the summoned lute once, “Lucien?”

He gives her a knowing look and cleared his throat.

“By the Gods, no! Please, not that again, I do not want my ears to start bleeding…” Inigo pleads.

“I think I know what’s coming next…” Teldryn sighs, tired, remembering how Ravonna used to brainwash him with this song back in the day.

“Flyyyin'... flyyin' in the skyyyy....” Lucien shrieks, making Ravonna grin from ear to ear and the rest of the fellowship grimace.

“Gods! It’s like nails scratching on glass… in my brain!” Rumarin shudders.

“Cliff racer fly so high.... Flyinnn!!” Ravonna joins in, and as great of a bard as she is, she does not make the song any better. Fenrik doesn’t know whether to scrunch his nose or laugh his ass off. It’s the very first time he’s heard this song and as bad as it sounds, the sheer joy they have while singing it is contagious. Perhaps there is much happiness stored in bad songs.

The jolly singers are interrupted by the sounds of the Silt Strider, and the feelings that Ravonna is trying to bury are threatening to come out again. The sight of the mushroom tower also contributes to this. She is not even home, but when faced with all of the elements specific to Morrowind, she can’t help but feel… sad. She never thought much about it: what would she even do after getting her revenge? Would she ever come back? Could she ever face the people from her past again after what she’s done? Would they even want to see her again? She burned down a sanctuary with people in it, she is no better than those assassins. But they were assassins, killing people for a living, and that is despicable to her. The duality of it all is making her head spin. It’s all so overwhelming, but she takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself. ‘You’re the funny friend, so be the funny friend.’ She keeps telling herself, not wanting to let her guard down, especially not before going to meet a Telvanni wizard. Those prey on the weak like wild animals.

“Holy sh*t!” Fenrik says as they get closer to the Silt Strider, making Ravonna’s job to cheer up much easier. She turns to him with wide eyes, and then looks at the rest of the amused fellowship. Even Teldryn was struggling not to smile.

“Did Mr. ‘I read all the books’ just use a bad word?” she asks, teasing.

“Look at this thing! It’s huge!” he turns to her, absolutely flabbergasted, and all she can think about for now is how adorable he is.

“Aye, they’re impressive. And a life saver on long trips in Morrowind’s ashy lands.”

“Can we use it?”

“It seems like this one is the only one on Solstheim. Peculiar, but I’ve not encountered any others. Besides, the island is way too small to take a Strider. Much cheaper and less time-consuming to go by foot or with Guars, if you ask me.” Teldryn says, talking to no one in particular in his mind, but actually responding to Fenrik’s eager request in reality.

“Come on, there must be someone up there that we can talk to.” Ravonna says.

As they arrive on top of the hill and speak to the owner of the Strider, they find out that he brought her to Solstheim so that she could die peacefully of old age. Fenrik could barely keep from crying, he resorted to sitting on a large rock, farther away from them while Ravonna and Teldryn chatted with the dunmer about Morrowind. Rumarin joined him and comforted him. The two got really close after the Skaal village party.
***
After the gossiping is over for Teldryn and Ravonna, they move on, closer and closer to Tel Mithryn. As they approach the giant mushroom tower, they see two dark elves having a heated argument.

"Why are you out here? Aren't you supposed to be in the tower assisting Master Neloth?" asks the Dunmer lady.

"If you must know, I'm trying to get this Ash Guardian spell to work. Now let me concentrate. Besides, shouldn't you be worrying about the damage to the tower?" the younger elf responds, his mention of the word *spell*, as well as his mage robes instantly gaining Ravonna’s attention.

"Master Neloth has tasked Elynea with repairing the tower. Why aren't you doing this in the lab, where it would be safer for all of us?"

"The, uh... the lab is too small. Also, I need the ashy soil. Master Neloth knows what I'm doing. No need to bother him about it though. He's quite busy at the moment."

"It's on your head if something goes wrong. Just let me get back inside first." and with that, the lady is gone inside, at a fast and furious pace.

“Ash Guardian spell, you say?” Ravonna asks, being very smug and bashful, crossing her arms and leaning on her side.

Talvas is so deep in his spellbook that he gets startled, making Inigo and Rumarin chuckle like little kids.

“Ah! I didn’t even see you. Who are you?”

“The name’s Ravonna. I’m here because Master Neloth requires my assistance on… important wizard stuff, I presume?”

“Ravonna? Ravonna Winter-Born?”

“Y-yes?” she raises her eyebrows. How does he know ?

“I - I’ve heard about you! I also studied in Vivec for a while. The stories they tell…”

She chuckles, remembering the good times fondly . “I’m sure they’ve been greatly exaggerated-”

“Is it true that you were a frog for four days?” He interrupts her, earning gasps from the fellowship, except for Teldryn, who smiles and shakes his head.

“Well, that one is true.” she considers.

“Good gods. Is the tale that you chugged a gallon of mead while levitating upside down true as well?” he asks, making the fellowship gasp even more, even though they know her well enough for this to make sense. But still, a gallon?

“There was a lot of spilling, but yes, also true.”

“Holy sh*t!” Fenrik exclaims again, making them laugh. He knew she had a wild side, but he didn’t know how wild. By the gods, just how lucky were the ones that were able to witness this Ravonna. He can picture her being the life of the party all the time. Hell, she is the party. Ah, if only she got the chance to meet his old Atmoran friends, they would have been the best drinking buddies.

“I see you’ve never had to drink mead while levitating upside down with your buddies?” she raises her eyebrow at him, almost as if she could read his mind, but she can’t. If she could, Fenrik would probably be dead right now. She laughs at his amazement, and before Fenrik can utter anything coherent, Talvas speaks again.

“What about the story of when you accepted the challenge to run all across Vivec in nothing but-”

“-That’s enough!” she laughs nervously. “Also true. We had something too strong to handle, and we were arrested afterwards, on top of St. Olms. The tale of how we escaped prison? Also true.”

“I don’t know that one.” Teldryn adds.

“Well, it’s for the best, eh?” She pauses for a moment under Teldryn’s glare. “Oh, don’t look at me like that! I know less than half of the crazy sh*te you did in your youth!”

“Fair enough. Gods, looking at you is like looking at Hjaldir!” he laughs, making her happy and proud. She did always look up to Hjaldir.

“So the tales are not greatly exaggerated.” Talvas adds.

Ravonna thinks for a moment, seemingly in a conversation with herself and her memories. “Well, I’m sure some of them are.” She squints her eyes at him. “You and I need to have a gallon of mead and talk after this. I need to hear all the gossip and talk about professors!”

“Oh, I- I don’t know… I’m not really allowed to leave the tower or do anything else other than research…”

“I see you. Telvanni wizards, eh? They’re the best and the worst!” she pats him hard on the shoulder, looking like a true Nord. “I’ve been in your place before and let me tell you,” she gets closer, gesticulating with a pointy finger, “it’s not as bad as you think. Now, do you need any help with that spell of yours?”

“I don't mean to be rude, but I need to concentrate. I'm just having trouble deciphering Master Neloth's handwriting.”

“Suit yourself. I was never good at deciphering handwritings anyway…” She turns to look at her companions with a smile. “Shall we?”

“Absolutely! I can’t believe We’re coming back here again!” Lucien expresses, very excited. To be fair, their last visit was under stressful circ*mstances. Last time they were here was right before Ravonna headed into Apocrypha to fight Miraak. Oh, how things changed since then.

“I still hate the floaty thing…” Inigo insists.

“It’s actually grown on me. You were right, it is quite fun.” Rumarin says.

“Told you! Brace yourself” Ravonna turns to Fenrik. A little warning would be nice. “We’re going to levitate to the top of this tower. Just relax and let your body be carried.”

“Not the first time I’ve experienced levitation magic.” he reminisces of crossing the river before the Skaal Village party. “I think I’m going to be fine-” but he stops dead in his tracks when the door opened and the floaty spell was right in front of his eyes. It was mesmerizing and so, so beautiful. A complex and symmetric big rune was on the floor, with pure blue magic coming out of it, forming swirls that danced in the air up all the way to the top. “Wow.”

“Wow indeed. This never gets old.” Lucien adds, as Ravonna is the first to go up, so effortlessly that it seems like she’s done this all her life. Up next is Lucien, who is a lot more wobbly, but still with dignity. After that, Rumarin and Inigo give it a try and they are a lot clumsier, Inigo even doing some much unintended backflips. Teldryn nonchalantly slides up, leaving Fenrik the only one left to jump in. It is a weird sensation, but he lets himself be carried. His legs threaten to get above his head, as he is now on his belly in the air. He lets out an embarrassing scream, but he is almost at the top. As he gets a glimpse of the surface, he just grabs the ground and doesn’t let go.

“Come on, you’ve got this.” he hears Ravonna say. He does not ‘got’ this. His legs keep going up, lifting him so that he is almost upside down. He is embarrassed and ashamed and his robes are probably going down, almost exposing his underpants. Does he even have underpants or did he forget? That is his main concern for now, but thankfully, Rumarin and Lucien rush to help him. They grab his arms and pull him towards the main chamber. He thanks them, with a hand gesture, panting.

“Piece of sweetroll.” he says, trying his best to redeem himself with his joke. He looks around for approval and is met with most of the companions smiling and chuckling. Ravonna tries her best to hide it.

“That was a good one, my friend!” Inigo pats him on the shoulder. “Damn this fancy magic.”

“I see you've brought your merry band of misfits with you.” Neloth says, coming out of his office, disgusted.

“Where I go, they go. Consensually, of course!”

“I see that Solstheim is much quieter now. My workers stopped reciting and mindlessly carving nothings into that damned stone, and have returned to do my tasks, albeit still mindlessly, but such is their way. I assume Miraak is defeated, then?” he raises her eyebrow at her, taking a sip of his tea.

“Yes.” She nods, trying her best to seem serious.

“And yet… I see a new member.” And with that, Fenrik’s stomach turns and his heart starts beating fast. Neloth steps closer, examining him thoroughly. “I’ve never seen you before.”

“Well, you don’t leave the tower a lot, do you?” Ravonna says, nonchalant.

“‘Tis true. Not that I care anyway. I called you here for a different reason.”

Ravonna sighs, hoping she doesn’t have to be an errand girl to the Telvanni. “And that is?”

“My research leads me to believe that there is a significantly powerful Dwemer staff in the ruins near my tower. I require your assistance in obtaining it.”

“So you need mercenaries, is what you’re saying.” Teldryn jumps in the conversation.

“Precisely. Dwemer ruins can be dangerous, and while I am perfectly capable of defending myself, there may be a chance to be outnumbered. Your merry band of misfits would be of great help.”

“And what do we get for helping you?” Ravonna raises an eyebrow.

“You’re a mage, right? You can use my soul gems and the Staff Enchanter. Whenever you please. I also have gold to spare for a helping hand.”

“I haven’t used a staff enchanter in years! Fine, we’re helping.”

“Oh, and one more thing. May I do some uh, research on you?”

“Research?”

“You’re the Dragonborn, yes? I am very curious to see what is it exactly that makes you Dragonborn.”

“I assure you, I’m just like everyone else. I just have a Dragon’s soul or something like that.”

“May I take a blood sample so that I can confirm this.”

“Absolutely not!” Teldryn yells.

“What are you trying to do? Clone her?” Inigo asks.

“Cloning doesn’t work like that. In fact, it doesn’t work at all… yet. But fret not! The last thing I’d want is another one of her!” the Telvanni grimaces.

“Fine, you can take a sample.” Ravonna says, starting to roll up her sleeve.

“Are you crazy? Why are you giving it to him?” Teldryn growls.

“I’m giving it to everyone in battle anyway! Besides, I’m a little curious myself. I mean, what if my blood is different? What properties does it have? Relax, man! It’s not that deep.”

“You never know…” Teldryn signs in an attempt to calm down. Gods, he really has become more worried and overprotective after reuniting with her. He needs to remember that she handled herself very well all those years. She’s an adult and very capable of taking care of herself and others. It’s just that he keeps seeing little Ravvy.

“Good. I need you to sit on that chair until I prepare the needle.” Neloth says, going in one of the chambers.

“Ravonna, are you sure?” Lucien asks.

“Yes! It’s not a big deal, why do you all keep exaggerating?” she responds, as Neloth comes back with a giant needle and a fire spell in his other hand, sanitizing it.

“By the twin moons! That is one big needle!” Inigo gasps.

“Just how much blood do you need for your experiment?” Ravonna asks.

“I need a good amount so that I can do all the testing. Worry not! I’ll give you a snack afterwards.”

“I’m not a lab rat!”

“So you’re turning down honeyed braided bread with lavender and a trama root tea?”

“No, no, no. I’ll accept all the snacks. Let’s get this over with.”

And without further talk, Neloth cools the needle down with a spell and gets prepared. It almost reaches Ravonna’s arm when Fenrik shouts.

“Do me instead!” They all turn to him, and out of all the stares, Ravonna’s could surely pierce a hole through him. “Take my blood!”

“And why would that help me?” Neloth asks, his voice rich in suspicion.

“Because I’m… like her?”

“A… Nord?” Teldryn furrows his eyebrows.

“No! I mean yes! But also-”

“May I have a moment with my confused new friend?” Ravonna interrupts him. She quickly gets up and gives Neloth the fakest smile possible. It almost looked like a mockery. She turns around and pushes Fenrik to the farthest chamber and shuts the door behind them.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?”

“I- I don’t know, I panicked! It’s a big needle!” he pleads with calf eyes open wide.

“I’m not scared of needles, Fenrik!”

“No? I thought… but it’s a huge needle!”

She is angry. She wants to be angry because it’s the rational way to be in this moment, but the sight of him, along with his reasonings are making her want to laugh out loud. She cannot even conceal her smile anymore.

“We’re not doing a great job at hiding your identity, are we?” she giggles. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because… I don’t know?” But he does. Deep down he does. He wants to take the needle. He wants to keep her from harm, even if it’s just by a stupid needle.

“Fenrik… nothing’s going to happen. Besides, I do want to see if my blood is the same. And I’m getting a snack after!”

“Okay, alright. Sorry for causing a scene…” his head is low, fixated on the floor and he sounds… scared? Defeated and utterly terrified. He looks like a child, with his hands behind his back, and it clicks for Ravonna. He probably had to apologize for stupid sh*t like this all the time with that ‘gem’ of a father. She cannot even imagine it, she cannot understand how it must feel, growing up with three loving father figures, but she knows that it broke him, and that the cycle of abuse continued and got worse with the Dragon Cult. There, all that was left of his free will was punished thoroughly. And she needs to break the cycle and be here for him. So she gets closer and reluctantly touches his shoulders.

“Hey… It’s alright. Nothing bad happened because of you.”

“No. What if I ruined everything? All your hard work at hiding my identity and this is how I thank you?” his voice is trembling.

“Wasn’t that much hard work. Hey, look at me.” she says, softly, but to no avail. He is too ashamed and scared to look at her. ‘Don’t f*ck this up, don’t f*ck this up’ is all that’s going through her mind at that moment. “You can look at me, it’s okay. I’m sorry for losing my temper a little bit back there. You just took me by surprise, that’s all… I’m not mad, or even upset. Hey…” she says, slowly lifting her hand up to his chin and lifting his head, praying to all the gods that she is not breaking any boundaries. But this is what Endryn used to do when she was upset. He would pull silly faces and make her laugh. She was little, so the silly faces worked, but now she needs something more mature and serious. A heart to heart. And she is terrified whether it’s going to work or not. “There we go.” she says as she gets a good look of Fenrik’s teary brown eyes. “Now listen to me: no one is upset with you. I’m starting to think that it’s impossible to be. You didn’t ruin anything, okay? The self-sacrificing healer in you got out. And that’s commendable. Now, please don’t cry because I have no idea what to do with someone who is crying.” She says, making him laugh the tears away. “You’re doing great. I mean, if you need to cry, just let it out, I’ll figure something out. Maybe sparkles? Everyone loves sparkles, right?” She makes small sparkles dance around her other hand, the one that’s not under Fenrik’s chin. He laughs again, shedding a couple of more tears in the process.

“Thank you.”

“No need, I only told the truth.” She says, backing away and making the sparkles dance around Fenrik.

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The two step out of the room after a while, confident.

“Are you planning on wasting more of my time or are you willing to tell me what on Nirn is going on here?”

“Just take my blood and give us the snacks already.”

“The snack offer was merely for you .”

“Consider it an addition to the payment for following you into the depths of a dangerous unexplored Dwemer ruin just so that you could get a staff.”

“Fine. But know that I’ve figured out your little scheme here.” he points to Fenrik. “You cannot be as simple as you claim to be. I sensed a great power radiating through you when you passed through my levitation spell. The same amount as I felt for Ravonna. You couldn’t fool me for long, Miraak.”

“I do not go by that name anymore.”

“Of course. If you did, you’d be hunted down, most probably. Clever move there.”

“I’m not using a fake name. This is who I am, my real name is Fenrik, Miraak was given to me by the Cult. I didn’t join by choice. My words and my truth are within this book.” he reaches out for his satchel where he keeps the book that he wrote while the fellowship were in the mine.

“I care little as to how you identify. I doubt this book is even useful to my research. It brings me no benefit.”

“So you… don’t care?”

“No. But I’ll take a blood sample from you, too.”

A mix of relief and exasperation overtakes Fenrik.

“Telvannis…” Ravonna brushes it off like it’s just a normal Tirdas.

After taking the blood samples and analysing them thoroughly while the fellowship is being loud and annoying in the main hall, eating their snack, Neloth has reached the very disappointing conclusion that the Dovahkiin blood is just regular blood. Nothing special. Perhaps it is truly how the legends say and only the soul of a Dragonborn is that of a dragon. They’re just normal, regular and very irritating Nords. Although, Fenrik is an ancient Nord, but they’re all equally irritating and inferior in the wizard’s eyes. But now more pressing matters are at hand and they must prepare for another Dwemer ruin that only Lucien seems to be excited about, as usual.

***

Three days later, the fellowship and the wizard come back from their adventure. After seeing them, sad, drained and absolutely soaking wet, no one at Tel Mithryn would call their dungeon raid an ‘adventure’ though. They’re eating in silence in the dining hall, even Neloth joined them, which is surprising to his people, because he never eats down in the hall, but he is just not ready to return to everything now. A question is resounding in everyone’s head, however: ‘Was it worth it?’

Neloth swallows hard, looking the most unprofessional and the least put together anyone has ever seen him. It’s kind of funny to see him like that, especially for Ravonna. Seeing Telvanni lose their veneer is her new favourite thing. “I must say,” he begins, moving the food mindlessly in his plate, “You are a very impressive mage, Ravonna. The way you use magic and magika to your advantage is definitely unique and… quite captivating if I do say so myself.”

She suddenly stops chewing and turns her wide eyes to him. She expected a lot from him, but a compliment? A direct, sincere compliment with zero sugar coating to his ego? She cannot believe this is real.

“Are you playing mind games right now?”

“No. You wound me! I cannot appreciate a fellow wizard?”

“I’ve not reached wizard stats yet…”

“No, but you were trained by one, yes? Certain tricks I’ve seen you do… are things that we use. Telvanni tricks.”

“Does the name ‘Narellya’ ring a bell?” She asks, and Neloth’s eyes widen.

“By Atherius! Now that is a name I haven’t heard in decades. Centuries, even! I should have known the traitor was involved.”

“So you know her.”

“Of course I know her. She was a Telvanni once. A talented one, too. She… never mentioned me?”

“Not really. She used to call you guys ‘those selfish bastards’ or something among those words…” And at that, Teldryn’s thick shell breaks even more, leading him to grab the spiced wine pitcher and drink directly from it, making the fellowship throw looks at each other. Rumarin is so involved that he is holding his head in his hands with his elbows propped on the table, giving the most ‘I’m eating this up’ look.

“Is there something we should know?” The Altmer asks.

“Definitely not! Mind your Gods-damned business or I shall curse you forever!”

“I smell a lot of drama.” Inigo chuckles.

“I will curse each and every one of you individually, and then some more as a group!”

Ravonna just looks him dead in the eyes, she is sitting opposite him at the table, and is very determined to get a good bed to lie in tonight after sleeping on stone for two nights in a row, in a Dwemer ruin full of automatons, and spiders and Falmer, and water. Flooding water everywhere. The humidity was terrible!

“Do you have spare beds?” she squints her eyes, almost demanding.

“Does this look like a motel to you?”

“Do you have spare beds or no?”

“I don’t!”

“Damn it!” she clenches her jaw. “The only tavern we have is in Raven Rock and I’m not walking back there. The guars are gone!”

“We could go back to the Skaal Village.” Lucien offers, earning agreeing nods from everyone in the fellowship and a disgusted grunt from Neloth.

“It is closer than Raven Rock, right?” Ravonna asks, finishing her food.

“It’s what the map says…”

“Perfect. We sleep there tonight. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a sh*t ton of things to Enchant!”

“Not without my supervision, Nord! I want my office intact, still.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?”

“Can’t a mer just relax a bit after that ?” he asks, exasperated.

“You can relax well enough after we leave.”

“Give me five minutes, human!”

“Alright. I’ll be outside for some fresh air.” And with that, the human embodiment of annoyance and sass in Neloth’s eyes leaves.

***

The air outside is pleasant and chilly. She smiles as she sees Talvas in the same spot he was when they first met, still nose up in his book. She is on her way to him when he finally conjures that Ash Guardian he was rambling about. But it backfires horribly. She is too used to conjuration fails at this point. Something went wrong with the spell because the Guardian is now attacking poor Talvas who is running and screaming like a maniac. In his panic, he manages to spot Ravonna and runs to her like his life depended on it, because it probably did. She starts running to him as well, preparing ice spells in both her hands ‘Ash Guardians. Ash. So they are made from ex-fire, right? Former lava? They must be weak to cold, right? Am I remembering this right?’ She thinks to herself as she heads to the monstrosity. Talvas manages to reach her just in time for Ravonna to make an ice shield, protecting them both from the Guardian’s wrath. They back up and Ravonna throws two ice spikes at him, almost inflicting no damage. “Damn, are these things immune to anything?”

“They’re literally made out of stone, I highly doubt it!” Talvas responds, making her curse under her breath because she forgot completely. “What on Nirn is a rock’s weakness?” He asks, casting a calm spell to no avail.

“Scissors?” Ravonna responds, chuckling.

“You think this is a good time for jokes? Master Neloth is going to kill me if he finds out!”

“Scissors, that’s it! Big sword!” she says, the lightbulb of an idea almost visible above her hear, making Talvas even more confused.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Wait here, I know just the thing!” She immediately levitates rapidly to the main tower, doing a backflip before entering.

"But paper beats rock!" Talvas shouts, but to no avail, Ravonna is already in the tower.

He manages to keep the Guardian busy, dealing little damage with his sparks spell. But the Guardian is strong and sturdy and it’s coming towards him at an alarming pace. The mage backs up, terrified, but he hits a boulder. He looks around for an escape, but sees that he is surrounded by more stone, and the Guardian is now inches away, charging and ready to strike him, but a loud metal clank is heard and the Guardian is struck. Backstabbed, if you will. By a sword, wielded by an invisible person? The sword strikes him again and again. The hits are clumsy, but effective. The blade seems to deal a great amount of magic. It’s mesmerizing, it has some sort of pure red energy flowing through it, and its sheer size is impressive. Almost as big as a person. He looks at the sword until he sees Ravonna wielding it from a distance with telekinesis. She looks like she’s having the time of her life, grinning from ear to ear. She locks eyes with Talvas and shouts. “Strike him!” and he does. He hits the Guardian with his best spells, and working together, they defeat the beast.

After catching their breaths, Talvas finally speaks. “Thank you for the help. Don’t know if I would have done it without you.”

“You could. You just need to be more confident. I see the potential in you. Don’t let Neloth make you feel too small, alright?” she pants.

“So, you’re not going to tell him about all of this?”

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about it!” she looks at Tel Mithryn for a moment. She would see Neloth coming out of the kitchen whenever he was ready. What’s the harm in a little gossip? “Care to talk about Vivec?”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting for this! I can’t believe I actually get to hear the stories from you!"

***

After enchanting anything and everything and making Neloth question his existence for about 60 times, the fellowship is ready to leave for the Skaal Village so that they can sleep somewhere cosy. They should be hurrying, the sun is setting fast on the ashy land of Solstheim.

They make the short trip, a bit less talkative because they are all tired and incredibly ready to lay in a warm and fluffy bed. Even from a distance, they are recognized and the people cheer and run towards them to greet them and tell them that they missed them already and how good it is to see them. It felt like reuniting with old friends. They were in the middle of explaining their visit when the flapping of dragon wings could be heard above them.

“Again? But we just defeated one.” Old Tharstan whines.

“Everyone get inside!” Ravonna yells. “Please, lead them to safety!” She tells Storn, who shakes his head.

“Dragonborn,” he begins, “We are a sturdy people. Some of the finest warriors walk among us. We will be honoured to fight alongside you.”

“But-” she starts, trying to avoid another Helgen situation, where she had to see many people die by the hands of a dragon, but she needs to calm herself. That was no mere dragon, that was Alduin himself, and she didn’t know she was Dovahkiin then, nor did she have Fenrik with her. She takes a deep breath at the sight of Storn’s firm and confident face.

“Look at them. They’ve all made their choice.” he points to the mass of villagers, all gathered with their weapons ready. “In these lands, you learn to be ready for a fight anytime and anywhere.” Storn says, and Ravonna understands completely, for how can’t she? She’s been living with that mindset for a very long time.

The fight is ruthless, but the teamwork of that significant number of people makes it short-lived. While the dragon was flying, the mages and archers did their work, and after the dragon landed, it was the warriors’ time to shine. And Ravonna with her oversized Bloodskaal blade, of course. Soon enough, the dragon was defeated, but several people were injured. A dragon is truly the most destructive force on Nirn. It was a fire dragon, and the Skaal Village is looking more and more like Helgen. Still, the people started cheering, because the great beast had been slain. The cheers faded, however, because the swirls of pure dragon’s soul went towards Fenrik and into his chest, completely absorbed.

“Oh, sh*t.” is all Ravonna can mumble, as she sees the utter shock, fear and despair in Fenrik’s eyes.

Chapter 14: The secret’s out but the treasure remains buried, yet a door unlocks

Chapter Text

A minute. An hour. An eternity. A second. How much the deafening silence lasted after his soul devoured a dragon, Fenrik cannot tell, but his heart is threatening to thud a hole out of his chest and jump out and hide forever. He knew he needed to come clean about his identity sooner or later, especially since he is done with the book from his point of view. But who’s to say anyone would believe it to be true? How is he going to explain to them all now? He keeps looking at their faces. At all of their faces and it doesn’t make it any better. Confusion, shock and… betrayal plastered on them. He searches for those emerald eyes that seem to soothe him so lately, but it’s almost like looking in a mirror. Frantic, panicked emerald eyes from across the field, screaming, pleading ‘What do we do. What do we do ?’

“What are you?” Storn asks, frowning. He has his suspicions, but no, no. It couldn’t be… He just talked to this man in the goat barn. He looked into his eyes and saw no trace of evil. That couldn’t be the man who controlled the minds of half the island, it couldn’t be…

“I- ” his voice is raspy and not even sounding like his own. He tries to get the words out, but no sound comes out of him. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. ‘Akatosh, I know you’ve possibly stopped listening to my prayers by now, but I need guidance. I need something. I need the strength to get through this.’ He opens his eyes just in time to see a strike of lightning in the distance. A storm is brewing, just like the day when he stood before hundreds of people and declared the Revolution in motion. He remembers his worth, and his capability to speak his mind. He’s always done this alone. He can do this. Perhaps that was the sign from Akatosh that he has been waiting for. Perhaps he has always been with him, uninvolved, yet still watching over. He takes another deep breath and starts over. “I am Fenrik the healer, that much is true, but there is a part of me you don’t know and yet… you’ve been on the receiving hand of its wrath. It’s true. I am Miraak. I was Miraak, I suppose.” he says, and the crowd gasps loudly. “But you don’t know the full story. You know Vahlok’s side of it. His and the people he brainwashed. I would tell you my point of view as well, if you’ll have me…” he waits for something, anything , but the silence perseveres. So he continues. This is his chance to come clean. “I am Miraak because I am the very first Dragonborn. I lived in Atmora of old, and was the Village’s healer. We used to worship dragons, live in harmony with them, so long as we kept worshipping them. Eventually, the dragons got greedy with power. Something too dangerous to any being, even myself. They started attacking the people of Mundus, turning them into slaves and causing pain and suffering for their own entertainment. My village, Jylkurfik, happened to be one of the first they attacked. My family, my friends, my kin… they were all dead. So I attacked the dragon with everything I could and then I killed it. I don’t know how, I don’t remember much of the fight, but I just know that I absorbed its soul just as I did now. It’s something that I cannot control. And they knew. The dragons were afraid, so they enslaved me, and I became Miraak, the leader of their cult, nothing more than a puppet. They forged my Dragon Priest mask and enchanted it with magic to numb my feelings. I was too emotional, they said. And emotional I was. I had enough of constant torment, ridicule and torture by the dragons one day and started a revolution. Few joined me, and Vahlok was the loudest voice against mine. We fought ruthlessly on this very land, separating it from Skyrim. The fight was unending and I was desperate. I had seen too much death up to that point, and so I seeked knowledge in the forbidden Daedra’s land. That’s when I was enslaved by another, Hermaeus Mora kept me in his realm, feeding off of my power and despair for thousands of years. I was blinded by freedom when I heard the shout of the Greybeards calling for another like me.” he turns and looks at Ravonna, and he could swear that he saw tears in those emerald green eyes of hers. “That is no excuse for my behaviour, still. I don’t remember enslaving your minds very well. And I deeply apologise for that.” his voice is trembling and his tears are now threatening to roll. “I’ve written everything in detail in this book, I was going to give it to Tharstan, but I guess it’s pointless now… I would still tend to the wounded, if I have your consent.”

After a few excruciating moments of silence, the crowd starts bowing to him, kneeling one by one, making the hair on the back of his head stand up. It’s the most bittersweet irony, perhaps, that this happened before the start of the Revolution as well, thousands of years ago. Even the fellowship, who is standing at the back, show their respects. First Lucien, Inigo and Rumarin bow to him, followed by Ravonna, who is smiling to herself, and much to his surprise, Teldryn. He is still the people’s leader. He has a second chance in leading humanity to victory in the fight against dragons. And if this is his second chance, he will gladly accept the role and do the job right this time. He smiles, looking at the bowing people, then at the sky.

“We stand by you, First Dragonborn.” Storm says, firmly, bending a knee to him.

***

After healing the wounds of those who suffered in battle and exchanging words with the Skaal Village, Fenrik is surprised to learn that most of them still trust him. Meeting him as Fenrik first and Miraak second was a big factor which influenced how they perceive him. There were a few of them who refused his healing, but that was to be expected, and he respects their decision. He now sits on a bench near the edge of the village, staring into the sea. Storn comes to sit beside him and they stay in comfortable silence for a while, contemplating.

“I can hardly believe that for all those years, I thought Miraak was evil. ‘The Guardian and the Traitor’ does you no justice.” Storn says, smoking his pipe and offering Fenrik a puff, which he politely refuses.

“Why do you trust me and not Vahlok? Either one of us could be lying.” he responds, looking into the distance. In that direction over the sea, somewhere far away and frozen in time must be Atmora, his old home.

“Because I’ve met you. Because it makes sense. Because I can see through you and because I’ve been told that I’m quite good at reading people.” his words are slow, and Fenrik turns his eyes towards him as if eating his words up, trying to convince himself.

“But you haven’t met Vahlok. How can you be so sure?” he asks, making Storn chuckle to himself in a cloud of tobacco smoke.

“As I’ve said, I’m good at reading people. Shall we try it on your friends?” he turns around on the bench where they were seated. They’re now facing the village market, where the Fellowship were mingling. Fenrik is quick to follow. His eyes immediately fall on Ravonna, who is showing her Bloodskaal Blade wielding technique to the Thirsk Mead Hall’s blacksmith. “Ah, yes. We shall start with your Ravonna.” he begins, making Fenrik’s heart pump hard against his chest at the mention of ‘his Ravonna’. “She really sticks out of any crowd, doesn’t she?” he chuckles again. “I see that she spreads joy, in any way she can. She can be eccentric and downright controversial at times, but she means well. Her well-meaningness even got her in trouble a few times, I bet, but she likes to remember those times as good. She does focus on the good in her life, but that does not mean that there is no bad. I can see a certain… pain within her, though it is greatly concealed. It’s something that she hasn’t internalised well, or that she downright refuses to let herself accept. She is fragile, believe it or not. Just like stone, resistant, but once you’ve hit it hard enough, it crumbles into a million little pieces.” and even though Fenrik can barely process that, Storm moves on. “That Lucien boy over there, speaking with the little girl, I can see that he adopted Ravonna’s ways of being joyful. He is curious and inquisitive in nature, and I believe he was spoiled and loved back home, because he seems to adapt harder to the tough lifestyle of an adventurer. Still, he sees it as an opportunity to gain knowledge.” And to that, Fenrik nods. He doesn’t know them well enough, but he finds himself agreeing with Storn’s words. “I do not know where the rest of them are, but am I right? Only time will tell. You’ll eventually get to know them better and it will make sense in the future, the same as my decision to trust you and take your side.”

“Thank you.” Fenik says, solemnly.

“No, Dragonborn, thank you .”

“Whatever for?”

“For always being on the people’s side, even when it seemed hopeless. For not losing yourself to despair. The fact that you’re still gentle, kind, and so open is commendable. The strength you have to still smile after everything is incredible.”

Suddenly, he finds it hard to breathe. Does he deserve this? The kindness is overwhelming, and as if Storn could read his mind, he speaks up again. “Allow yourself to receive kindness. You deserve all of it.” and with that, the shaman gets up and retires to his chambers, giving Fenrik the space to contemplate. He takes a deep breath and leans his head on the nearby tree. He is beyond exhausted after healing everyone. He knew coming back on Nirn would be hard, but he didn’t know how hard. Long minutes pass, and he starts thinking about going to bed, but he hears footsteps. He opens his eyes to see a familiar silhouette. Big mage robes and a wave of black hair sweep beside him, sitting on the bench.

“How’re you feeling, now that the secret’s out? Are you… alright?”

“I am, actually.” He surprised even himself with the statement. It does feel like a huge weight has been lifted off his chest and he feels… less guilty, knowing that they all acknowledge him for who he really is now. “It feels…” he sighs, gathering his thoughts, “liberating. As if maybe I’m not as bad as I think I am? I don’t know if that makes sense.”

“No, it does.” Ravonna says, truly wishing she could feel the same. Less guilt for abandoning her home and everyone she knew, less guilt for mercilessly burning down the Dark Brotherhood sanctuary. Guilt. Regret. The worst feelings in the world. But not jealousy, even though she expected to feel it. No, more like happiness. If anyone deserves to be rid of those bad feelings, it’s Fenrik.

“Well then, I’ve still got it. The Speechcraft of a bard.” He turns to her with a smile, which makes her turn away, smiling.

“Now, now, let’s not get ahead of ourselves…”

“I convinced you enough with my speech today!”

“I was just following the crowd with the bowing, nothing more.” she says, obviously lying. After a silent minute, she feels the need to bury that ego and be truthful. “In all seriousness, though, I’m glad for you. And my reaction was genuine. You’re a great leader, one that cares for the people he leads, and that’s more valuable than gold. Or uhh… ebony, or whatever it is that is most valuable on Tamriel these days…”

“You really do have a way with words, bard. Seems I have some tough competition!” He jokes, making her roll her eyes. He wouldn’t have believed it a few weeks ago when he was still in Apocrypha, that he would make jokes so easily and smile again.

“Y’know, I’ve been thinking…” Ravonna begins. “Tomorrow would be the best time to go searching for Deathbrand’s treasure. If you’re up for it, of course…”

“What better way to celebrate? I still have the map. I say we start as early as possible, and there is one treasure quite close to where we’re standing now.” He speaks while looking for the map in his satchel. “Look!” He excitedly points at the x on his map.

She starts to think that he may be more excited than her. ‘It’s just treasure, isn’t it? Couldn’t be more than just trinkets and gold, like we found in Velehk Sain’s treasure chest… But then, why do I feel so f*cking nervous about it all?’ she thinks. Maybe it’s the tiredness. “I think I’ll head to bed.” She gets up and starts walking when she suddenly turns around. “And we do not leave at dawn. The earliest I’ll go is noon.” She says, making Fenrik smile to himself.

***

As tired and desperate for a good night’s sleep she was, Ravonna kept twisting and turning in the warm and soft bed. The sleeping chamber was quiet enough, and everyone was fast asleep. Naturally, this is what happens after a Dwemer ruin adventure, it completely drains them, but a mix of eagerness and anxiety overwhelms her. She gets up and looks around for someone, anyone who could be awake and keep her company, but she sees everyone is asleep. She tries to focus on the crackling of the fire, but it fails to soothe her. She gets up for a breath of fresh air in the balcony. She enters the balcony, leaning her palms on the railing, unaware that Fenrik and Rumarin both poured their heart out to each other in that very place just a few nights ago.

Slow down, you crazy child

You're so ambitious for a juvenile

But then if you're so smart

Tell me why are you still so afraid, mmm?

She remembers the wonder only a kid could have about these lyrics, looking to find their meaning, even though she knew well enough that she was going to relate to them some day, after growing up and living more.

Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?

You'd better cool it off before you burn it out

You've got so much to do

And only so many hours in a day, ay

She smiles to herself, thinking that Hjaldir might have accidentally found the perfect song to awaken the nostalgia in her when she got older. She wonders if he knew she would seek this song from the depths of her memories to soothe her later on in life. Probably. He knew a lot of things about her, even before she knew them herself.
“It’s beautiful.” Fenrik says from behind, making her wonder just for how long he’d been standing there.

“I used to go to sleep to songs like this.” she smiles, not yet turning to face him, but savouring the moment, the memory and hanging onto it a bit more.

“The perks of having a bard around while growing up, no?” he leans on the railing beside her.

“I miss him, Fenrik. I really do. I-” but the knot in her throat doesn’t let her go on. She feels terrible for leaving him like that and never returning. She was to go back to him as soon as she ended the Dark Brotherhood, but dragons came back in the meantime, and Akatosh chose her to be the Dragonborn, of all people. After a few silent moments, she says: “I really hope he is okay.”

“I’m sure he is. He’s a pirate, is he not? Pirates are a different breed. Stronger and more resilient. Just look at Deathbrand.”

“Even Deathbrand died. And now we’re looking for his big secret treasure.”

“Yes, but take a look at his life. He should have died many times, but didn’t! He fought four Thalmor ships with only his brig and his crew. A brig! That is epic and legendary and I bet Hjaldir has stories like that, too.”

She smiles and bows her head, looking at the ground, focusing on the snow and ash. “He does. You’d like him.”

“I’m sure I would. I hope I get that chance someday.”

“I hope so, too.” she nods, thinking of the possibilities. Her heart aches at the thought of them meeting and getting along.

“Did he ever meet Deathbrand? They were alive at the same time.”

“I don’t think he did, actually. He never talked about him. Besides, my interest in Deathbrand is quite recent. After finding out I’m Dragonborn, I felt… trapped. In my quest, in this war, in life, I suppose. And so I sought freedom in others’ tales. There was also the factor of missing Hjaldir, so I craved some pirate books, and I had heard about Deathbrand before, but after reading more about him, I could almost taste the freedom. Can you imagine that life?”

“Freedom. His tales and his lifestyle gave me a glimpse of it in Apocrypha. I reread the book more times than I can count. It’s probably why I could figure out his map so quickly.”

“Right.” she responds, internally screaming. ‘How could I mention freedom to him? Of course he craved for it, he craved for freedom more than anyone in the world…”

“I don’t know what to expect for tomorrow, but we have a lot of walking around Solstheim to do, and I think it’s best to go to bed. Do not get me wrong, I really enjoy these conversations, but we leave at dawn, sooo.” and she finally snaps and looks at him.

“We are so not leaving at dawn.”

“I’m going to wake you up.” he smiles, teasing her, and she is once again amazed by his actions. How unexpected that the First Dragonborn also has a sense of humour, even after everything he’s been through.

“Wake me up at six. I dare you. See what happens.” she pokes his chest with her finger and turns towards the door.

***

Thankfully, he didn’t keep his promise and she woke up when the sun was high up in the sky, feeling better.

At the breakfast table, Ravonna can’t help but hum a melody over and over again, scribbling in her journal and crossing over the words.

“Haven’t heard this one before.” Rumarin says, swallowing his food.

“Yeah, well, it’s still a work in progress.” She says, as she suddenly stopped writing and snapped her journal shut. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”

“I haven’t seen you writing a song in a long time. Something really shook you, didn’t it?” Lucien speaks.

“I don’t know…”

“You don’t have to share it with us if you don’t want to.”

“I just… I don’t know. It’s all weird. It’s about a weird dream I had, nothing too interesting.” She tries to brush it off and everyone lets it go, preoccupying themselves with finishing breakfast and packing their things. The Deathbrand treasure hunt may be the last thing they do here on Solstheim. There are less and less things to do, and the feeling that they eventually have to return to Skyrim is creeping in. It’s a feeling that Ravonna is perhaps not ready to feel. Solstheim feels so close to home. It’s so bittersweet. She loves it and she hates it at the same time, but leaving Solstheim reminds her of leaving Morrowind, and that hurts more than the nostalgia this place brings upon her soul.

***

“Alright, so,” Ravonna says over the map that has been carefully placed in the centre of the table so that everyone can get a good look, “We have four different locations for treasure, thanks to Fenrik and his Apocrypha knowledge. What are we thinking?”
“D’you reckon that the treasure is in one of these locations, and the rest is just to confuse everyone?” Teldryn asks.

“Could be. Or there is a secret bigger treasure. Come on, we’re talking about Deathbrand here. His treasure is probably huge.” Rumarin adds.

“You’re probably right. I can hardly imagine his treasure to fit into four chests.” Lucien says.

“I believe that there are clues in every location to the true location of the treasure.” Fenrik suggests. "His book talks about lifetimes worth of wealth."

“I reckon we’d save a lot of time by splitting up.” Teldryn suggests, to which the fellowship nods and agrees, with Ravonna still too deep in thought to say anything.

“Right, I’d very much like to go to the one near Tel Mithryn, I love that place to pieces!” Lucien says enthusiastically.

“I am coming with you, my friend. I need to make sure you’re not just going to leave us and go off into the sunset with the crazy wizard and his tricks.” Inigo responds, crossing his arms. Of course he would go with Lucien, the two are almost inseparable.

“I’m taking the one that’s the closest, and before any of you want to protest, I must say that I am the oldest of the group. I figured I’d earned as much.” Teldryn says, half joking. “I can manage by myself, by the way.”

“I’m taking the one that’s near Raven Rock, then.” Rumarin speaks, thinking that he probably should have taken the one that is the farthest away from them, because after all, he’s got a bit more stamina, as an Altmer. Whoever goes to the last one needs to pass through the Mountains, and it could be a tedious task, but Fenrik seems up to the challenge.

“I guess this leaves me with the one near the water stone.”

“Only thing that you’ll have to be careful about is the Dwemer ruin nearby, I believe.” Teldryn says, once again addressing Fenrik directly, making him almost jump on his toes.

“Yes, th-thank you!”

“Ravonna?” Lucien asks, making her snap from her mind and into reality. “Will you join any of us in the treasure hunt?”

“What? Yes, of course. Dwemer ruin, I’m going there.” she says, absentmindedly, not even knowing if that’s been chosen or not.

“You’re going with him?” Teldryn growls, and suddenly, all the progress he’s been making is gone.

“With who?” she asks, seeming a bit more present because of the animosity.

“With me. Hi…” Fenrik shyly waves in a stupidly cute manner.

“Listen to me, you try anything-”

“- I’m not trying anything! Why would I even? I’ve just been existing and it’s a problem…” Fenrik finally says, not in an aggressive way, but in a tired way. “I understand your distrust, but if you don’t trust me that much, perhaps it is better to have her - a person which you trust the most - keep an eye on me.”

Both Ravonna and Teldryn raise an interested eyebrow. He did it. He finally did it. He spoke for himself, and even though they may never admit it, especially Teldryn, they’re both thinking ‘good for him’ in the moment.

“Besides, I think this one being near a Dwemer ruin requires more than one person. Even the path through the mountains could be treacherous. I’m used to this, it’s not too different from Morrowind.” she says, truly meaning it. When she heard Dwemer ruin, she knew it could get ugly, and whoever was assigned that location would need help, and she is past not wanting to go with him. Would she prefer to go with Lucien and Inigo and have a good time and reminisce about her times in Vivec? Yes. Would she prefer to go with Teldryn and get more time to catch up with her uncle? Also, yes. Would she prefer to go with Rumarin and just be the group of the two of them, as it happened before? Absolutely. But she can’t deny that she needs to go with Fenrik. With all the dangers of the road, she can see it in his eyes that he most fears being alone with his thoughts. He needs someone, and he can’t bear to be left alone again after spending millenia like that in Apocrypha. “Also, first of all, he’s better than that. He won’t try anything. Our fight in Apocrypha is a little reminder of what may happen if he does, and second of all, I can and will smite him if he tries anything!” Ravonna says, her voice full of confidence and sass that Teldryn hasn’t seen in a while.

Little does she know that Fenrik is already smitten, just not the way she thinks, and she still doesn’t notice his little smile at how she kind of, sort of jumped in to defend him, because she is too busy with making sure that everyone has all they need on their trips. After a thorough check, they find themselves at the gates of the Village again.

“How many days until we meet again? I can have this done by nightfall, I think.” Teldryn says.

“We have a considerable amount of distance to go.” Lucien responds.

“I think it’s best if we meet back in Raven Rock in three days?” Ravonna speaks.

“Three days?” Rumarin asks, bemused.

“Look, if you get your job done earlier, all you have to do is enjoy some time in Severin Manor. I’m just saying that if we were to uhhh… hypothetically have to enter a Dwemer ruin.”

“Tell me you’re not thinking of going in there…” Teldryn pinches the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“I won’t! Not intentionally, that is. I hate those, but what if we have to go there? Just saying…”

“By the Gods, just don’t go there! The treasure is a bit farther away.”

“We’re not going in there! Still, three days.” Ravonna says firmly, yet with excitement in her voice. “If we finish our tasks earlier, all the better.”

“Fine.” Teldryn says and points at her, “but don’t enter the ruin!”

“I hate Dwemer ruins and we’ve just been in one, for three days. I’ve had enough. I was just being cautious, is all…” she smiles, and he grabs the back of her head, touching his forehead against hers.

“And don’t forget the most important rule: don’t die.” He gently says.

“There are worse things than death… or so I’ve heard.” she pulls away.

“Don’t start with that.” he huffs and she giggles in response.

“I’ll see you all in three days.”

“Or earlier.” Rumarin says.

“Except you, of course, you’re stuck with me now.” Ravonna turns to Fenrik, as if to threaten him in the least serious way.

“I am shaking in me boots.” he responds, making her eyebrows shoot up and laugh. She keeps getting surprised by his wits, but she can’t say she’s complaining.

“Shiver me timbers, me mate, we have an adventure to go on!” Lucien joins in on the horrible pirate impressions.

“Arrrr!” Inigo growls.

“You’re all ridiculous!” Ravonna says, shaking her head. “Pirates don’t even talk like that…”

“You’re only saying that because you know one pirate.” Lucien protests. “Just the one!”

“And that’s one more than you know! Also, I know some of his friends from our fishing and resupplying trips to High Rock, which means I’m right. Also, we should get going, I don’t know how much I can wait and how many bad pirate accents I can suffer.” she says, turning to Fenrik, who furrows his brows at her, almost pouting. She almost pokes him in the chest with her finger. “Don’t you dare. If you start speaking like that on the road, I’m kicking you off this treasure hunt and into the Dwemer ruin.”

***

Fortunately for her, Fenrik bit his tongue as to not make any more pirate impressions, even though he would argue that his was the best and not at all exaggerated. Still, a significant amount of time has passed, and Ravonna hasn’t said anything. She keeps humming to herself, as if stuck in a loop. He can’t quite read her, and so he starts speaking.

“Everything alright?”

“Oh, yes. It’s all going… for lack of a better word, swimmingly.” she snaps from her trance, instantly hating and patting herself on the back for fuelling the sea puns.

“I can’t say I know you well… yet, but you seem a bit off today. A bit chaotic. More than usual.”

“How am I chaotic?”

“Well, for once,” he stops in his tracks, the snow started falling and the wind was getting stronger on their path, they were almost at the mountain pass. He knows it’s not the best place to have a chat, but they’re both Nords, they can handle the cold. He braces himself to continue once she turns towards him, “You stopped looking people in their eyes when you speak.”

Her gaze was anywhere but in his eyes. Frantic green eyes, searching for an escape, looking at everything and nothing at the same time. “I don’t always do that, you know.” she says, trying to play it cool.

“From what I’ve seen you do.”

“As you said, you don’t know me that well.”

“I would, if you’d tell me more about yourself. I know near nothing about your past!”

“Well, maybe that’s for the better, huh?” she snaps.

“I understand if you don’t like to talk about unpleasant memories… You could tell me about the good stuff.”

“I don’t - I just - I’ve been thinking…” she starts, trying to change the subject, “Ever since I held that stupid speech after we received the letters from Delphine and Neloth, I- ” she draws in a shaky, frustrated breath, “I don’t even know why I felt like holding a stupid speech… I talk too much sometimes, and it leads to bad stuff.” she breathes out quickly, slumping her shoulders, defeated.

“First of all, that was a good speech, and you sensed that our companions were worried-”

“-And ever since I did that, and I said that we as Dragonborns should stop asking the ‘why me’ question, I can’t help but ask myself that even more. I’ve been trying to convince myself that I shouldn’t dwell on it, but I can’t help but wonder… Why would Akatosh choose me of all people. Me. I’m not even a real Nord . I don’t even know who my parents are or when my real birthday is!” she can feel the lump in her throat forming. She’s been masking her despair for too long and she is on the verge of breaking down and erupting even more violently than Red Mountain during the Red Year. She takes a deep breath again, trying to calm herself, when she speaks again, her voice is hoarse and her eyes are stinging from the tears that she refuses to let roll down her cheeks. “I mean… what if I’m the long lost daughter of a rich lord and I never knew it? I’ve spent so much time asking these questions and I thought I was okay with me not knowing sh*t about my past but… Has… Has Akatosh ever given you dreams?”

“Not that I know of. I can only remember the nightmares, which are constant and with things that happened in the past with the Cult and Apocrypha. I doubt that's Akatosh's doing.”

“Oh… I’m sorry.” She groans. “Maybe I’m losing my mind. Maybe this is my mind trying to cope. Forget I said anything.” she turns back and begins walking ahead.

“Wait! Wait.” he catches up to her. “I’ve read that some dreams are related to divine intervention.”

“Well, yes. I’m pretty sure there’s a Daedra for that. Varona, or something.”

“That’s Neloth’s assistant!” Fenrik laughs, trying to lighten the mood, but isn’t sure if Ravonna is doing the same and she purposely butchered the name. “But no, what I’m saying is that sometimes other divines may get involved to the devoted.”

“Oh, trust me, I’m not devoted. And Akatosh doesn’t seem to be the type to ‘get involved’, believe me.” she laughs bitterly, recalling all those times she screamed at the sky at him. "Hm. If you rearrange the letters to 'Varrona' and add an 'n', you get my name." She says, trying to change the subject once more.

“Ravonna, please. Tell me about your dream. If I’m not able to help, maybe it’ll just make you feel easier. Don’t hold it in you, there’s only so much that can fit in one’s weary mind.”

“I’m working on a song about it, although I’m not sure it’ll see the light of day.” she chuckles. They keep walking for a few moments in silence and she understands that Fenrik is giving her the space that she needs, but in doing so, she realises just how much she wants to tell someone. “When I was little I had a dream. I couldn’t have been older than five. And I just… saw myself fighting a dragon? It’s all blurry, and I kind of buried it in my mind, but it came back to me as I was giving that damned speech.” she blurts out, focusing on her walking.

“You had a dream of the future?”

“I don’t know! This is all stupid… I was also a kid with a huge imagination, but, I mean - I … It’s a bit of a weird coincidence, right?”

“At least you had a warning. I see Akatosh is learning from his mistakes. His First Dragonborn wasn’t the best choice…”

“Shut up, you did all you could to stop them. Your tale is one of betrayal by our own people, and thinking that it’s your fault that the Dragons are back now is stupid.” she will accept her despair, but try to fix his in any way she can.

“I sure hope you’re right…”

“I am! That’s the thing, you make so much more sense as a Dragonborn than me! You’re a better leader!”

“A Dragonborn doesn’t have to lead.”

“But you led a Revolution. I can’t even lead a choir! So many voices to take into consideration…”

“Are you sure you’re not a good leader?”

“Positive.”

“You’ve done pretty good with your fellowship.”

“Wait, that’s not…”

“Without you, there wouldn’t be a fellowship. And you’ve not just been a leader, but a friend, and that’s important.”

“Stop trying to boost my ego. Also, I wouldn’t be as haunted as I am today if I didn’t have that same dream last night. Again. But from a different perspective. There, I said it.” And with that, she starts stomping faster through the snow.

“You had the dream again? What perspective?”

She turns to him and starts walking backwards. “I saw myself from afar… kind of? We were in a battle with this huge black dragon, but we were… in the sky? And I heard waves and I think there was a ship and lots of other people fighting, but I couldn’t see their faces? UGH, it sounds so stupid! I don’t even know why I’m pressed about this, it’s literally not a big deal! I even think I saw huge tentacles, so it was probably the result of everything that has happened lately. But talking about this made me realise how much I’m exaggerating, so thanks!” She rambles quickly, turning her back to him again, right into a large tree.

“There’s a.. Tree.” Fenrik awkwardly says, he’s wanted to say it for a while, but never got the chance to speak.

“I can see that. Maybe this is a sign from Akatosh that I need to knock some sense into myself.” they both laugh, trying to process what just happened.

“You alright?” He runs to help her gain her balance back. He takes her hands in his and quickly inspects her head for any damage.

“ ‘M fine.”

“Look to the left. Now to the right. Now up. Are you nauseous?” he says and she complies.

“Now look who’s overthinking and exaggerating.” she rolls her eyes.

“The good news is that you’re fine. The bad news is that you’re not treating a possible concussion seriously.” he says, observing a tiny scar on the left side of her forehead, a fully healed scar from long ago. He wonders where she got it, but is afraid that it might bring more unpleasant memories that she refuses to think about, so he refrains himself from asking.

“I didn’t even hit my head!”

“I was just making sure.” he pauses for a moment, still holding her hands. “Your hands are cold. Shall we seek shelter or build a fire?”

“I can literally just do this.” she lets go of his hand and brings a fire spell between them. I’m a Nord, I’m not cold. I’m never cold.”

“I thought you weren’t a ‘true Nord’ ” he says, throwing air quotations on the last two words.

“Not in the traditional sense, but I’m still not cold. This is my natural habitat, I believe. Besides, as much as I’d love to sit and relax, we have a treasure to find, and we’re only halfway there.”

He forms a thin-lipped smile and continues walking.

***

It was now late afternoon. The snow was falling faster and setting on the ground like a neat, fluffy blanket. As much as Ravonna would love to just fall face first into it and stay there for a while and rest, she can’t help but think and consider Fenrik’s words. It’s true: he knows near nothing about her. She knows a great deal more about his past than viceversa, and maybe this isn’t fair.

“I was homeschooled until the age of 18.” she suddenly says.

“What?”

“You said that you wanted to learn more about me. Well, I was raised at a tavern in Blacklight, by Teldryn, Hjaldir and…” she hesitates for a moment “and by my adoptive father, Endryn. Tel’s brother. The tavern’s called The Emerald Bar .”

“That’s a great name for a tavern.”

“It’s really obvious, if you would have been there. There’s a literal Emerald Bar inside, brought by a mercenary aunt of mine. Straight from Elseweir, or so I’ve heard.” she chuckles, shaking her head. “How did she manage to bring it from there and get it inside? I’ll never know… That’s a story from well before I was born, not even Teldryn knows. All I know is that my aunt’s name was Ravonna. Never got a chance to meet her. And what’s an interesting coincidence is that ‘rav’ means ‘to roar’ in old Dunmeris, so my name would translate to screaming woman.”

“Wow, that’s…” Fenrik is in awe. He’s only heard a small portion of her past and he’s already hooked. “That’s why you have a Dunmer name. It suits you.” He nods, smiling. “She-who-roars.”

“Yeah, I’m quite fond of it, too, especially when you put it like that.” She smiles. “What’s your name’s origin?”

“I’m pretty sure that it means ‘king of wolves’ in old Atmoran, or something. It wasn’t very common back then, but when my mom was pregnant, wolves were usually drawn to her, and they never harmed her, it was always benevolent, and even loving. So many wolves were domesticated because of her, she was feeding all of them and playing with them with no fear.” he laughs sadly at the memory of his mother, it makes Ravonna smile, because while she never knew the love of a mother, the fact that he called her ‘mom’ and not ‘mother’ speaks volumes on their relationship. She remembers when Fenrik told her about his father, he never used the word ‘dad’, and it was as if the term 'father' rotted in his mouth with bitterness, fear and disdain.

“So you’re the wolf whisperer.”

“I don’t know. I’ve always preferred bears. But they never went too close to our village.” he smiles, thinking whether or not showing his scars from when he tried to save a bear from a beartrap is a bit too much and too sudden for them. He decides against it, for the time being.

“Maybe all animals are drawn to you. You have that aura about you… I’ve seen you with the guar.” She pauses for a moment. “There better not be any wolves coming my way now.”

“I’ll just domesticate them! All they need is a little love.”

“There is little room in the fellowship as it is. Imagine what a wolfpack would do! How are we even going to bring them back to Skyrim with us?” She says, even though the thought of going back hurts.

“Have you ever had a pet?”

“Haven’t you had enough backstory? How am I supposed to keep the ‘mysterious wizard’ thing up with you asking all these questions?” she forces herself to laugh, but all the memories are flooding in her mind.

“Apologies.” Fenrik bows his head.

“I had a cliff racer.” she suddenly speaks.

“Oh, it makes so much sense now! That’s why you like that… interesting song.”

“It’s a bad song and you can say it.” She chuckles. “I love it so much. My cliff racer has another song dedicated just for him, too.” and at that, Fenrik raises his eyebrows, urging for her to continue. “Well, it wasn't exactly a pet. I saved him. He had an injured wing. I took him in and nursed him. No one knew that he lived in my room for a couple of weeks except for Hjaldir. He used to sneak some food for him in there. When he got better, it was time to let him go. As much as I loved him, I had no right to keep him all to myself, no matter how much I wanted to.” she stops, sighing and leaning on a tree. “Sometimes, letting go is the best thing you can do to something you love, but that’s hard, innit? It’s hard, especially when you cling to it for dear life, and it hurts you even more the tighter you hold it…” she says, looking into the distance.

“This isn’t really about the cliff racer anymore, is it?”

“Let’s get a move on. It’s getting late.” She says, rapidly stomping on the snow, her voice rich in sorrow. “Maybe I’ll tell you about that song later, when it hurts less.” she says and it almost sounds like she is crying, but he can only see her back, walking in front of him, and maybe it’s for the best.

***

They find themselves right at the place where x marks the spot on their map. After a considerable amount of digging, Ravonna bursts out:

“This is bullsh*t. Just how deep did they dig to bury a chest?”

“If I were to hide a lifetime worth of treasures, I’d dig deep, too. What’s the matter, getting tired?”

“Yes, actually!” she pants, exasperated. “Ugh! I’m a wizard, I don’t dig .”

“Maybe we’re almost there.” Fenrik says, knowing well that he’s doing most of the work anyway.

“You said that twenty minutes ago! And twenty before that…” She helplessly tucks a few strands of hair behind her year. Her low bun is now a mess and the wind is blowing loose strands everywhere. “One more dig and then we’ll take a break.” she says, planting the shovel as deep as she can, but instead of dirt and sand, she hits something hard, and the shovel doesn’t go too far into the ground. Both Dragonborn look at each other with wide eyes. This is it.

“Looks like we’re done here.” Fenrik grins.

“We’re not done yet , but I’ll take it. Come on.” she gestures to the place where the chest is buried.

They begin to sweep the dirt off of it, and Fenrik digs a bit more around it. Soon enough, they’re opening the chest.

“This is it. You ready?” he asks

“I’ve been ready for this for a while.” She opens the chest and the creak of the hinges can be heard from miles away. It’s almost haunting. But what’s more haunting is the fact that the inside of the chest is almost empty, safe from a note and a pickaxe. They both stare at it in disbelief. “This can’t be right.” Ravonna finally utters. She reaches into the chest and pulls out the note, casting candlelight on herself so she can see. She starts reading it out loud.

This pickaxe is not like any other, it mines Stalhrim, which shall be mined to uncover the most important clue of all. Remember to always look for the whimsical, magical Stalhrim formations, that’s where the magic happens. That’s where the key of all things is. Just write this down, but make it more riddle-like and mysterious with a capital m. Wait, don’t write everything I say. Stop that! Just write something about a circle, no, don’t draw the damn circle.

“What’s that even supposed to mean?” Fenrik asks, but Ravonna is laughing too much to even hear him.

“Oh, this is good. I’d do that, too, if I were Deathbrand or his scribe.”

“Seems they both had a great sense of humour.”

“I can’t even be mad, even though we’ve been digging for hours just for this!”

“Do we know a whimsical, magical place?”

“We don’t… But maybe we can see some weird formation on the map?” She says, inspecting the map under the light of her magika. It was pitch black outside by now, and awfully quiet. Almost terrifying, if they weren’t too concentrated on their treasure hunt. She examines the map for a few minutes, holding it in all the positions possible and squinting her eyes in concentration. “Oh! Look at this right here.” She points to a place on the map. “It’s a perfect circle. That’s whimsical enough, right?”

“Yes! I think I remember this place! It used to be a praying site for the people of this land. They used to think of it as sacred, because it wasn’t obtainable by any means, no matter how hard they used to hit it. Do you think Deathbrand found the pickaxe that can mine it?”

“I think so!” She huffs. “Wait, what is Stalhrim exactly?”

Fenrik rubs his temples, trying to remember his knowledge that he gained in Apocrypha. “I uhh, I think it’s the most powerful ore. It’s kind of like… enchanted ice? I remember my kin trying to find a way to mine it. Could be found in Atmora, too.”

Ravonna huffs, thinking about this all. “Shall we?” She motions towards the direction of the circle formation on their map.

***

The walk to the formation is shorter and significantly quieter. Ravonna can’t help but kick and blast herself for opening up and being too vulnerable earlier. The whole night is awfully quiet, only the stomping of their feet through the snow can be heard in the dark.

“Do you see anything?” Ravonna asks, squinting her eyes and throwing a magelight spell in the distance, only for it to go too far into the horizon. She watches it as it slowly disappears in the thin line where the sea meets the sky.

“Haven’t seen anything for a while now. Not after you blinded me with your magelight, that is.”

“I’m sorry! Not my fault you can’t catch and handle pute Atherius light. I still can’t believe you lit your path with the light from your healing spells.”

“Healing is easier for me than magelight.”

“Remind me to teach you candlelight when we get the chance. Wouldn’t want you to heal the snow too much.”
“I don’t heal the snow because it needs no healing! I’m not even wasting magika right now.”

“You are, it’s just too little for you to perceive or feel. You’re wearing robes enchanted by yours truly, remember? And these are Tel Mithryn enchanted robes, even better!”

He nods, smiling at the fact that the atmosphere is lighter now. Hours have passed since she got upset and it seems that the excitement of Deathbrand’s treasure is finally getting to her. He also can’t help but think what it would be like to learn a spell from her; she doesn’t seem like the best, most patient teacher, as was the case for the Atmoran shaman who taught him the most he knows about magic. His thoughts are interrupted by Ravonna gasping.

“Whoa!” she breathlessly says ahead of him, she almost stepped into the abyss of the formation. She throws a magelight down into it and finds it’s not too deep, and that it has stairs that lead them down, where several ancient nordic graves stand in a perfect circle.

“That was close, are you alright?”

“Wha- yes.”

“That fall would’ve definitely caused a concussion.”

“Shut up.” she shakes her head and heads down the stairs. She goes to the centre of the circle, eyeing the tombs silently. Fenrik comes up right beside her, bracing the pickaxe. “Which one do you think it is? And more importantly, what does it do?”

“Maybe it’s the door to a dungeon where he buried his treasure?”

“By the Gods, what if it leads to his burial site?!” Ravonna shouts in realisation.

“Are we going to grave-rob Deathbrand himself?”

“I mean, we kind of have his blessing?”

“I think it’s very unlikely for him to have been properly buried. He was considered an outlaw by the Nords, and it’s said that he died in battle and his body has never been found.”

“Do you think he’s still alive?”

“No. I think that if he were alive, he wouldn’t hide. Doesn’t sound like him…”

“You’re right. If he were still alive, he’d be fighting Thalmor. I was just… stalling?”

“Stalling? Why are you stalling?”

“Because, we don’t know what’s going to happen when we mine the Stalhrim!”

“I can do it, if you want to.”

“No! Give me the pickaxe.” She says, ripping the tool from his hands. She braces herself, spins a bit and then decides to go with her gut and go straight for the tomb that she thought of the first time. She keeps bashing the pickaxe against the Stahlrim, but it does very little. After a few more swings, when she let her guard down and almost gave up, a big piece of the ore fell, revealing a Draugr holding a piece of paper in its claws. Ravonna jumps back and starts chaotically screaming. She turns to Fenrik and screams some more, her face absolutely terrified. She walks towards him, hissing back at the Draugr. “Do you see this sh*t?”

“Y-yes?”

“What the f*ck?! I mean what the actual f*ck? What on Nirn is wrong with you!” She points at the Draugr, almost losing her voice from the screaming. She pants, placing her hand on her hips. “That was scary.” she tries to conceal her uneasiness with a chuckle.

“I bet Deathbrand is having the time of his life watching down on us right now.”

“He was the master of terrifying people for a reason…” She responds, turning back to the Draugr and reluctantly stepping towards it. She manages to pluck the paper from its claws, and just as she does, much to her and Fenrik’s horror, the Draugr moves and starts laughing.

“Took ye long enough!” The Draugr says, its voice is the most grotesque sound. It sounds like its decaying vocal chords are bleeding.

“Deathbrand?”

“Not exactly. I’m what you would call… a spokesperson, and the master behind this spell.”

“Oh! I have so many questions! Where is the treasu-”

“Ye wait and ye’ll see. It’s all an intricate plan.” the Draugr responds. “I shall congratulate ye for being the first one to uncover me. We sure hope to see you soon. You better be the right person!” He growls.

“Wait!” Ravonna screams, but to no avail, the Draugr gets un-posessed and drops its head so hard it actually detaches and rolls to their feet, making the two Dragonborn shudder.

“I don’t even know what to say.” Fenrik says with a thousand-yard stare.

“A spokesperson? The right person? We?? What does it all mean?” Ravonna sighs, exasperated.

“Let’s look at the clue.”

Only blood of my blood shall be the key

Ravonna reads the note out loud. “I…”she starts, feeling her heartbeat race at the speed of lightning, a whole storm brewing in her soul. “Blood of… his blood?” But she dares not hope further, no. This isn’t some fairytale-like origin story, it’s just a treasure hunt. Nothing more. It can’t be. She can’t hope for such, because she knows she will only be crushed by the harsh truth of this having nothing to do with her real, biological family.

They decide to camp near the beach for the night. It was close enough, warmer, and farther from that damned Draugr. They sleep in turns, and as dawn rises, they leave to meet with the rest of the fellowship, hoping it will all make sense.

***

The tavern is a lot busier now, and all of Raven Rock seems to have been resurrected and in full bloom ever since the mine adventure uncovered lots of new veins of ebony. More ships are in the dock and the market is full of merchants. There are no more rooms available at the Retching Netch and they barely fit at the small table that was the only one left unoccupied.

“Right. So this is pretty much all we’ve got.” Ravonna says, after reading the note and recounting the big Draugr scare that they had last night, earning a few chuckles. Now, she waits for the rest of the clues with her head buried in a tankard of black tea. She made the innkeeper have an existential crisis over her order. He’d never seen anyone drink as much morning brew as her. Tea usually comes in small, elegant cups, not tankards used for mead and getting drunk.

“I found… words. Lots of words, all written on little broken pieces of paper, and what’s interesting is that this paper is literally indestructible! Deathbrand’s been dead for more than twenty-five years! Surely, a normal scroll would have been damaged, but these are as good as new! There’s some sort of spell enveloping them. Fascinating, isn't it?” Lucien rambles.

“So you just got… words?” She swallows another big gulp of black tea.

“That’s… what I got as well.” Rumarin bows his head in shame.

“As did I.” Teldryn follows. “I’m sorry, girl.”

“There must be something to these words! The Draugr! It told me that they were expecting someone.”

“Maybe this is all just a prank? A last ‘Screw ye!’ from Deathbrand?” Inigo suggests, making Ravonna grimace.

“Let me see the words.” She says, and everyone lays the pieces of paper on the table.

“Maybe this is some sort of message? We just have to find the right order?” Lucien says, and Ravonnas face lights up.

“Yes! Let me see…” Fenrik jumps in. “Sing. Song. Rhyme. Bard?” He reads out loud. “Maybe this is your expertise, sonaan (bard).”

“Sonaan… Sonaan yourself!”

“No. Not me.”

“What?”

Fenrik sighs. “I think a bard may be better at arranging words to rhyme. It seems to be some sort of song or poem.” He says, looking at more pieces of paper. “Sparrow, crime, pirate, treasure, raven.”

“Okay, let me think!” Ravonna says snappily, rubbing her temples.

“I think I’ll step out of this one… Last time I sent Marcurio a poem, he told me that I might be the worst poet in existence…” Rumarin says, stepping back a bit, deciding to just watch as Ravonna, Lucien and Fenrik already started working on the poem.

“Yes, I think I’ll sit this one out, as well. Words can be…confusing to me sometimes. I keep mixing the letters.” Inigo says.

“I ain’t no poet either. Although if Hjaldir were here… he’d have solved this by himself and made a song out of it.” Teldryn sighs, leaning back in his chair.

Teldryn almost takes a nap. He’s used to the sound of a busy tavern better than anything. It’s home. It’s Hjaldir singing and dancing around the tables. It’s Ravonna, sticking her nose in everyone’s business trying to find out the latest gossip. It’s Endryn, guessing the regulars’ orders and joking around with everyone. It’s… not quite that at the moment, but he can be transported in that time capsule in his brain that is as precious as a pearl to him. A peal that he’s been clutching and turning around in his head every time he sleeps in a tavern. Maybe as a coping mechanism, maybe as a way to hurt himself even more, but he’s been doing this for ages. His thoughts are interrupted by a sudden cheer from the table, and he puts the pearl back in his memories. He opens his eyes and sees all smiles.

“Right, this is it! Holy sh*t, as one may say.” She nods towards Fenrik, smiling.

“You’re never going to let that go, are you?”

“Never!”

“You might have to get used to it.”

“By all means.”

Teldryn gets a good look at the words on the table. Where a multitude of little pieces of table stood, now lays a whole sheet of paper.

“You did it?” Teldryn asks, his eyebrows slowly raising.

“I think we did! The pieces just… started gluing themselves together once it made sense!” Lucien says enthusiastically.

“Let’s see then.”

Aye, ye raven haired, bard who makes everything and all rhyme

Ye shall find it easy to figure out, were it not, it shall be a crime

As if it’s any song of your heart that you’ve sang through time

On Solstheim’s frozen clime, where you hear not the song of the sparrow

A pirate's tale I'll share, with a treasure to hallow,

Ye be findin’ the trouble on an island in the ______________.

“Raven-haired bard?” Teldryn raises an eyebrow. “That sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know what to think. Maybe this is all a coincidence… or a weird prophecy, I don’t know!” Ravonna says, defensive.

“Maybe it’s about-”

“Let’s not assume things, shall we? Deathbrand had a darker shade of hair, right?” She persists.

“Perhaps? That’s how he was described in some books of people’s encounters with him.” Fenrik adds.

“Exactly. It’s about him. Maybe. What’s important now is figuring out what is supposed to be in the blank space.”

“I’m assuming it’s the location of the treasure.” Rumarin says.

“Surely.” Lucien responds.

“It should be something that rhymes with sparrow and hallow, if we follow the rhyme pattern.” Ravonna suggests.

“Gyldenhul Barrow.” Teldryn says, proving that he knows this land better than the rest of them.

“Are we sure?” Ravonna asks. “Lots of crypts that end with ‘Barrow’ in them…”

“Positive. This one is the only one located on a small island. Right across the Skaal Village, actually.”

“We’re regulars at that place by now.” Rumarin chuckles.

“The fastest route, however, is passing by your former temple. I’m sorry…” Lucien says, examining the map.

“That’s quite alright, I think.”

“Are you sure about this? We can take the longer route.” says Ravonna.

“Absolutely not. That would take us days. Besides, I think I’m more content with who Miraak was after I had the chance to tell his tale.” He tries his best to smile at them.

“Well then,” she says, downing the rest of her black tea, “Onwards, mates. The treasure awaits!”

“Oh, no. The rhyming fever got to her! There’s nothing we can do now…” Rumarin jokes, but Ravonna is already too far ahead to hear him and complain.

***

The road to the Barrow was shorter than expected, all thanks to the fast-paced, excited stomps of the fellowship. When they passed the temple of Miraak, they were surprised to find pilgrims there already. Fenrik told them that this temple will now serve as a home to anyone who seeks it, with the condition to keep plants and flowers growing there always.

Now, after fighting two bandit scavengers, they find themselves at the door to the Barrow.

“Blood of my blood shall open the door.” Ravonna recites, tilting her head in confusion. “I don’t think this is the door. Where do we even put the blood?”

“No, this is a perfectly normal door, but the lock on this thing is… complicated. Give me fifteen minutes.” Inigo says and already gets to work.

“Take all the time you need, my friend.”

Underestimating himself as always, Inigo was done with the lock in six minutes, making everyone grateful to have a master lockpicker with them. They enter the crypt and see a very small, enclosed space before their eyes. On each side, there were two Stalhrim-filled tombs, and Ravonna prepares her pickaxe.

“Which way?” Rumarin asks.

“He’d want us to think it’s the right side, but it isn’t. Mind games, right? Has to be left.” Ravonna says, and starts attacking the tomb with all her might. After a few hits, the Stahlrim crumbles to pieces, revealing another blasted Draugr. Ravonna jumps, but swallows her scream, trying her best to play the nonchalant card. She purses her lips and raises a finger in the air, talking to the Draugr. “Ha! I expected this! Totally called it. Your tricks are getting old.”

The Draugr starts laughing violently. “HA! I like this one a lot.” it says, its head looking to the side, as if speaking to someone else, but now its head is turned to her, and dead, cold and half-decayed eyes look through her. “Draugr eyes don’t work anymore, but I sure hope that you’re her.”

“Her who?” but all she gets in response is a hysterical laugh.

“What in Oblivion was that?” Teldryn asks, shocked.

“That would be the person responsible for all the magic. I think it’s Deathbrand’s warlock, but maybe we’ll find out. Other door?” Fenrik adds.

And even though it shouldn’t surprise everyone, when a door reveals itself once the Stalhrim is mined everyone gasps. Ravonna is first to step in, feeling out of breath from the sheer excitement and nervousness. They go down a few steps and straight towards another door.

“Is this the special door?” asks Inigo.

“Doesn’t look too whimsical to me.” Fenrik responds.

Ravonna tries opening it, but it’s locked. Thankfully, it’s but a wooden double door.

“Allow me.” Inigo steps closer, readying his lockpicks, but Ravonna won’t wait any longer.

“I can do this. Everyone, step back.” She demands, and everyone obliges, rather quickly, because the tone in her voice is terrifyingly serious. She takes two large steps back and begins to pull at the walls with pure telekinetic force, large boulders coming in front of her, creating a big ball of rocks that she bashes against the door with a might stronger than an army of oxen. The lock breaks and the door opens before them. “There.” She smiles back at them, as if nothing happened. “Whoa…” she gasps as she steps into a large room filled with large chests overflowing with gold and valuables. There were piles of gold everywhere, and the floor was not even visible anymore. It looked like a Dragon’s lair from those fantasy books.

“f*ck me, this is… this is…” Rumarin marvels at it all.

“Boethia’s tight ponytail…” Inigo says, his voice echoing, and soon enough, it was the competition of the most creative interjections of the Fourth Era.

Everyone started looking around, touching the gold, testing it to know if it’s real, scouring the chests for other trinkets, all but Ravonna, who was mindlessly walking towards the other door, at the end of the hallway. The door had a small pillar in front of it, with a bowl attached to it.

“Uhh, guys? I- I think this m-may be the special door.” She swallows, trying to conceal the tremor in her voice. The door was indeed whimsical. It appeared to be made of stone, but it had an ethereal purple glow to it. Ravonna can sense its powerful magic.

“The door which opens with the right one’s blood.” Fenrik says, almost breathless by the pure wonder of the intricate spell.

“Well go ahead.” Ravonna says, motioning to the bowl.

“What? You can’t possibly think…”

“You’re the oldest, and one of the first out here on Solstheim!”

“Ravonna, last I roamed this earth was four thousand years ago, I can’t possibly be a relative to Deathbrand!”

“What if you’re an ancestor of his?”

“That is not possible, I did not have any offspring.”

“Are you sure about that?” She squints her eyes at him.

“Quite. I do not impregnate women, as one might say.”

“You had a brother…”

“Who also had no children.”

“Cousins?”

“This is ridiculous, fine.” He steps forward and takes the conjured dagger that Rumarin summoned and cuts his palm open, bleeding directly in the bowl. The blood burns and evaporates immediately, not even moving the door. “Well, that settles it.” he says with an obvious tone and expression upon his face.

“Ravonna, I think you should-” Lucien gets to say as much.

“Good, your turn.” She interrupts him.

“I know my parents!” He whines, but Ravonna doesn’t care. “Not eager to bleed out, but sure. If it makes you happy…” The bowl evaporates his blood and Fenrik heals his cut immediately.

They don’t know what to think. Maybe this won’t work and none of them is the right person. Still, everyone thinks on the ‘raven-haired bard’ verse as much more than a coincidence. One by one, they all try their luck, no matter how less sense it makes. Deathbrand was a Nord, so it was very unlikely for a Khajiit or an Altmer or a Dunmer to be related to him, but they do it anyway, because it leaves no more room for interpretation.

“Ravonna dear, it’s your turn.” Teldryn says tenderly. If his suspicions are true, this is a lot for her to take in and he knows that. Hell, he’s wondered about her biological family ever since she arrived at the Emerald Bar, brought by a dying, red-headed woman who gave no explanations.

“I don’t think -” she starts, not even knowing where she’s going.

“You’ve got this.”

She takes a deep breath and makes a cut on the inside of her palm. The blood spills and slowly, the door dissolves, revealing a crypt. Her heart slams so violently in her chest that it hurts. It worked. Blood of his blood was the key, indeed.

Chapter 15: Ghost from the Barrow

Chapter Text

She feels as if her lungs are devoid of all air, and no matter how much she gasps, the air doesn’t seem to enter. Her mind is a storm of mixed emotions and she feels lightheaded. Thunder, heavy rain, sunshine, snow, rainbows, all going on at once in her soul. If the fellowship says anything right now, she doesn’t hear it. All she can do is slowly step forward into the crypt, feeling her knees almost give up on her.

As soon as she’s fully entered, the door behind her slams shut, magical waves of purple enveloping it once more. The thud of the doors acts as some wake-up call, grounding Ravonna a bit into the reality of this all. She closes her eyes and counts to ten, breathing slowly with each count. She heard it somewhere that it helps, and she is desperate. She can feel herself dissociate, so she gives herself a bit of an impulse by shocking herself with a small sparks spell. She needs to ground herself, and so she conjures up a mirror on the stone wall of the narrow hallway that only led in one direction. Ahead. Somehow it’s worse when she can see herself because she realizes that she’s been shaking. ‘You’ve got this. You’ve been waiting for this your whole entire life and it turns out that is may be the coolest f*cking origin story. Your father is Deathbrand. This is fine. It’s more than fine. It’s…’ But her thoughts trail off with a flood of other thoughts and even more questions, but the main question is: ‘If my dad was Deathbrand, how can I compete with that?’ She feels as if anything that she does will be a failure, surely. But also, another question that lingers is what exactly she will see at the end of the hallway. Probably best to not get her hopes up, it’s just going to be a skeleton and more treasure, right? She is not going to meet her father today. But then again, what did all that Draugr business mean? She needs to compose herself and just start walking. And she does. She starts almost sprinting with a newfound joy and hope, because there is no way in Oblivion that she’ll only find a pile of bones.

She stops dead in her tracks when the hallway opens up to a big, arched ceiling and a crypt in front of her. An open space lit up by the holes in the ceiling, exposing the sky and an eery, cold ethereal light, surely a work of magika. In the middle of the crypt, there was a ghostly being, leaning on a pillar, facing her. It’s a tall figure, imposing, even as a ghost. She can’t quite read his expression, but she could swear that even though his stance appears to be relaxed, there is hesitation in the way he casually leans on the pillar.

“Deathbrand?” Ravonna’s voice is small and unsure.

“Aye. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time, lassie.” Deathbrand says in a deep, guttural voice, stepping closer into a ray of light, illuminating his rough features. Long, flowy hair and an intimidating beard, but it’s the eyes that draw attention, tired eyes with big bags underneath, so much so that Ravonna almost thinks that he put some of his treasures there. He steps closer reluctantly, almost afraid to break any boundaries, but Ravonna also steps closer and he gets to finally look at her properly. And then he sees it, her eyes, her hair, her face, and suddenly all those speeches that he prepared are forgotten, and all he can say is: “By the frozen Sea of Ghosts, you look just like him!”

“Like who?”

“Like your damned father…”

A long moment passes while Ravonna tries to comprehend just what in Oblivion is happening.

“What?” She asks, exhaling a trembling sigh. The air seems awfully thin all of a sudden

“Did I say that out loud?” asks Deathbrand, his imposing demeanor falling immediately. Comically, even.

Ravonna takes a moment and tries not to burst into laughter, because she could do just that. She is too emotionally charged for this, but Deathbrand reminds her of Endryn in this moment. He’d have this aura about him whenever she did something stupid but funny when she was little. He was never too serious, and his eyes were always kind, and no matter the situation, he had a sh*tty joke prepared that he would say in his endearingly awkward manner. No, no. She can’t think of him right now, because she just did and the air became thinner. “Yes?” Is all she can say. An answer fused with a question. A yes that demands answers to thousands of questions.

“You’re doing great, Cap’n!” a voice from somewhere above can be heard shouting.

“What did I tell youse about eavesdropping?”

“I need to know what’s going on or I’m going to faint.” says Ravonna, breathless.

“Everyone get out of here or else I’ll… I don’t know. Just leave us for a bit, please…”

“Who is everyone?”

“My crew. Ye see, this place was sort of a base for us for a wee while. But we got ambushed by those stinkin’ Thalmor.” his nose scrunches on the last word. “They trapped us in ‘ere… killed almost all of us, but we killed ‘em wight back. But there was no gettin’ out of ‘ere, and I…” he stops to emotionally gather a bit of air into his ghostly lungs, “I never got to leave somethin’ behind for my… for my…”

“Oh, Gods…” Ravonna silently gasps, her voice is barely a trembling whisper. “But… you said I looked just like my father. Are you not? My father?”

“No, I’m not your father, lassie.” he says, making Ravonna’s heart drop into her stomach.

“Wh- who was my father, then?”

“A blasted Nord. A bard with raven hair and green eyes who’s too charming and swift for his own good.” says Deathbrand, growing more frustrated with each word.

“W-what’s his name?” Ravonna quietly asks, furrowing her brows and panicking, thoughts racing through her head ‘It can’t be. It can’t f*cking be.’

“I can’t recall for certain, I’ve only met him umm… briefly. Gjaldir? Jaldir?” Deathbrand considers.

“Hjaldir.”

“Aye! That be it. Wait, how do ye know?”

Ravonna’s knees really threaten to give up on her now. She can’t deny it - she thought of this as a possibility, but always shunned it because it would be too ridiculous and ironic and life doesn’t work that way. Still, there was always a connection between them, a sort of mutual understanding, but Ravonna always attributed it to them being two music-loving Nords who lived among Dunmer. “I- I know him! He raised me! Taught me to be a bard. Is this real? I can’t believe…”

“That’s what I was about to ask ye, lassie. Chances were low as it was… how on Akatosh’s green grass and blue sea did ye know him?”

“He came to our tavern, became our bard.”

“A tavern… aye.” Deathbrand considers. He almost sounds sorrowful.

“What?”

“How did ye get to that Tavern?”

“They said a red-haired woman brought me there.”

“And that woman? Where is she?” Demands Deathbrand, almost interrupting Ravonna.

“They told me she died that night.” Ravonna solemnly says, and Deathbrand deflates with her words, saddened, but not surprised. “She made my adoptive dad promise to take care of me, threateningly so, but she was gravely injured. She died right after that.”

“That sounds like her… And she was… alone when she arrived at the inn?” Deathbrand smiles sadly, slowly nodding his head.

“Yes. No one else came with her or after her.”

Deathbrand sniffs. “I just hope that wherever they are, they’re somewhere warm, with good mead and even better shanties. Just like we were in Hammerfell…” He trails off, remembering that brief moment in time where they were all together and happy and no bigger threat was looming around the corner. That brief moment in time where they had their own republic of pirates and they were happy and, for once in his life, he didn’t have to keep looking over his shoulder because he was surrounded by friends.

A few silent moments pass. “Was that woman my mother?” Ravonna asks.

“No. That was the woman I trusted the most in my life.”

“Then how come I’m here? Whose blood do I share? Who was my mother?” Ravonna raises her voice, her patience slipping through her fingers like the finest sand on a beach.

“I am.” Deathbrand blurts out, taking a deep breath afterwards.

And with that, Ravonna’s world comes crashing down. She doesn’t understand, she can’t comprehend what is happening, but there is a small voice in the back of her head that is freaking out about the possibility of standing right in front of her mother. “Wha- How?”

“You see… looks can be deceivin’.” she says and with a snap of her fingers, the Deathbrand Ravonna knew and expected disappears like a mask, and in front of her stands a ghostly woman. A Nord, just like her, but with sharper features. Her eyes are still tired, but the shape is familiar, the nose is bulkier than hers. Probably broken a few times, and her eyebrows are straighter. Her scarred lips are more plump than Ravonna’s, but her jaw was just as sharp. The pirate still wore Deathbrand’s clothing, but her chest wasn’t flat anymore and her figure was more feminine now.

“You…” is all Ravonna could mutter. She doesn’t know what to say or how to say it. Deathbrand gestures towards the alchemist table at the edge of the hall. They both sit directly on it, maybe it’ll calm the nerves.

“What’s yer name, lassie?” Deathbrand asks, softly. She needs to keep her grounded. She just took in a lot of information that she’s probably been asking for almost thirty years.

“It’s Ravonna. Winter-Born.”

“Ravonna. Pretty. Has a Dunmer sound to it. Anne took ye to Morrowind, I take it?”
“Yes. To the Emerald Bar tavern. I uh, I had a great childhood, with an amazing family who loved me as their own.”

“I don’t doubt that.” Deathbrand quietly chuckles. “Anne had a way of reading people. Unmatched. Besides, I know that inn. Been there a few times. Not a bad place to grow up in.”

“Yeah. I was raised by the innkeeper, his brother and Hjaldir.”

“Which one taught you magic?” Signe asks, nodding towards her robes.

“Myself, mostly. I went to Vivec to master my magic.”

“Vivec, aye? Not bad at all, lass. ‘Tis the best college after the one in Alinor if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, well, it wasn’t always easy in there.”

“Good. Easy is boring anyway, innit?” Signe says, earning a giggle fit from Ravonna.

“What’s your real name?” Ravonna raises an eyebrow after a few moments.

“Signe. To my family and close crew. Deathbrand to the world.”

“Signe. A Nord name, is it not?” Ravonna’s voice still trembles a bit, but the flow of conversation is keeping her from falling apart. She can finally get her answers.

“Aye. I was raised by my Nord father. My ma’ died at childbirth.”

A giggle escapes Ravonna, and she mentally jumps off the highest bridge because now is not the time. Signe shoots her a wondering look.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” Ravonna shakes her head. “I just… well, I suppose I was also raised by my Nord father.” She urges herself to look at Signe, to make sure that she is not offended. She might be her mother, but she’s still Deathbrand, and offending Deathbrand is the last thing she wants to do right now.

Much to her relief, Signe bursts into laughter. After she is done with her laughter, she speaks again: “Aye, yer right about that.” but she sees the hesitance on Ravonna’s face. “Ah, don’t worry, lassie, I ain’t made of glass. I’m not upset. ‘Tis a weird thing to have in common, but we have to start somewhere.”

Another silent minute goes by. They both want to say so much. Too much.

“What was he like? Your father.”

“He’ll always be the sweetest man in the world to me. Very supportive of my sea-loving soul.” Signe sighs. “I was really lucky, not a lot of stories go that way.”

Ravonna hums in agreement.

“What was Hjaldir like?”

“He’d always make my day better, no matter what. He didn’t really raise me as his own daughter. We never figured it out. But he was… he is uhh… he’s - damn it -” she has to stop and wipe her tears and gather her thoughts. “Sorry about that.”

“No problem, lassie. Ye don’t have to answer if it hurts.”

“It’s just that I owe that man so much. From the first moment I saw him I just felt… safe. I felt okay to be myself. I felt more at ease with being a Nord, even. And I could always just… tell him everything. And we’ve been through so much. I have so many fond memories of him that I’m surprised my head can hold them all in.” She huffs a weak laugh. “Gods… he used to take me with him on his trips to High Rock whenever he went to resupply the tavern. We used to pretend to be clairvoyants and we took money from people and then we pretended to know how to read their palms and we used to look thoroughly in this orb and say some bullsh*t. Customers ate that up every damn time. One time, when I was in my early twenties we used that money to get some fancy Summerset mushrooms. Hallucinogens. Lasted a damn week. All I could see was flowers and patterns always moving.” She shakes her head while Signe laughs. “Can you believe I did that with my actual father?”

“Oh, lassie, I ‘aven’t laughed like this in ages. This is hysterical. Truly. I can’t even imagine the look on his face when he finds out!”

“By the Gods! How am I even going to tell him?!”

“That I don’t know. Y’know, I had prepared speeches an’ everything whenever I thought of finally meeting ye. All of that went out the window violently once ye were standin’ right in front of me.”

“I need to go back to him! He deserves to know. Before I go and face Alduin.”

“How’re ye feelin’ about that, lassie. Prophecy keeping ye awake at night?”

“I try not to think about it too much. I do not expect to survive the battle”, she sighs deeply. She wants to live. She likes living. “But if it means the world goes on in the way that it does, then it’s worth it. If it means that the flowers will keep growing, the sun will keep bringing warmth, the bards keep singing and the people find joy in living, then it’s all worth it.”

“Yer very wise and poetic. Anyone ever told you that?”

“I’ve heard it once or twice.”

“Not enough. That was beautiful.”

“I’m a bard, I could have rambled on, but it’s my turn to ask you something: Why did you change your identity?”

“‘Tis a long story, that one, but the essence of it be that I needed to be reborn as the most fearsome pirate in existence. I needed to become the Devil himself. That, and I was wanted and hunted. I’d sure like to tell ye the whole story one day when we meet again.”

“But we can’t meet again, can we?” Ravonna says, tears welling up in her eyes.

“In the world above, or the one below, lassie.” and to that, Ravonna smiles sadly. Oh, how bittersweet was the tragedy. “I’m afraid that the only thing keepin’ us here is you. My final quest.” They sit there for a few moments. “Look, lassie, I- I’m sorry for leavin’ ye like that. There is no place for a child in a lifestyle as dangerous as ours. Besides, I just couldn’t… I’m not a mother. I never was. Never wanted to be.” She says, voicing the feelings that she’s always had. It’s complicated, it’s a juxtaposition that hurts, because she has love for her nonetheless, but this had to happen.

“It’s okay.” Ravonna says, sniffing and wiping some tears with the sleeve of her mage robes. “I’m not a mother either. Never was. Never will be.” She turns to look at Signe, laughing a bit. “I understand. Quite perfectly so.” and she thinks that maybe not understanding would have hurt less.

Deathbrand is just stunned for a few long moments. “By the Divines, why did you have to be perfect?!” She feels guilty, she feels as if she deserves to feel her daughter’s wrath and anger and rage, and not this.

“Believe me, I’m far from perfect.” Ravonna laughs, shaking her head.

“Ye sure seem like ye do.” Signe nudges her shoulder into Ravonna’s.

“Sooo, are we sure we’re talking about the same Hjaldir?” asks Ravonna, still skeptical about the irony and coincidence of the situation.

“‘S he the one who had that song about the witch doctor who cursed him to speak only in curses?” Signe raises an eyebrow at her.

“Gods… yes. He taught me that when I was a kid. My adoptive dad was not impressed.” She laughs, then starts humming and soon enough they were both humming those awfully funny words of his.

For 30 odd years I have lived with this curse

My vocabulary was stunted at birth

By a witchdoctor from over the seas

Casting a strange voodoo magic on me

Now when I speak, it's rather absurd

An endless tirade of four letter words

I lash out in anger at all in my way

Shocking, unspeakable things that I say

And then they laugh together at the curse-filled chorus, feeling good, feeling right, feeling like two friends who’ve known each other a long time and are now reuniting and catching up. By the time they’re done with the chorus, they wipe their laugh tears away and a few moments pass.

“Lassie… is hugging on the table?” Deathbrand shyly asks.

“I’m pretty sure we’re the ones sitting on the table right now but yes, hugging is very much needed now.”

“Oh, thank the Gods!” Signe says, turning to face Ravonna and wrapping her in a tight, almost aggressive hug. But she is laughing at her own joke and sniffing and crying and she is perfect and if she looks hard enough, she can see a bit of herself in Ravonna, too. They stay like that for a while, until Ravonna reluctantly lets go and speaks.

“My friends… they must be worried about me.”

“Aye. Worry not, Vel’s explainin’ everything to ‘em as we speak.”

“Vel?”

“Arvivel, our magic mer. He’s the one responsible for all those spells, he is.”

“Your whole crew’s been here with you?”

“Not everyone. I had entire fleets by the end. These lot are just the first crew I captain’d. We got a special bond, and Deathbrand wouldn’t exist without ‘em.”

“Will I get to meet them?”

“Of course, lassie! They’ve been dyin’ to meet ye! I just uhh… I suppose I wanted ye for meself for a bit before that. There’s some things I want to say to you.” And at that, Ravonna raises an eager eyebrow. “Coming back to the prophecies… Ye are the Dragonborn, are ye not? I need to know if it’s true.”

“I am.” Ravonna replies, and Signe sighs of relief. “How did you know that?”

“I believe Akatosh made it quite clear to me from the beginnin’. So yer the one to save everything, huh? I’m sorry. Truly. I can’t imagine a life where ye don’t choose yer own destiny…”

“It’s uhh…” Ravonna begins, but it’s harder and harder to not choke up because it hurts. “It’s tough, most days. I try not to think about it too much and… distract myself and enjoy life as best I can because…” she pauses for a minute, eyes widening in realization, “because what else can I really do?”

Signe is stunned at those words. Her daughter is a strong woman, and she feels sorrow for her. She remembers the feeling of being alive and being in control, of writing her own story, and now she wonders just for how long has Ravonna felt trapped. Still, they share the joy for life and living it properly, no matter what it throws at them. Whoever raised her did it beautifully. Better than she could have dreamed. Better than she ever could. And that’s okay.

“You’re right.” Signe finally speaks, getting up in order to face Ravonna properly. She smiles at her and touches her shoulder sympathetically. “I think you’ll be alright. Anne ain’t the only one good at readin’ people.” she winks, her ghostly cold touch is probably freezing poor Ravonna, so she retrieves her hand. “Ye know ye can take anything ye want from my treasures, right?” And Ravonna raises her teary eyes from the ground and nods. “There’s one more thing. My ship. I cannot use it anymore, can I?”

“I don’t really want to rub your death in your face… but no, I suppose you can’t.”

Deathbrand bursts into loud, copious laughter. “My Gods, you are a funny one. Remember this the next time ye feel powerless. The strongest ones are the ones that find the strength to smile, even when their heart aches the most. I know the feeling, lassie. Besides, I’ve had plenty of time getting adjusted to bein’ dead. Now, the ship. The ship that I used, one that’s become a home to me and me crew was a special one.” She smiles. “I know you ain’t really a pirate or a sailor, but should you need it, take this compass. It’ll take you to it. Always points to the ship and nothing else. I have Vel to thank for this, too.”

“Whoa.” gasps Ravonna. “Thank you.”

“No need.” She brushes it off with a gesture of her hand. “Wanna meet the crew?” Deathbrand says, a mischievous smile spreading across her face.

“Of course!” And with Ravonna’s words, several ghostly figures start swirling around her until they settle themselves and their orb-ish figures become human. They all stare at Ravonna shamelessly and eagerly, some with smiles on their faces, others more stoic, and some with tears in their eyes.

“WHAT did I tell ye about listenin’ in?”

“Y’know we couldn’t help it!”

“Bastards…” Someone get Vel! He can’t miss meeting the lassie.”

“On it!” an Argonian says, disappearing in a second.

“Ah, this one is a bard, just like Ed’Shran. Pleased to meet you, Song-Sorcerer.” The Khajiit steps forward, taking her hand and bowing. Ravonna mouths the last two words, as if they were a spell, enchanted.

“This is our beloved bard, too poetic for his own good, but we’d all be insane without him.” Deathbrand adds.

“This one has a songbook of the times he spent imprisoned and undead in here. Something to kill the boredom and entertain my fallen brothers. Would you do me the kindness of singing the songs within it and spreading them?” He says, giving Ravonna several pages, badly stitched together.

“It would be my honor!”

“Mind you, it hasn’t the best quality, the paper, but those words and notes are what’s valuable.”

“As it’s always been with songs.” Ravonna says, taking a quick look through the pages. Lyrics, accompanied by tabs and preferred instruments were written in a beautiful handwriting, unlike the one on the page with the pickaxe clue. “You wrote the poem about where we’d find you. But you didn’t write the clue about the circular Stalhrim formation, did you? Handwriting’s different.”

“That would be me.” An Imperial-looking man raises his hand, laughing. His smile is so wide that Ravonna is sure it would blind her, were he alive. “I’m the infamous scribe.” He approaches Ravonna, and she starts pointing at him.

“That was good.”

“See, I told you that if she’s the right one, she’d appreciate it!” he says rather snappily at Deathbrand.

“I never doubted it.” Deathbrand conceals a smile.

“Marcus. Marc for short, a pleasure to finally meet you.” He shakes her hand. His hand is sturdy, but with a soft, gentle grip.

“I suppose it’s time I introduce myself.” Speaks a Redguard man. He is tall and imposing, but his light eyes have a fondness in them. “Rhaim. First mate, and the one who helped deliver you.” He takes her hand in both of his, making her mind spiral and realize that they’ve all probably been there when she was born. They know her. They’ve seen her.

“I, uh. Wow. So that means you’ve all seen me naked?” Ravonna starts, making Rhaim throw his head back with loud, guttural laughter that could shake the earth.

“I didn’t! Births freak me out. And gross me out…” Another, more high-pitched voice can be heard from somewhere in the crowd. A breton woman elbows her way through the crew and towards Ravonna. “By the Gods, it’s nice to finally meet you! Sorry if that was mean, I didn’t mean it like that!” She says quickly, as if there is no space whatsoever between her words, sewing them together tightly like a winter sweater.

“No need to apologize, I’d have done the same…” Ravonna responds, earning a sweet, almost close-eyed smile from the excited woman.

“Gods! But you’re so pretty! Signe, have you seen her?!”

“Aye. Looks more like her father than I.”

“I’d say she’s somewhere in the middle.” Another woman approached. She was a Redguard with a velvety voice. She was clearly a warrior, judging by her sleeveless armor and big, muscular arms, and yet, she was graceful and her beauty was undeniable.

“You two are lucky you got a glimpse of him! Now I really want to see the man…” Rhaim speaks from behind, where he resorted, to give space for the others to meet Ravonna.

“Just picture her, but bigger and with a beard.” Deathbrand shrugs. “Bushier eyebrows, too.”

“I’m Rajeena.” The Reduard woman speaks again, offering her hand to Ravonna.

“Oh, sh*tf*cks, I forgot to introduce myself! My name is Iresette!” the Breton woman speaks again. She was small but fierce, and she had very long hair secured in two braids. Her face was wrinkled in a way that showed that she laughed a lot in her lifetime, even if that life was cut short by the Thalmor.

“S’alright. Take it easy, ye don’t have to remember all the names, lass.”

“But I want to!”

“This might help. Volumes of recollections and adventures of the infamous Deathbrand and her merry crew of misfits!” Marc, the scribe, speaks, placing a pile of books on the table where her and Signe sat a few minutes ago.

“Whoa!” Ravonna says, for the nth time this day, but her daze is interrupted quickly by a loud, obviously Dunmeri voice.

“ ‘Ere she is!!” shouts the Dunmer ghost, coming from the hallway with his arms spread. His face is obstructed by his mage cloak, but Ravonna could see his huge grin plastered on his face widen the moment the rest of the crew got out of the way and he finally gets a glimpse of her. “Yes!!! I told y’all she’ll be a mage! I expect my money!”

“We’re all dead, Vel. Dunno how much use you’ll have of it.” Marc shrugs.

“I’ll jus’ give it to her. What’s yer name, lass?”

“You’re the one who scared me sh*tless with the draugr possession?” Ravonna steps closer to him, pointing her finger at the wizard.

“The one an’ only.” he proudly states, lifting his chin.

“That was good. I need to learn how to do that.”

“ ‘M afraid you’d have to be dead. Unfortunate, innit?” He responds, making her wrinkle her nose at him.

“Still, your magic… it’s unlike anything I’ve seen. How…?” she vaguely gesticulates, lost in the confusion.

“I used to be a smuggler. I smuggled unique spells, very expensive business, and you learn something every now an’ then.” he grins. “You still ‘aven’t told me yer name.”

“It’s Ravonna. Winter-Born.”

“I’ll be damned. She’s got a Dunmer name, too? If we weren’t all dead, I’d beg ye to join the crew, I just know we’d get along.” And this was all it took for Ravonna's walls to crumble to dust as she starts weeping, collapsing into the Dunmer’s arms. “I’m so sorry, lassie.” he says, embracing her back. In that moment, all he feels is understanding and connection. And maybe, just maybe, those feelings are strong enough to rub off on her. He wraps his arms around her as if he were holding the most valuable treasure, because he is. She is the one set to save the world, after all. And on top of that, she seems like a great person. Maybe not the purest of people, but there's always been beauty in shades of gray, and by the crew’s standards, she is just perfect.

“Gods, I’m so sorry.” Ravonna sobs against his ghostly robes. “Ugh, I’m being so gross.” she sniffs, “It’s just… a lot to process.” She feels as if the missing puzzle from her has finally been placed, but it’s a rotten piece, dipped in poison and irony and bittersweetness, and yet she won’t really want to change anything about it.

“We know.” She feels another hand on her shoulder. She already knows it’s Deathbrand. “We’ll be with you, lassie. Every step of the way. We’ll always be with you, because, like it or not, yer part of the crew. Ye have been part of it all along. Forever my youngest recruit.” Deathbrand says, earning something between a sob and a chuckle from Ravonna. Slowly, the rest of the crew get closer and closer, like a ghostly blanket they cover her; a promise of safety, of comfort, of love. As best they could.

She doesn’t know how much time passed, but now her breathing is less frantic, and there is space between them all, and her friends are here with them and they brought some coin-filled barrels for them to sit on, and the rest of the crew introduce themselves, and it’s been hours now and they’ve all been talking about their lives and adventures and for a while, Ravonna forgot all about family dramas and dreadful prophecies, and for a while, she remembered that this is living, truly living and she silently promised herself to continue living like this and not thinking of her destiny. She promised herself this many times, but each time, the promise seems to be a little more stronger.

At some point, the fellowship was so busy talking with the crew that they barely noticed Signe and Arvyvel going aside to speak privately.

“D’you think it’ll be too much for her?” Signe asks, while Arvyvel looks at her in utter shock.

“Everything’s already too much for her, captain.”

“Aye, but it’ll be glorious an’ full of honor. An’ we finally get to leave this place and stop wanderin’.”

He raises a skeptic eyebrow at her. “You want to stop wandering? You?”

“I wanna stop wandering here! A new adventure awaits us, and I’ll be damned if I make it dull.”

“Are you sure it’s arranged?”

“It is, I swear it! I spoke to Him! He appeared to me, and not even in a dream this time!”

“You’re sure it wasn’t a hallucination? Maybe we’re all going a bit insane…”

“No, it was Him. I did my part of the bargain, and now it’s His turn.”

“Fair enough. I just wish things were different.” Arvyvel bows his head, his eyes fixed on his ghostly boots.

“I know.” Signe puts a comforting arm on his shoulder.

“I don’t even know why she means so much to me, I’ve known her for only a few hours, but from the moment I saw her, I just - I guess I saw a bit of young me in her… an’ I haven’t been young in a long, long time.”

Signe smiles, looking at Ravonna telling some memory to her crew. All eyes are on her and she waves her hands about, explaining something that’s apparently hilarious to everyone.

“We can’t keep them here with us forever, Vel. You know that.”

“I know that.”

“I just hate the fact that the one that has to end this is me. I have to be the one to tell her.”

At that, Arvyvel has no response.

“Y’know, this might be one of the hardest things I’ll do in me life, but I’m ready.” Signe continues.

“I know.”

***

“Lassie, I need to tell you something.” Signe speaks after stepping closer to the group.

“We’re all pretty much dead already, but not all of us died in battle, as ye might’ve guessed. Some died of starvation, dehydration, complicated injuries and other atrocities that are, perhaps, better left unspoken. We’d still very much love to go to Sovngarde… And what better way to go, than in a fight with the fellowship that is about to save the world, eh?”

“You… want to battle?” Ravonna gets up from where she sat.

“Aye. I wanna see what yer made of. Don’t tell me yer not a little curious about how the famous Deathbrand crew fights.”

“I-” she trails off. Truth is that she is scared. This is one of the deadliest pirate crews in history. But what scares her more is that Signe is right. She wants to fight them, she finds it honorable and exciting, and what scares her further is that the look in her eyes, the hunger for adrenaline and freedom and the calmness within a hurricane that she sees in her mother’s eyes are all too familiar. Because she’s seen them before. Time and time again. Whenever she looked in the mirror.

“No cooler way to be sent off than this, lassie.”

“Are you sure?” Ravonna’s eyes start welling up again, for too many reasons. She just got to meet her mother and now she has to kill her, along with her crew.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be mad at ye, if that’s what’re ye scared about.”

“Now?”

“We’re more than ready to go.” Signe looks around the room for confirmation and earns many cries and shouts of approval from her crew.

“And you all get to go to Sovngarde?”

“Oh, yes. I made sure of it.” Signe winks. “I won’t go anywhere where the crew can’t follow.” and with those words, Ravonna’s hurricane of emotion sucks another one in: hope. Maybe everything will be alright and maybe death doesn’t have to be the end for her fellowship. “Now, I believe we’re on the advantageous side regarding numbers…”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that.” Ravonna’s voice is surprisingly playful, even to her. She smiles with a mischief that she hasn’t known she had within her and conjures a storm atronach and a Dremora with her Sanguine Rose. Lucien conjures his own frost atronach, followed by Teldryn conjuring a flame atronach, as he always does. Fenrik summons four ghostly wolves while Rumarin and Inigo prepare their weapons. “Hopefully this’ll even things up a bit.” Ravonna says, earning a roaring laughter from Signe, who now unseathes her two scimitars.

“Well, let us see what’s so special about the Dragonborn and her fellowship!” Signe roars, and Ravonna can almost see a glimpse of Deathbrand’s glory. She charges ahead, and so the fight begins.

Complicated, bizarre, liberating, emotional, tearful, smile-filled, easy like a dance they've been dancing all their life. Mere words barely capture the situation, but it’s there, and they’re there and it’s happening and everyone’s feeling it. They’re bantering, apologizing, confessing, laughing, crying. All of them. Neither group knew each other a few hours ago, but this is a bond and a memory they won’t ever forget.

The Deathbrand crew start fading away as they die, dissipating in the air like sand in the wind, like sea foam in the sea, like ships in the misty distance. For a moment, Signe got lost in her daughter’s eyes and there it was, the perfect moment. She couldn’t have asked for a better sendoff. She can see herself in her green eyes. She can see a young woman, lively and charismatic, a woman who could sweet-talk herself into anything, a woman who has seen horrors beyond comprehension but despite it all, she decided to laugh in life’s face, a woman who would do anything to be the author of her own story. Maybe they're more alike than she would have thought, and maybe she should feel scared about this, but she hasn't felt fear ever since she became a pirate. Not once, and maybe that's f*cked up, but so is life itself, and we have to live by our own rules, not anyone else's. And so, pride is all she feels. She sees emerald green, a forest, a peaceful meadow where she would lay and die at ease, because now Ravonna stabbed her ghostly chest with her own scimitar. Good thing she had two, because she could give her favourite one to Ravonna, and now it was this very blade that ended her. She can feel herself fade. Freedom again, at last.

Chapter 16: The aftermath and the storm

Chapter Text

The dawn air was chilly. Ravonna could see lines of steam coming out of her breaths. Winter on Solstheim was definitely harsher than Blacklight. Still, she didn’t mind. In fact, the chilly air was a welcoming phenomenon at the moment. Felt nice against her hot face, it dried her tears and cooled her off. These past few days have been too much, even for her, but today was something else completely. To find out Deathbrand’s true identity, along with the fact that it was her mother all along, and to top it off, she had to fight her to the death in order to release her from the curse of forever haunting that crypt.

She doesn’t know what she feels anymore. She felt so much that now she’s just numb. Watching into the distance, hoping that the sunrise will fix everything. It’s a foolish thing to hope, but what is she if not a little foolish sometimes. She thought she was foolish to think that Deathbrand was related to her when her blood opened that door, and then it was proven to be the truth, even though she still finds it hard to believe it. She runs her fingers through her newly acquired chestpiece. Wearing some parts of Deathbrand’s armour feels unreal. It almost makes her feel invincible. She looks at her braces, and sighs. They’re beautiful. So beautiful that she cannot stop staring. The Stalhrim faintly glows and feels cool to the touch, perfect for a Nord. And light, too. She didn’t expect to feel so light in it, with the whole chestpiece, braces and shoulderpads. And most of all, it feels intimate and weirdly safe. It feels like having her mother close to her at all times. And it fits perfectly well with her starry robes, the robes she wore at the Skaal Village party on what feels like ages ago. She doesn’t quite know why, but these robes have quickly become her favourite. And she is sure that she never wants to take this armor off.

She sighs when she hears footsteps behind her. She’s levitated on top of the crypt, sure no one would come after her because she is the only levitation enthusiast in the fellowship.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask any stupid questions like ‘Are you ok?’ .” says Teldryn, sitting down on the ledge next to her, looking in the distance.

“How did you even get up here?”

“Remember when you thought it would be hilarious to teach me to levitate, but I only managed to jump a bit higher looking like a fool?” he says, making Ravonna chuckle in acknowledgement. “Well, that. I did that. Multiple times.”

“You didn’t have to, I’m fine.”

“I know you are. I know that.”

Minutes pass and they both look in the distance. Many things are left unsaid, but they both understand, they’ve always been like that. Ravonna knows that he wants to be here for her, and Teldryn knows that she appreciates it.

“I just wanted to let you know that you should start packing up and getting ready soon.” Teldryn speaks again, getting up from where he sat.

Ravonna’s eyes turn to him in an instant. “For what?”

“We’re going to Morrowind.”

“What? Now?!”

“There’s a ship that docks in Blacklight. It leaves in a few hours.”

She doesn’t know if she’s grateful or if she wants to punch him, and he can see it by the face she makes. “It’s a merchant ship, but it’s pretty empty, gets its supplies from there. Oh, don’t give me that look. We’re going after Hjaldir. He deserves to know, Ravonna.”

She feels her eyes welling up again because f*ck, she’s not ready for that conversation.

“I don’t think I can do it, Teldryn.” she says, getting up to stop him from going back down to their friends. “I just… I can’t face him.”

He steps closer to her, placing a gentle hand on her arm to make her look at him. “Ravonna, why on Nirn not? It’s Hjaldir . You know him. You’ve known him a long time. Hells, he’s been like a father to you already.” He is met with a long silence, Ravonna still averting his gaze. “Look… if this is about Endryn, don’t. He will never be less of a father to you because of this, you know that. He’ll always remain your adoptive dad.” He mutters, his voice barely a cracking whisper, because thinking of Endryn always hurts, even after all these years. They’re all grey, pretty much everyone in Blacklight, but Endryn was the purest white, shining through life like a lighthouse in a storm. He was too good for this world, and he paid the price and it’s unfair and it will always be unfair. Bitterness almost overwhelms him, but the sight of Ravonna breaking down in front of him pulls him out of it like a greedy, hungry fisherman would pull a fish with his rod. “Come here. You’re okay. You’re good. Shhh.” he embraces her as she breaks down, needs to be strong for her. He’s good at that, he’s been doing it for almost thirty years.

“I cannot look him in the eyes, Tel. I just… I don’t think he’d be proud of me.”

“Nonsense. What are you talking about? He’s always been proud of you. In fact, I’ve never seen him as prideful as when he was talking about you.”

“That’s different. I’ve done things. Unspeakable things. I’m a Gods-damned killer. A… a cruel, unforgivable, disgusting murderer!” she sobs.

“What are you talking about?”

“I hunted the assassins down… I killed them in cold blood. I… I tracked down the last Dark Brotherhood sanctuary, that’s how I ended up in Skyrim. I’m a killer, I’m no better than them!” her voice is dripping with despair.

They stay like that, in silence. Teldryn is not yet sure what to say and how to handle all this, so he decides to just be honest.

“You know that I’m actually super proud of you for that, right?.”

“What?” Ravonna still sobs against his shoulder.

“I would’ve done it myself, but you’ve proven again that you’re faster and more brilliant than me.”

“Careful. It might boost my ego too much.” Ravonna sniffs after a long pause.

Teldryn chuckles and presses his lips to the top of her head. How she manages to joke when in such distress is beyond him. He was always the odd one out at the Emerald bar. Much too prone to brooding and being upset. He thought that there was something wrong with him for a very long time, because Endryn never stopped smiling with his whole face and his wrinkles around his eyes only got more prominent as the years went by, and he always made his dad jokes and he always playfully teased his friends and family.

Because Hjaldir never stopped flashing everyone that charming smile that could light up the whole room and he would never stop singing and writing songs and poetry and making the people around him happy. He beamed and it radiated.

Because Ravonna kept and keeps on making everyone around her happy, just like Endryn and Hjaldir. She was always like this, from the moment she could walk and talk, she made witty remarks and showed everyone her magic tricks and, later on, her drinking tricks. He could see the satisfaction on her face and in her soul whenever she achieved making someone feel happy and comfortable. Sure, she always stood up to herself, and she never let anyone walk over her or use her, but she, just like them, radiated joyfulness and light and life. And folks were drawn to them, like magnets to metal, like moths to flame, like him to three of his most cherished people, his family.

He thought that him being the odd one out was his issue, that maybe it was a he problem that he had too many problems in his head, but he realised at some point that it wasn't the case at all. Despite their bright smiles, they all had their demons, and it seemed that they were winning the battles with them, when they were simply trying their best to make the battle with life more enjoyable and fun, because battles can be fun. Everything can be fun if you try hard enough.

“We’ll get through this. You’re stronger than you think, my dear.” He says, making Ravonna sigh in surprise at the term of endearment. She hasn’t heard it in too long. “And Hjaldir loves you very much and he’s always been so, so proud of you, girl. You’re gonna make him the happiest man on Nirn when you deliver the news.” He pauses, thinking whether or not to voice his next thoughts, but she deserves to know, and so he continues, “And Endryn would be proud of you, too, Ravonna. He’d be so proud of the person you’ve become. I’m proud of you.” Ravonna closes her eyes to let her tears fall some more. No amount of pride could wash away the shame of her past actions. They stay like that for some time because Gods know, they need it.

When they part, Teldryn gives her a look, smiling.

“Looks great on you, by the way. That armour. Almost as if it were made just for you.”

“Feels great wearing it, too. I might get the urge to look at my own reflection every time we pass by something that mirrors the view.”

“You already do that!”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes, you do. Don’t even try to deny it…” he says, starting to walk towards the rest of the fellowship, Ravonna following closely behind, fully defending herself.

***

It’s a strange sight, indeed: his old suit. He hasn’t seen, nor touched it since he came back from Apocrypha, and right now, he wants nothing more than to burn it. When Ravonna guided him to the basem*nt - basically a small storage room - and he saw that suit again, he almost didn’t recognize it, and it made him sick to his stomach either way.

“It didn’t always look like that, you know?” Fenrik says, trying to defend it for some reason or other. This suit has been with him through his hardest of times, after all.

“I suppose it’s the Apocrypha corruption. You know, you looked almost like a lurker with the suit and with your mask.”

“Did I? I guess my mask was corrupted as well.”

“Yeah, it had all these tentacles coming out of the mouth area. ‘Twas gross and ugly.” Ravonna shudders. “No offence.”

“None taken.” He says, raising his eyebrows but still holding that thousand yard stare at the robes in the chest. “I guess I have the mask to thank for taking all the corruption, leaving my face and body unscathed and unchanged.”

“For what’s worth, I don’t think you look like a lurker anymore.”

“Thank you. Feels good, not having tentacles coming out of my face.” he feels a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It’s hard, seeing Ravonna deliver all her lines in such a cold manner. She’s been… absent, yet still there. So unmistakingly, genuinely there , right beside him.

“What did it look like? Before, I mean.”

“It was just a brass mask with no expression. Plain as a cloudless sky. That was its purpose, too. To numb any and all emotion in me. I was too emotional to be a Dragon Priest.” He winces at the memories that come flooding in.

“Oh… I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. It was you who actually took it off, remember?”

The sound she makes is somewhere between a snort and a huff. “More like shouted it off. You made me so angry that I let out my most strongest shout yet.”

“Glad to be… of service? I guess.”

“I was properly shocked when you turned and looked back at me, that’s for sure.”

“Why?” He asks, genuinely not understanding. He’s a person, just like her. Whatever else did she expect?

‘Because of your beauty, because of your humanity, your desperation, your sadness, your f*cking soft, brown eyes’ She wants to say, somewhere deep inside. Instead, she says: “Because you looked so intimidating with the mask on. Without it, you were so… normal. Approachable, even, were the circ*mstances different and my memory completely wiped.”

“I’m not intimidating?” He turns to look at her with the most pathetic, puppy dog stare in existence. His gaze is warm, it feels like sunlight, warming her cheeks, bringing a bit of colour to them.

“I don’t think intimidating is for you. But practice this look and our foes will be cooing and aww-ing and they will immediately resign from battle.” She locks eyes with him, only to return her gaze back on the robes, a movement so sudden that it makes her black locks sway in the air a bit. Fenrik can almost smell the scent of black tea that lingers in her hair. He can also feel himself blush, his cheeks turning a soft shade of pink. Thank the gods for his stubble, that is now turning into a bit of a fuzz. The last thing Ravonna needs right now is the knowledge that her - most probably - backhand insult made him quite flattered.

“I think you can be very intimidating, Ravonna.” He says. It may well be one of the first times he’s ever called her by her name, but Dovahkiin and other dovahzul names feel wrong in this moment. She can forget about her oppressing prophecy for a while.

It’s the way Fenrik called her name that struck her like lightning in a violent and deadly storm. He called her name like it was supposed to be called, he pronounced each and every letter as if it tasted like honey on his lips. Gods damn, no one did it like this for a long time, she’d almost gotten used to it being pronounced in a rush, or botched by some accent or other, but no, Fenrik called it like he enjoyed it, like it was his favourite word and she can’t deny that he now had her full attention. She was feeling some type of way, somewhere in her chest, right in the middle, where the soul is supposed to be.

She sighs deeply, trying to seem as unaffected as possible because what the f*ck?

“I do try my best. Actually, a lot of times I don’t even try, but I did try in Apocrypha, you know. I didn’t have a tentacle mask or three dragons or scaly robes, so I had to compensate with the stink-eye.”

“It worked, whatever you did.”

“Don’t lie to me just because I’m … you know, going through something. I don’t need to be babied and handed everything sugarcoated.” The silence that follows is deafening. “You’re a terrible liar, I can see that much.”

“I’m not lying!” He pleaded defenselessly. She was intimidating even now, and cold. Cold again. He loved it so much when she was warm and open and happy. “It’s just that… my very first impression of you was not at all that intimidating.”

“Ah, yes. I remember that.” The faintest of smiles could be seen by the curve of her cheek turning upwards. “That was not supposed to happen, I accidentally opened a black book! I mean, not accidentally, but I didn’t know it would teleport me in there! Right in front of you...”

He chuckles. “The sheer shock in your eyes. My memories are still blurred by the damn mask, but I remember feeling some of the strongest emotions I’ve felt while wearing it when I saw you for the first time, stumbling your way into Apocrypha, cursing.”

“Bad emotions? Like fear and utter despair. Shaking in yer boots?” She tries her best to be her cheery self again, and it makes Fenrik smile sadly at her.

“You took me by surprise, honestly.” He bites back on commenting about her beauty, because now is not the time, and she surely already knows that she is a beautiful woman, so he goes for the other first impression he had of her. “Call me old-fashioned because I come from a generation that unfortunately did not see women as equals. Not me, of course, if anything, I felt closer to this gender than my own, but still, I was surprised to see the last dragonborn to be a woman. And a mage.” So much for not bringing the Dragonborn prophecy up. He mentally slaps himself.

“Believe me, I was even more surprised when I absorbed my first dragon soul.”

“I remember the feeling of utter captivation. And a twinge of guilt.”

“A twinge…” Ravonna breathes, as if offended.

“I was emotionally numbed by everything I was wearing. Apocrypha also had an effect on me because… how could it not. Still, it is no excuse for how I behaved. I was blinded by the illusion of freedom. Desperate. And for that I am truly sorry. And I’m willing to spend the rest of my life making up for it.” He says solemnly, now fully turned towards her. Is this too much? Is he basically pledging his life in her service? Can she take yet another shock? The past twenty four hours have been… a lot, and he doesn’t know if he’s making things better or significantly worse.

“ Oh… That’s…” she trails off, not really knowing what to say with that.

“I’m sorry, I just… Well, I… I just want to redeem myself. I am disgusted by the fact that no matter how brainwashed, I was willing to trade a life for my freedom. To… to put someone through such perils as the ones I’ve been suffering for the past five millennia. I cannot bear it.”

A few moments pass, and Ravonna’s face does something that Fenrik can’t read. She seems deep in thought until… until she isn’t. And she turns her head, enlightened, as if she got the answers to the world’s biggest questions.

“I understand. More than you might know. I’m just happy that you get the chance to redeem yourself.” ‘As opposed to me. ’ she thinks, but doesn’t dare utter it. Not yet. “I'll take you up on your offer.” She turns to him with a sudden hint of hopeful sensation in that middle part of her chest. Maybe through him, she can experience a tiny bit of that redemption, even if it’s just a taste. Cake is still cake, even if you barely smudge your finger on the ornamental cream and taste it. “Welcome to the fellowship, healer.” She says, briefly touching both of his shoulders and then the top of his head, as if she just made a knight out of him.

It was funny, sweet and endearing, and he only now realised just how badly he craves for a longer friendly touch. Oh, how he wanted her hand to linger just a little bit longer, to feel her open palm against his shoulder, to warm her hand with his heat, to warm her soul with his affections. He must have been staring because now Ravonna’s expression changed to one of confusem*nt. Cold and distant, but still confusem*nt.

“Or, you know, something else. You don’t have to be our healer, I just thought that since it’s what you’re the best at, it would be fitting, but we can-”

“-It’s perfect. Thank you for welcoming me into your group. I won’t let you down.”

“I know you won’t.” She tries her hardest to smile. Maybe he will let them down, but she knows it won’t be intentional, not on his life. Besides, this is what she would have liked to hear if she embarked on the road to redemption. And isn’t it so bitterly ironic that the only redemption she may get is through giving him the redemption that he so desires, the redemption that she would have liked to get? She supposes that this is one of life’s tricks, one of life’s jokes that make is so fundamentally itself: life.

And such is life, a moment cannot last forever, and Ravonna knows that all too well. So she breaks the moment, breaks the contact and speaks again, but not before clearing her throat in an attempt to sound less like a heavy, cluttered emotional baggage. “So what are we going to do with it? The robes, I mean.”

“Don’t know. I have… complicated feelings about this.”

“I bet my enchanted robes are stronger. Better fabric, too. Not to mention that they’re exquisite mage robes. Colour looks great on you, too. Makes your eyes pop.” she says, wondering if she actually voiced her thoughts out loud or not, but she is too emotionally drained to care at this point.

Fenrik is wondering if she made the conscious decision to pick the robes that are almost the colour of her eyes for him specifically. Still, it has fastly become his favourite colour.

“I, too, prefer the robes you gave me.” ‘ Because it’s you. Because you picked them and enchanted them for me, because I get to wear something that you enchanted, and it makes me feel close to you.’ he thinks.

“You have common sense. That’s a great thing to have in this fellowship. But in all seriousness, if you want to switch to your old robes, I won’t be mad. No hard feelings. But I will learn the secrets of Dragon Cult enchantment simply out of spite to best them.”

“Then perhaps we shall leave them alone for the time being, and when you’re ready to do your research, you’ll know where to find them.”

“You’re not taking them along?”

“As I said, I prefer the ones you gave to me.”

“Very well. Are you sure you’re not sugarcoating me again?” she squints her eyes at him.

“Give me a truth serum and ask me again. You’ll find that the answer is the same.” he crosses his arms, raising an eyebrow.

“Those are very hard to find. Most of the ones on the common market are a total subterfuge.”

“I know the recipe. Read it in Apocrypha.”

“And surely the ingredients are very hard to come by.”

Fenrik opens his mouth and then closes it. “You would be correct.”

“But hold on to that information. Might be useful.”

“Absolutely.” he says, as Ravonna casts a complicated binding spell on the chest, and then on the door to the basem*nt. Severin Manor will now serve as a roof under the heads of those who do not usually have that luxury, or those travellers who might seek shelter, but have not the coin for the Retching Netch. The basem*nt is filled with some belongings and trinkets that the fellowship found in their time on Solstheim. It was a homely home for them for a while, and they’re grateful for it.

***

The raven Rock port is full of people going about their lives, more people are coming in since the mines got reopened, and now the sailors started coming in for another respite before docking in Blacklight. It was a livelier picture, and it brought Neloth strong feelings of annoyance and an even stronger urge to fortify his mushroom towers up to the sky to keep ‘tourists’ out. He also really, really wanted to get out of here. He appreciated the solitude of his wizard tower too much, but alas, the first and last Dragonborns were departing and everyone wanted to bid them goodbye. Even him, deep down inside. He will never admit it, of course, but those blasted Nords grew on him, and he will always feel the corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a weird motion called a smile whenever he’ll remember Ravonna’s face when she came back from accidentally sticking her nose deep into a black book, or Fenrik helplessly being floated upside down by his levitation elevator. He even felt it now, that damned smile. He’d better stop because he does have a reputation to keep.

“This one’s the last pack, I promise.” Says Ravonna, handing a crewmember an open crate. Lavender bouquets, mead and some honeyed braided bread. “And it’s for you all. Token of our gratitude for taking us along on such short notice.” She smiles and turns away before getting as much as a thank you from the sailor.

“Aye, lass, ye shoudn’t have!” He shouts after her.

“Nonsense, mate! ‘S no trouble at all!” she waves a dismissive hand at him and walks up to where Neloth is standing. She stops, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at his sight.

“Well, well, well. Looks like the lone wizard comes out of his tower on other occasions, not just half the island being brainwashed.”

“Do not test my patience, Nord.”

She winces at the mention of race, even after all this time and all these years of enduring the condescending tone - and the hell that was to be a Nord mage in Morrowind - she is still not completely immune to it.

“What do you want?”

“Know that I do not do this often, but I wanted to congratulate you. You’ve proven to be a formidable ally. Just look at what you’ve accomplished in the short time you’ve spent on Solstheim. Raven Rock’s not been this prosperous in a long time, indeed.” he sighs, pausing for a second. “I hate it.”

If there’s something that Ravonna is good at, it’s noticing the opposite of a backhanded compliment. When one’s ego is too much to say something good, but sarcasm will do the trick, so she flashes a genuine small smile that almost felt like the mischievous old Ravonna that was now hiding and licking her wounds behind her high defense walls.

“Anytime. But now if you’ll excuse me, I have some… personal issues to resolve that take me back to the mainland. Unless… you have something more substantial to show your gratitude?”

“Oh, do not push your luck, you little -” he inhales sharply, “Master Neloth’s gratitude and respect are more valuable than all of this island’s wealth combined. Besides, should you ever require a staff enchanter, you have the key to my office.”

“Thanks. Really. It has been a pleasure, Master Neloth. I’ll make sure to send your regards to Narellya, should I cross paths with her.” Her smile is no longer genuine, but still mischievous, that kind of politeness that could kill.

“I assure you that will not be necessary!” he shouts, but Ravonna is already halfway to the ship.

***

The unmistakable sound of the anchor being raised and the sails being hoisted fills Ravonna’s ears and soul with aching nostalgia. Of course she would think of Hjaldir in these moments, no matter how much she tried not to.

As much as she’d like to simply concentrate on the fading sight of Raven Rock and the sea foam trail that the ship leaves behind, her mind is elsewhere, in the past, to simpler times. To trips and little adventures they would have together, taking them mostly to HIgh Rock, but sometimes, if Ravonna was lucky and the circ*mstances right, even Hammerfell or Valenwood. It was mostly port-towns and big cities, and although she would have loved to visit more, it was still perfect. That was a big part of her life, from when she was little, stubbornly trying to steer the ship, even though the steering wheel was bigger than her, to when she was already of age, young and full of excitement and joy. That’s the only version Hjaldir’s ever seen of her. After Endryn’s death, she simply fled, not being able to face anyone in her state of distress. What will he think of her? Will he even accept her now, will he accept her as his own daughter ? Even though she understands Signe’s view, more than anyone else, it still hurts to know that she was not wanted, not really. And she doesn’t even know what hurts more: the fact that she wasn’t wanted or the fact that she understands.

She can feel the warmth of another person coming beside her shoulder, and when she looks up, she has to look significantly upwards to find the face of her Altmer friend, smiling gently at her. Too gently, perhaps. Everyone’s treating her like she’s about to shatter into a million pieces and she doesn’t yet know if she hates it or if she appreciates their efforts.

“Oh, don’t worry. I’m not going to ask questions like ‘Are you okay?’ if that’s not your thing.”

She huffs, a small smile teasing her lips. “You know, you’re the second person to tell me that today.”

“Well, I just want you to know that whatever it is that you want to do: talk about it, forget about it, distract yourself, sing, cry, sulk, brood… I am here for you.”

“How come you’re still here, Rumarin. Haven’t I dragged you through enough personal drama already? You should’ve gone back to Skyrim, back to him. ”

“Excuse you! You’ve never dragged me into anything. Need I remind you that I willingly and enthusiastically got dragged along?”

“Yes, but-”

“Do I miss Marcurio? Yes. Like the plants miss the sun, but I know that he is with the College of Winterhold and that he is safe. Besides, I only have the one best friend who seems to have drama follow her everywhere. I'm with you. I'll follow you everywhere. Even if you want to get rid of me, you can't. It's too late. I believe I've pledged my life to you for about four times while drunk already.”

“Sap.”

“I know, I know, and I’m not just saying this to make you feel better. I truly am not, but you are my dearest friend, am I will stand by your side, no matter what.”

She can feel her eyes welling up again, walls crumbling and vulnerability threatening to show itself like a hurricane of emotion, and all she can do is lean her head on his chest and let herself be embraced by his long arms. He just places his cheek to the top of her head and sits with her like that.

“Thank you.” she murmurs.

“No need.”

“I’m not a lap cat to be passed around for consoling, though, you know.”

“Oh, I know. Don’t worry, everyone’s going to give you the space you need.”

“I don’t know if I deserve you guys…”

“Oh, shut up. Now come on, let’s get inside. Looks like we’re heading straight into the storm.”

“How bad does it look?”

“You can check for yourself in the bow, that’s where I came from just now. I’ll go check on the others.”

***

Walking over to the bow of the deck, Ravonna could clearly see the black skies and thunderous clouds in the close distance. It didn’t look particularly good, and the navigator’s face, Finn, was grim enough to stir uneasiness in her soul.

“Looks like we’re heading straight into that.” She says, a bit louder than usual. The wind was strong enough that she had to raise her voice.

“Perhaps we should’ve waited more, but it’s only getting worse. This winter is a hard-un. Besides, the merchants can wait for so long. We were held back by foul weather for more than a fortnight. At this pace, they ain’t paying us nothing!”

“I’m sure the captain can handle it. Besides, sailing through a storm has… beauty in it, doesn’t it?” She raises an eyebrow, still looking in the distant horizon, almost frightened by how such a destructive thing could be the only thing that brings her soul’s peace in times like these. She is met with silence, so she decides to continue, speaking through her reverie. “It’s symbolic, even. Don’t you think?”

“Girl, what?”

“Sailing straight into a storm. Going ahead. Towards the future. Not running anymore. It’s scary as f*ck but also beautiful. Exciting, even. I was stuck in the past, standing in the stern, looking back, but now I'm here, at the frontmost part of the ship, looking straight ahead. My past awaits there for me, and perhaps I’ve been too harsh with it, brushing it aside all the time. And there, in Blacklight, my past and future intertwine now. Huh. Life is hilarious sometimes, innit?”

The man was now looking at her completely dumbfounded. He needs a second to gather his thoughts, and after opening and closing his mouth a few times, like a fool, he manages: “Damn. If ye weren’t wearing fancy mage robes, I could’ve sworn you’re a bard. Yer words be even fancier than yer robes.”

She smiles, she can allow herself this moment of vulnerability because for the first time after that door opened with her blood, she feels as if she wouldn’t crumble. She feels stable, maybe because of the storm, being at sea again or her realisation that what comes can be exciting. Coming back home can be good and healing .

“I have bard blood in me. My father is a bard.” She smiles, her eyes forming creases at the corners. She said it so proudly, too, because damn it if it doesn’t feel good. ‘My father. Hjaldir. My mother. Deathbrand herself. Yeah, I could get used to that.’ “And what a damned good bard my father is. Taught me everything I know. And now I’m coming back to him.”

***

She knows not how long she stayed there and watched the horizon and the storm, but she went inside when she started feeling aggressive raindrops on the top of her head and the ship started swaying her into a dance that was too dangerous and that threatened to throw her overboard. Something was wrong, the ship was going frantically to the side, and the fear of a hurricane or the clash on cliffs obstructed by the thick fog overwhelmed her. Humongous waves were ahead of them, in the distance. Something was wrong.

The inside picture of the ship was the opposite of the stormy calmness that she found outside. Inside was pure chaos. Rumarin was bleeding from his eyebrow with Fenrik fussing over him, Inigo was clinging like a madman to a pillar with his claws, Teldryn was slipping everywhere and cursing and Lucien was - oh, that’s what Teldryn was slipping on. Lucien was having probably the worst case of sea sickness she’s ever seen. The poor lad was hunched over, letting out pained cries and nasty growls as he spilled everywhere. The other few sailors that were with them were all scattered through the chambers, clinging to anything that was stable enough not to send them flying into the walls or worse, out the windows.

She quickly locked eyes with who seemed to be the most sane in this situation - Fenrik and Rumarin. She swayed her way to them, keeping her balance with the help of her arms and whatever remained of her sea-legs. She remembers being very well-balanced on ships back when she travelled with Hjaldir, but it has clearly been a while. She’s almost there and - oh! - nevermind, Rumairn shouts something and runs away to get a bowl from the ground and vomit in it. This is a disaster.

“What in the world?” She manages. Fenrik is a bit taken aback, he was in the middle of running to Rumairn to help him out but stopped when the Altmer gestured to leave him to his misery.

“There’s something wrong with the ship!” Fenrik shouts, only for his words to get another layer of brutal truth when the ship sways so much to the right that they almost sink. Ravonna bumps head first into his chest and it’s by pure luck that he was holding onto a pillar because it’s the only thing he can do in his power so that they don’t fall on the now disgusting floor.

Ravonna grunts as she tries to get up to look at him. She is so close she can practically feel his breath on her face. ‘Right, not awkward at all.’ she tries to convince herself. “I really think I wouldn’t have noticed, have you not said anything. Thank you kindly.”

He chuckles, his cheeks suddenly rosy. “Always happy to be of service.”

“Aye.” She says, balancing her hands on his shoulders. ‘Have they always been this broad? CONCENTRATE, DAMN YOU!’ She tries to think about what Hjaldir would do in this situation. “The ship is not being properly led through the storm. If big waves are upon us, the ship must take them face-first.”

“Yeah, I know. It almost seems like no one is steering.”

“We need to find the captain.” they both say at the same time, and because the gods, the sea and fate itself hates them, another wave stirs them, pinning them against a wall and Fenrik wishes he’d be swallowed whole by the sea in this moment because his body is crushing the Last Dragonborn, master destruction mage, daughter of the most notorious pirate, and there are probably more scary titles that he cannot think about right now, but she is probably fuming, and that's scary.

“Oh, Gods, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” he attempts, but Ravonna just grunts against his chest. He tries to make some space between them by pushing his arms hard against the wall and he succeeds but now there is a pair of green eyes looking at him and they’re really close and he doesn’t know what to do. He can feel the black tea fragrance in her hair and he wonders if that’s the secret to her lucious, flowing black locks.

“Music. Everything’s music, right?” She says, panting.

“What.”

“We need to find the rhythm of the storm. And synchronise!” She says, bracing herself on his shoulders once again.

“That’s… worth a shot. We need to go to the quarterdeck.”

“And where is that exactly?”

“I was hoping you’d know.” his eyebrows furrow in apology.

“sh*t.”

Another wave pushes them towards the middle of the room. Ravonna’s grip is still on Fenrik's shoulders and he grabs her by the waist out of pure instinct. From afar, they sure look like two drunk fools who just learnt how to walk, trying to dance for the first time in their life.

“If you’re gonna drag me down to this nasty-ass floor, I’m going to actually kill you!” she shouts, slipping on the vomit and almost gagging at the thought of getting her robes and hair full of… that.

“Ugh, there’s a door behind you. We should aim for that.” He slowly started making his way over there, gently leading them both with great care not to slip too much and lose balance, but the sea stirs once again and he slams the door open with Ravonna’s body, landing into a small, crammed room. They’re being stirred back and the door shuts behind them. The loud slam of the wooden door snaps him back to the situation at hand and he gasps at the fact that he’s sitting on her lap, somehow.

“Right, the bathroom. Amazing .” Ravonna says, her voice cracking with both a sob and a laughter at the immense ridiculousness of this situation.

“Please don’t kill me.” He whispers, feeling his ears begin to burn from embarrassment. She is sitting. On the toilet. And out of all the positions possible, he is straddling her.

“We are so never talking about this.”

“Agreed. Gods, this is embarrassing… We need to get out of he-” Ravonna’s sharp scream and tightening grip on his back interrupt him. A wave hit them again, clashing with the toilet full on, splashing sea water all over her.

“f*ck my life!”

“What? What’s happened?!”

“Ugh, ew!” She keeps shouting, almost worse than when they got scared by that talking draugr mere days ago.

“Talk to me!” he says, alarmed, thinking that a shark bit her… exposed parts.

“It’s all over my bottom!”

“What is?” he asks, terrified.

“THE f*ckEN’ SEA!”

“Oh! I uh… I see.” He says, trying his hardest not to laugh. He’s sure she’d kill him in this very moment if she saw even a hint of a chuckle.

The ship leans on its side again, making it easier for the Dragonborns to get up and get out of there and into the storm.

“Judging by the size of this ship, I’d say that the wheelhouse is on the other side of it, probably in a small cabin.” Ravonna shouts, trying to shake off the wetness in her precious robes. The storm was so bad that she was barely audible now that they were outside.

“The veils!” Fenrik points at them with a stiff, confident hand. “Should probably get them down.”

“Huh?”

“We have to reduce sail area to minimize the impact of strong winds. I’ll see what I can do about that, you should get to steering and keep me balanced as best you can.”

Ravonna casts him a very impressed look, her eyes shining. “Look at you being all sea savvy!”

“Well, you’re not the only one who’s constantly sailed the seas in your youth.” He looks down shyly, tucking a loose strand of messy blond hair behind his ear, only for it to be blown back into the wind.

“I wanna hear all about it if we survive this.” She flashes him a grin, and she looks glorious, confident and excited. Maybe she is more like her mother than anybody thought, but Fenrik wants to remember this grin. If this is the last thing he sees before he dies, he’s content with that.

“Now, don’t get blown away by the wind!” Ravonna adds, giving his shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze, smiling and heading quickly to the wheelhouse.

“Don’t steer us into oblivion!” He smiles back, shouting so she can surely hear him. He moves to the winch to adjust the sails, but finds that it’s stuck. A few crew members have now gotten out and they’re all trying to manhandle it but it won’t budge.

“Looks like we’re gonna have to do it manually, lads.” Fenrik suggests, remembering that one time, five thousand years ago, when he did this. He almost got yanked into the sea by the strong winds and he promised himself that he would never do that again, but here he is, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do anything in his power to see Ravonna back in her home and reunited with her father. So he starts climbing on the wooden structure, to some protests and encouragements from the crew of merchants. The trip is perilous and the veils flap furiously in the wind. Ah, yes, the wind. Blowing so hard that Fenrik can feel the currents enter one of his ears and exit the other. He doesn't even need to take a deep breath because the air forces itself into his lungs.

***

In the wheelhouse, the picture is exactly as Ravonna’d imagined. A captain that was unfortunately knocked out by hitting his head on the wheel because of the ship’s aggressive sways. He’s got blood all over his face and a serene expression as he’s knocked out cold and probably dreaming of grog and money.

The wheel spins endlessly, the captain’s blood drying on it from the movement. She needs to act fast if she doesn’t want the ship to turn upside down with them. Thinking instinctively, she casts a telekinesis spell, slowing the wheel, but not stopping it suddenly, lest she wants to launch Fenrik into Oblivion. Speaking of Fenrik, she can see the crazy bastard climbing on the biggest mast and tying the veils at the top. Softness be damned, the man can tie a navy knot almost with his eyes closed, and in such dire situations, and she can feel a tint of warmth flushing her cheeks and a weird feeling in her chest. He’s not the only one tying the veils, but he stands out among the others like a sun into a storm, with the wind blowing through his golden hair and his bright smirk as he feels the thrill of sailing through a storm again.
Minutes pass and Ravonna smiles to herself thinking that she’s still got the sailor knack as she stabilises the ship as best she can. How could she not? She is the daughter of two pirates, after all. She concentrates on steering the ship to safety, glancing at the compass on the board every now and then to make sure she’s still going in the right direction. It’s not easy, and she needs to concentrate on her magika all the time, and to preserve, never letting it get completely consumed, which is becoming more and more difficult, as she is low on it. Once it goes out, the steering wheel will go crazy again. She looks to the deck, getting ready to shout for someone to help, when she hears Fenrik’s voice from behind her.
“Oh, buddy. We need to get you fixed up.” He says to the unconscious man, crouching before him, opening the captain’s eyes only to see them rolled back in his head.

“Oi! I need a -”

“Magika potion?” Fenrik smirks, swirling the potion before her eyes.

“Yeah, actually. How'd you know?”

Fenrik sputters in amusem*nt, shaking his head. “Miss ‘I use magic everywhere’ uses magic to steer a ship? Doesn’t take a genius to figure that out, okaaz vahdin (sea maiden)”

There is something different in these Dovahzul words, she may not know the meaning, but she feels a blush spread over her nose bridge nonetheless. She stares wordless for a second, and yankes the bottle with one hand, the other still concentrating on the steering.

“Whatever. Think you can do better?”

“Oh, no. You’re a natural at this.” he says, making Ravonna’s blush become more intense. For lack of a better thing to do with her face, she frowns and opens the cork with her teeth, spitting it somewhere on the floor and taking a generous swing. Now it’s Fenrik’s turn to blush intensively because that might be the single most attractive thing he’s seen. He jerks his whole body towards the still unconscious captain and hopes that his hair is doing a decent job in covering his red face. He shifts his attention to healing the man, and after a few moments of healing, the captain jolts up, gasping for air with wide eyes.

***

Not long after that whole ordeal, the ship is finally out of the dangerous storm, and the journey so far has been, for lack of a better word, smooth sailing. Ravonna stands on the bow again and looks straight ahead, anticipation building up in her chest. Her heartbeat starts picking up and it almost sounds like a song that’s too fast paced for anyone to dance to. Blacklight is starting to become visible, and she can hear the captain yell that they’re getting close. A few deep breaths later, she can hear several footsteps behind her. It seems like the rest of the fellowship are all very eager to finally see Blacklight in all its beauty. She can hear some gasps, some wows, and some swear words muttered in amazement by the beauty that is Blacklight’s port. Even the entrance is magical, with several glowing orbs floating around, giving more light to the dusky sea as the sun sets. Some of those orbs are now floating towards them in a welcoming manner, guiding the ship. She can hear the captain yell for his crewmates to lower the anchor and she feels a single tear escape her right eye. A steady hand is on her shoulder now, rubbing it and bracing her. “We’re home.” whispers Teldryn, more emotional than she’s heard him since their reunion.

“At last.” She sighs, filling her lungs with the unmistakable smell of home . “We’re back.”