Of Eagles and Dragons, The Children of Kyne, Vol. IV Options

[Kane]

Interlude


The tinkling of broken glass broke the sudden silence as warmed apple cider splashed onto the hem of a stunned Lydia's evening gown. "MY HUSBAND IS WHERE!?" Kyne flinched under the queen's furious glare and did an ungainly sort of shuffle while contemplating whether or not she could flee through the open window. But she hesitated a second too long: "AND YOU WENT ALONG WITH THAT!?"

[Kane]

This one is a little short. I had to split up that was on it's way to becoming a 5,000 word penultimate chapter, the balance if which should come later this week.

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Chapter XLI – A Reckoning of Fates







A narrow shadow passed over the porthole in Teliel’s holding cell and roused the bosmer from her dark thoughts. She scrambled to her feet and peered through the barred window at a sight she had been dreading. The shoreline of the upper Niben gave way to a wide mouth as the ship sailed into Lake Rumare.

Guess that was the Red Ring Road bridge we passed under.

She didn’t have much time: the guards would be coming soon and Teliel needed all the strength she cold get. Tossing aside the ragged facsimile of a blanket her captors had thrown into the cell; she scooped up the scraps of bread and spoiling cheese she’d hidden away in case things took a turn for the worse. Staring wistfully at the meager rations, Teliel couldn’t fathom a time when said things would be more dire. She heard footsteps upon wood coming from the darkness and began to shovel the food into her mouth, taking large bites and swallowing painful gulps. The jangle of metal keys and the click of a lock announced the guard’s arrival, and a strong hand hoisted the short elf roughly to her feet before she finished a stale hunk of bread.

“Move it, whelp, or I’ll use the whip to make you move,” shouted the guard. He gave her no chance to acclimate to the sudden burst of light from an illumination spell and dragged her along the ship’s corridor to a set of stairs leading outside at the opposite end from her cell. The door opened at the crest of the stairs, and even the muted sun of the Shadow Realms blinded her eyes after countless days trapped belowdecks.

Teliel stumbled onto the main deck of the Dawn’s Ghost and whimpered in pain. The enchanted manacles dug into her wrist, and blood seeped from her knees after crashing into the rough timbers of the ship. A guard dragged the bosmer forcefully to her feet so that she was eye-to-eye with Cirion, the awful bastard of an Altmer that had allowed Teliel to reach her current pitiful state. She focused her gaze over his shoulder, and her heart sank to new depths at the sight of the tower rising nearly high enough to kiss the clouds.

The White-Gold Tower.

“Ah, I see you’ve recognized our ultimate destination,” sneered Cirion. “Thanks to your aid, the Empire will never see us coming until it is too late for them to act.”

At a gesture towards the stern, the guard spun Teliel around so that another sight could freeze the blood flowing hotly through her veins. Transparent Law floated without aid above the deck, and it radiated dazzling amounts of uninhibited magicka under the ushering of four hooded Thalmor wizards who chanted sacred incantations that were manipulating the Heart to reach unstable levels. Even without drawing near to it, Teliel could sense the mystical bindings of the Heart unraveling. Soon enough, those bindings would shatter and release a blast of creatia so unfathomably powerful that it would defy comprehension.

And there was nothing she could do to stop it.

But she had to try – for the sake of all those living in and around the Imperial City.

“It’s too late for you to try and be brave,” said Cirion, as if he could sense her internal struggle. “That ship sailed long ago, if you’ll pardon the expression. You cannot stop the Heart from imploding. We are all doomed to die with the scum of man and their weak empire. Even though I once sought to escape this fate, there is no such luck for those of us on this damned voyage. We go to our deaths so that elvenkind will once again rule Tamriel unopposed. The age of the Altmer is about to begin.”

Cirion prattled on maniacally while Teliel remained within the grasp of her guard, but her eyes were trained on one thing and one thing only: her staff, clenched tightly in the Prime Magistrate’s fist. If she could somehow reach it… remove it from his control… then maybe they would be the only ones that had to die. A broken stave was useless and would leave them stranded in the Realm of Shadows, the Dominion’s plans left in ruin while Transparent Law sundered a land of monsters and Divines know what else.

Teliel shifted her stance until all of her weight rested on her left heel. If I could just get this asshole to loosen his grip on my arm a little. She doubted Cirion would expect her head to ram his chin, and the momentary confusion ought to be just enough for her to plant a foot against the brittle wooden staff and snap it.

Unfortunately, her movements did not go unnoticed and with a fleeting nod from Cirion another guard moved to her side and forced the elf to her knees rendering Teliel unable to fight back.

“No getting out of this one I’m afraid,” cackled the Prime Magistrate. “In fact, you will be my guest of honor at the prow. And once the Heart has been unleashed, you will perish quickly and mercifully.”

“Mercifully?” spat Teliel. “Nothing about the way you bastards have treated me has been merciful. I’ve been raped, starved, and tortured for weeks and you speak of mercy? I hope the Divines cast you into the void when this is over and that you are doomed eternally. Perhaps Molag Bal will claim your soul and maybe then I will have some measure of solace.”

“Shut up, you useless bitch. Guards! Take her up front at once!” Turning on the spot, he raised Teliel’s staff with an elaborate gesture and pointed it skyward. “Helm, steer us directly towards the southernmost point of the isle and lash the wheel in place! I will take no chances! It’s time the Empire learns of their fate!”

The tip of the staff began to glow, drawing power from the Shadow Realm as Cirion readied the magicka required to return the ship and all aboard to their own dimension. Completely out of options, Teliel lunged desperately at the fanatical despot while the guards shoved her on, but she could not escape their grip and struggled futilely against them and the enchanted manacles binding her hands. With nothing else for it, she sank her teeth into an arm that strayed close to her face causing one of the guards to let go instinctively. Quick as a flash she kicked out at the other guard and when Teliel felt his grip relent too, she dove recklessly at Cirion but fell short when the Prime Magistrate noticed the commotion and jammed the butt of her staff directly into the bosmer’s head.

Stunned and disoriented, Teliel registered too late what she was hearing.

“Ungrateful whelp. Kill her and toss her over the side. The slaughterfish can feast on her remains.”

Teliel felt herself being dragged across the planks as Cirion raised the staff again and returned the Dawn’s Ghost to their mortal realm. The clear blue skies and bright sun of a crisp winter day were the last sights she could focus on before a dagger plunged into her rib cage and the guards threw her into Lake Rumare. The water overcame all of her senses save for Teliel’s wide elven eyes until they too were blinded by the immense power unleashed from a dying Heart.

The ship and everyone aboard became one with non-existence. The sundering of Transparent Law had succeeded and there was no stopping the magickal explosion unleashed by the Aldmeri Dominion. The earth shook. The sky darkened. Thousands perished in an instant, and the Empire of Cyrodiil crumbled to dust along with the Imperial City and the White-Gold Tower.

And the limp body of an exploited bosmer sank to the depths of a lake forever altered by an apocalyptic catastrophe.

[Acadian]

Yikes! I’ll wager septims to sweetrolls this can’t be good.

Teliel’s story remains a heartbreaking one of desperate courage till the end.

I’m curious as to the damage. Is all the Empire gone? Just Cyrodiil and environs? Any impact on Skyrim? Being a bit of an optimist, I’m going to wager that the Aldmeri Dominion has just used their most potent weapon’s one and only shot.

[Kane]

Yikes! I’ll wager septims to sweetrolls this can’t be good.

Teliel’s story remains a heartbreaking one of desperate courage till the end.

I’m curious as to the damage. Is all the Empire gone? Just Cyrodiil and environs? Any impact on Skyrim? Being a bit of an optimist, I’m going to wager that the Aldmeri Dominion has just used their most potent weapon’s one and only shot.

We'll find out soon. For now, there is still the Dark Heart to deal with...

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Chapter XLII – In Darkness Lies the Fallen Heart

The silence in Blackreach was oppressive. Naught could be heard near where the Great Lift at Alftand descended save for the heavy footfalls of two men jogging towards a false sun in the far distance. At their backs, and so light on their feet that even the faintest of zephyrs could be heard over rapid their steps, were three women keeping their own pace so that the slighter of them would not lag behind. Their progress was steady. Occasionally, it became gainful until a territorial chaurus crossed their paths, or a swift underground stream had to be forded. All while a cacophony of light emanating from the ruined dwemer city they hastened towards spurned them on with increasing urgency and thunderous rumbles shook the earth under their feet, warning them of an impending doom that could not be permitted to come to pass.

Towering mushroom stalks with expansive pileus lumbered and waved in lieu of the trees grown far above in the open air of Nirn. Glowing evanescent spores shook loose and fluttered all about the group swiftly closing the gap between relative safety and indescribable peril. Hours passed by in a blur until, panting heavily, Gwyn begged the others to stop so that they could take a breather.

“Just ten [censored] minutes,” she gasped around the painful stitch in her side. “Please! I’m not an athletic freak of nature like the rest of you lot! Especially you, dad! Where do you get off being in such fantastic shape at your age!?”

“At my age?” Kirin joked, feigning indignity. “I still have a few months before my fifty-fifth trip around the sun! Besides, you’re so slender that I would’ve wagered a hefty bag of gold you could outlast us all!”

Gwyn rolled her eyes and protested playfully with her newfound family while Cain kept watch. He privately wondered whether or not his fiance would play the ‘I’m a mage’ card as a defense, but he realized that didn’t hold up when his sisters were also mages. Well, Serana, at least. Despite her saying otherwise, Linneá definitely fit the mold of a spellsword. Gwyn was decidedly the only pure mage in the group and her lack of conditioning reflected that – which unfortunately was to her detriment at that moment when the ground shook more violently than it had yet, and an intense wave of powerful magicka released in a vibrant corona from their destination.

“We need to keep moving,” urged Cain.

“Agreed,” said Linneá. “Wait a sec.” She dug into the satchel strapped to the waistband of her armor and prised a small green tincture from among the other bits and bobs crammed into the small leather pouch. “Here, drink up Gwynnie. That’ll refill and boost your stamina pool for a bit.”

“A bit?” asked Gwyn after downing the potion in a gulp. The normally bitter mixture was surprisingly clear and pleasant with floral notes that lingered on her palate. “How long is a bit?”

“Uh… three days. Give or take.”

“THREE DAYS!?” She glanced at the empty bottle in wonder. “H-how? The most I’ve ever gotten out of a brew is about an hour! And they never tasted anything remotely as nice as that did!”

“You can thank my wife here for that. She’s had about, er, forty-two hundred years to refine her technique.”

“Cheater.”

“Don’t be jealous, sis,” Serana suggested gently. “It’s not a competition.” She teasingly patted Gwyn on the top of her head and winked at the fuming, red-faced Breton. “Shall we get a move on now?”

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean I won’t set your ass on fire.”

Kirin laughed heartily and took the lead once again in pursuit of their destination. They were making excellent time thanks to the now impressive pool of stamina Gwyn had, and within a short three hours they were approaching the outskirts of the dwemer city. Halting on the road, the five of them ducked behind an outcropping of stone and quietly watched the area for signs of life. The glow from the massive mechanical construct floating above the city lit the gloom around them well enough to see without the aid of magickal assistance, which meant none of their prey would be out in the open. It was eerily quiet apart from the continued pulsating eruptions and ensuing tremors from the Dark Heart of Namira. Not a soul could be seen in or around the outer walls marking the border of the ruins.

“Doesn’t it seem odd that there are no soldiers about?” said Serana. “Delphine made it seem like this place was positively teeming with Thalmor…”

“I don’t like it,” replied Kirin. “LAAS YAH NIR.” he whispered.

“Beat me to it, dad,” said Cain. “What do you see?”

“We’ve got our work cut out for us. They must know Delphine made it to safety. There’s a small regiment worth of elves lying in wait beyond the battlements. Three hundred, if I had to guess.”

A hush fell among them. Having three fully-fledged Dragonborn on their side certainly helped, but that amount of resistance was still a tall order. Coming out unscathed would require a well-laid plan – and several small miracles. Gwyn shifted nervously and clung tightly to Cain’s stout arm. She wasn’t nearly as strong as the rest of them and her lack of armor meant a single missed blow from a sword or mace or axe would bring a swift end to a short life. Cain gave her a reassuring kiss on the cheek and silently promised that he would never allow that to happen. Then he too used the Aura Whisper shout to study the ambush layout… and after allowing his eyes to roam, an altogether different sight caught his eye and brought a broad grin to his face.

“What is it, Cain?” asked Linneá. “You look positively inspired.”

“If I’m not mistaken, there is a dragon roosting on a broad ledge above that fake sun. What say we wake him up and add a little chaos into the mix?”

Her eyes lit up with excitement, and together the five of them hatched a plan to give them an edge in thwarting the Dominion’s machinations. It wasn’t foolproof and there were plenty of things that could go wrong in an instant, but the unexpected arrival of a dragon would certainly throw the Thalmor troops into disarray at the same time two Dragonborns and a necromancer assaulted their flank with sundering Thu’ums and dreadful masses of undead minions.

All while Linneá and Gwydala, the two best suited to containing the erratic daedric artifact, stuck to the shadows and hastened directly to it.

“I’ll scale the outer wall and hit the sun with Unrelenting Force,” volunteered Cain. “The noise will be enough to wake up everything in Blackreach. Once the dragon attacks, I’ll join the fray from above.” He turned to face Gwyn and held her hands tightly within his own. “We’ll keep the elves distracted as best we can. Deal with the Heart and keep each other safe, yeah?” He waited for a nod from both Gwyn and Linneá before kissing his love and scampering off towards the city walls.

I love you. Please please please please be careful, Gwyn pleaded in Cain’s mind.

I will. And I love you, too. Keep my sister safe.

The Windborne patriarch whispered his life detection shout again and kept an eye on Cain’s progress – and the movements of the Thalmor troops lying in wait. It only took a moment for his son to reach the base of the wall and lob a climbing rope up onto the battlements.

“Okay, he’s making his way up. Everyone get into position!”

Fanning out silently, the remaining four split up and steeled themselves for the upcoming battle. Kirin and Serana lurked at the foot of a looming stone staircase that led up to the city gates while Linneá and Gwyn circled around the western wall to where a smaller gate stood barred before them. They waited impatiently for all hell to break loose.

And then it did.

The Battle of Blackreach began in earnest. With an ear-ringing clang, Cain’s thunderous Thu’um clashed into the suspended artificial sun of the ruined city and plunged the area into chaos. A great horned dragon with purple and black scales roared menacingly at the intrusion on its slumber and swooped down in a flurry of leathery wings and attacked everything in sight. Scrambling from the unexpected aerial assault, the Thalmor troops turned their attention away from the city gates just as every undead creature Serana could muster from the Soul Cairn and any other realm of Oblivion poured forth in a demonic haze that took the soldiers unawares.

At the rear of the summoned mass Kirin drew his sword and with a rallying Nordic battle cry he signaled that it was time for the Windbornes to join the fray. Cain released a torrent of Shouts from his perch on the wall into the pockets of soldiers scrambling to find cover against the swooping dragon and its seeking talons. Serana and Kirin marched purposefully into the fray with an aura of storm magick encasing the former and the power of a dragon’s aspect encasing the latter. Blistering spells unleashed from her open palms sought any stray Thalmor lucky enough to claw their way through the mass of summons while Kirin’s keen sword dispatched any elves unlucky enough to come within his reach.

-----

On the far side of the city, Linneá and Gwyn fought their own perilous battle through the soldiers that remained in place. Taking the lead with magick in one hand and her longsword in the other, Linneá led the way through the reeling defenders.

“Linn, are you sure we can do this!?” cried Gwyn as she ensnared an armor-clad Altmer in a tangle of choking vines. “It feels like there are way too many of these assholes! Ow, [censored]!” A glancing blow from a blunt mace grazed her shoulder just enough to elicit an unnatural crack from the joint. Gwyn’s arm fell lamely to her side and Linneá covered her while she ducked down to heal herself.

“You alright, Gwyn?” Linneá asked while dispatching the mace wielder and two other soldiers for good measure.

“I’ll live.” She winced at the stiffness from a few test flexes. “Last time I allow that to happen though.”

Linneá grunted in response as a hair-raising bolt of lightning flew from her fingertips and reduced an archer to ash. Then a dozen more Thalmor soldiers made the mistake of rushing them head on and were frozen solid by the young Dragonborn’s Ice Form shout. The duo kicked over the hapless troops causing their bodies to fall to the ground and shatter. Gwyn winced and wondered for a split second what would happen when the dead men and women thawed, and that distraction almost cost her dearly. Another archer stepped from the shadows and loosed an arrow that buried itself in Gwyn’s side.

Reeling in shock and pain, the Breton reacted instinctively, and her hand opposite hand filled with green magicka. She muttered an incantation and breathed a sigh of relief at the arrow leaving her body as time wound a few seconds backwards to where she could side-step the arrow with ease.

“Gwyndala!” scolded Linneá. Her sword convinced the archer’s head to take a permanent vacation from its body while she glared at the smirking mage. “Don’t play around with time like that! We could’ve easily healed you!”

“Yeah, but there would’ve been a scar.”

“Gods, you’re impossible sometimes. C’mon, we don’t have far to go.”

-----

Blackened soil, and stone stained with crimson lay beneath heaps of dead Dominion soldiers. The chaos of a dragon, the swarming menace of the undead, and the unrelenting assault of two Dragonborns thoroughly broke the front lines and the spirits of the small regiment, and all but a few handfuls of the brave stood their ground. The rest had either fled into the darkness of Blackreach or fallen back to protect Lisotel and the Dark Heart.

The ground quaked beneath their feet the closer they got to the ever-consuming artifact and the more unstable it grew, the more magicka it released – occasionally with a deafening jet of energy that blasted holes through the ancient walls of the dwemer city or struck the cavern ceiling high above.

“We need to hurry,” panted Serana. She downed a stamina potion and wiped the grime of battle from her forehead. “Elle and Gwyn will get overwhelmed if the elves keep falling back that way.”

“I agree,” nodded Kirin. “You two go reinforce the girls – I’ll handle the dragon.”

“Handle?” asked Cain. He didn’t love the idea of his father engaging a powerful dragon on his own. Dragonborn he may be, but the years were not slowing down for Skyrim’s High King. “How do you plan on doing that?”

“Not by fighting, if that’s what you mean. He and I are going to have a conversation.”

“Dads got this, Cain,” said Serana. “I just felt a stab of frustration on Elle’s part regarding your fiancé, so let’s get a move on it.”

Cain sighed and after clasping his father’s shoulder, he departed for the city center with Serana by his side. He wondered exactly just Gwyn might have done to annoy Linneá and decided he could spare a moment to find out. What did you do, hon? Serana mentioned that my sister was all twisted up…

Um. Nothing important.

Gwyndala Louvain…

Ugh, fine, you pain in the ass. I used Time Magic to undo being shot with an arrow. Happy now?

The redguard shook his head. Truthfully, he was surprised she’d managed to go this long without having done something like that. Or worse. They’d agreed she shouldn’t use it except under extreme circumstances, and it didn’t seem like Linneá had viewed it as such. Which meant Cain would have to scold Gwyn about it later. And that is not a conversation he looked forward to.

-----

Linneá and Gwyn were growing nearer to the Dark Heart.

The rumblings caused by its instability were growing and the frequency of magickal eruptions were becoming far to dangerous for anyone unlucky enough to be fighting their way through the ruined city. The fading roar of a dragon could be heard over the noise of battle as it departed for somewhere far away from the source of the unrest raging on in Blackreach. Only Magsitrate Lisotel and six of his chosen lieutenants remained in a defensive perimeter around the Heart, despite the increasing likelihood that the troublesome Windborne family would soon overwhelm them. The Thalmor man so desperate to win his queen’s favor felt the one constant he needed to ensure victory slipping away – time. He did not doubt that the damned clan of Nords would manage to contain the Dark Heart if they were victorious, and he increasingly felt the threads of destiny fleeing from his grasp.

Unless…

Lisotel studied the erratic motions of the utterly black orb floating at the center he and his men had formed around it. The instability had become so pronounced that it was visible with the naked eye. Fractures in the endless layers of power were plain as day. The surface had become scarred and pocked.

Perhaps it just needs one more little push.

“Soliders! Forget the plan – it is time to give your lives up for the Dominion. Throw yourselves into Namira’s power lest you be slain instead by these upstart snow dogs!” The elves looked uncertainly at one another. Like most enlisted men, the idea of dying in battle to a superior foe felt much more enticing than committing suicide to empower an artifact of the daedra. Lisotel saw them shuffling nervously and simply bid them to remember the various brutal ways their comrades had fallen at the hands of the warriors and mages bearing down upon them. “Do this for your queen and we will make sure Skyrim never opposes the Dominion again! We are on the cusp of annihilating this frigid land and those that rule it!”

-----

“Linn! Are you seeing this [censored]!?” The two women stopped dead in their tracks in horror. They were almost upon the Heart and its last line of defense when those last vestiges of Thalmor resistance willingly cast themselves into the frighteningly unstable artifact. “Did they just… seriously? How indoctrinated do you have to be to do something like that!”

Linneá stared aghast at the spectacle but for an altogether different reason. She sensed the sudden shift in magickal fluctuations and understood at once that they were too late. The only remaining Thalmor – someone high ranking judging by the gold regalia inlaid on their robe – had achieved what they set out to do. The Dark Heat of Namira had finally consumed too much life force. The instability had grown too great, and there was no way to reverse the process. They were too late. The explosion would kill them all and cave in all of Central Skyrim. The Sea of Ghosts would rush inland flooding Dawnstar and any other settlements in the valleys. Hundreds of thousands of lives were about to meet and end they would never see coming. They had failed. The Windbornes were too late and failed in their most sacred oath: to protect their kingdom and all that dwelled within it.

No. I can’t allow that. Linneá only saw one path forward. One chance to lead them through the darkness. She felt the tears threatening to well up in the corners of her eyes and focused instead on that drive. The drive to do right by her people. And by her family.

“Hey, Linn… do you feel that? It’s almost like that thing is…” Gwyn’s blood froze. She felt it now too, and the malice behind it. “[censored]… Linn! What do we do!? I don’t think we can stop –“

“Take care of the elf.”

Gwyn felt the steel in her sister’s voice and did as she was told. Linneá must’ve had a plan – she always did. Lisotel and the Dark Heart were a mere fifty feet away from them now, and the Breton closed the gap quickly. Despite the three hundred years of experience the Magistrate had, he fell to his knees under the onslaught of her magicka and struggled futilely against the thorny vines that bound his wrists and ankles together. Gwyn sneered at the captive Thalmor leader and was about to demand he help undo the mess he’d caused when a blast of magick from the Heart lashed out and threw her back near Linneá’s side where she laid in the dirt, stunned and disoriented.

“Stay here and wait for the others,” said Linneá. “I’ll handle this.”

“What…?” mumbled Gwyn. “Linn, how…”

But Linneá had already left. She strode toward the Dark Heart with a knowing purpose. With each step, she grew nearer to the menace that threatened to undo everything she loved. And with each step, she prayed. She prayed to her beloved Kyne; she prayed to Akatosh. She even prayed to Divines she’d never once had cause to worship, if only to keep her family safe. She prayed they would hear her, and that they would offer strength in Skyrim’s time of needed. An aura of golden light encased her body and slowly blossomed out as she called deeper upon her dragon blood than ever before. She felt a rush of power welling up inside of her and knew without a doubt that the gods had not forsaken them yet.

And one goddess in particular promised to stay with her until the very end.

I will always love you, Linneá, Kyne wept in her mind. There will never be another so deserving of being my champion. And I will look after them all. I promise.

Linneá didn’t respond. She couldn’t. It hurt too much. And her radiance continued to grow as she approached the Heart with the Blessings of Kyne and Akatosh feeding the power encasing her until the faint form of a dragon swirling through the magickal eddies enveloped the altar upon which she now stood.

Magistrate Lisotel wormed against his bindings and watched in stunned disbelief. Could this woman – this simple Nord – really bring the Dominion’s plans to ruin? After all he’d endured? After all the death he’d caused? The Altmer gave up struggling against the vines. They were too tight. He could do nothing but watch, and pray his sacrifices were not in vain.

-----

Not far away, strong hands lifted Gwyn to her feet. “Are you okay?” Cain’s face swam into view, and she shook her head to clear it. “I… yeah. I’m fine, I think. But Linn…”

Serana sought for her wife, and at the sight of the ever-growing golden aura, she took off towards the Heart with the others at her heel. By the time they reached the focal point of all that was causing this, it was too late. The power radiating from Linneá formed an impenetrable barrier around her and the Dark Heart of Namira, and the moment she felt her father and brother approaching, Linneá began to feed off of their power, too. The barrier blazed brightly at the inrush of power from the Dragonborns, and the once dim outline of a dragon strengthened with her spirit and soared about the Heart as a ward against the evil that would soon be unleashed.

I’m with you to the end, my child. You are so brave.

And outside the barrier, Serana pleaded frantically to no avail: “ELLE! PLEASE DON’T DO THIS! WE CAN FIND ANOTHER WAY, JUST LET US IN! LET US IN!”

I’m sorry, my love, answered Linneá, silently. There is no other way. I love you and Salihn so much. Tell her… tell her I’m sorry.

Kirin approached the shimmering golden bulwark against destruction and pulled Serana into his embrace while Cain comforted Gwyn by their side. The High King placed a hand against the barrier and nodded solemnly. He let the power of his dragon blood flow uninhibited and felt his son do the same. He knew Linneá would not be doing this if there was any other way.

“Linn. You’re mother and I love you and are so proud of the woman you’ve become. I’ll see to it that Tamriel never forgets your name, and I’ll spend my days looking forward to spending an eternity in Sovngarde with you.” Solemn tears ran through the grime on his face and fell to mingle on Serana’s blouse with the tears flowing freely her eyes. “We’ll keep them safe,” he promised.

“As will we,” said Cain and Gwyn in unison. “I wish we’d had more time together, sis,” wept Cain. “There were countless years ahead of us that we should have enjoyed together. All of us. I love you.”

“Linn., I…” Gwyn faltered. The hollow memories of loss from losing her aunt flooded back in and she broke down in Cain’s arms.

“It’s alright, Gwynnie,” soothed Linneá from beyond their reach. “I know you’ll always be there for them.” The Dark Heart pulsed angrily behind her. It teetered on the verge of collapsing and she knew there were only mere seconds left. “I love you all. More than you’ll ever know.”

And no amount of time will ever dull how much I love you, Serana. I await you at the end.

The Dark Heart of Namira gave a final shudder and imploded. Utter darkness fell in upon itself and consumed everything around it before releasing an eruption of magicka that swelled inside the barrier and sent tremors through the earth felt as far away as Valenwood. The dragon encircling the protection offered by Linneá’s sacrifice roared in defiance at the chaos and destruction within until Heart expended its last remainder of magickal energy and vanished from Nirn. The barrier fell and only emptiness lingered.

Blackreach fell silent at last, save for the agonizing cries of Serana, who fell into despair at the absolute silence in her mind.

[Acadian]

Heartbreaking. Even heroes die sometimes.

You did a fabulous job with Linneá’s internal dialogue as she weighed her decision – her death and the pain it would cause her family versus the mass destruction (including not only her life but the lives of her family) the heart would unleash upon all of Skyrim if not contained.

[Kane]

Thank you, Acadian. As you can imagine, it was difficult to write, even having planned from the start how it would unfold.

====================

Chapter XLIII – The Encroaching Shadows

The heaviest snowfall in centuries blanketed the land. The people of Skyrim hunkered down in their homes, blissfully unaware of how close to ruin their lives came, only venturing the onslaught of winter for a pint of mead at the local tavern. News from the Heartland had slowly begun to trickle north via courier, and those that regularly received news from the south were aghast at the reports of an attack on the Imperial City. Memos from Cloud Ruler Temple, House Redoran, the Crowns and the Forebears, and the Kingdoms of Daggerfall regarding the scale of that same attack were piled on Kirin Windborne’s desk but they had been cast aside when he returned to the Blue Palace.

Reaching for a gifted wine from an archduke in Daggerfall, Kirin uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red spirit into two waiting glasses. He handed one to his son and took a seat with him in front of the fire. Words did not come easy to either one of them. Still covered in dirt and viscera from their battle in Blackreach, their underclothes left a trail of filth wherever they rested. Cain took a sip of wine, and wondered how his fiance was faring. Gwyn, Serana, Lydia, and Kyne had all gone to wake Salihn for the hardest conversation any parent could possibly have.

With a heavy sigh, Kirin set his glass down on an end table and stared unseeing into the dancing flames. “I never thought it would come to this. No parent should outlive their child.”

Cain wanted to say something – anything – to comfort his father, but he somehow thought that no words were better than empty ones. Like the rest of his family, he was too numb from it all. A pervasive emptiness filled the souls of those Linneá left behind that would not easily be overcome. Still…

“It’s not fair, is it?” said Cain. “Least of all to little Salihn. Linn was… so vibrant. So full of life. I don’t think any of us will ever be the same again.” He glanced out of the windows straddling the fireplace and lost himself in the white flakes fluttering across the glass panes. He suspected it would be a long winter… the longest in many an age. Searching for a distraction of any kind to ease the pain, his mind wondered to the reports from Cyrodiil. “It all seems so far away, doesn’t it? To think the Empire would ever fall…”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Kirin. “Not right now. I know you seek a way of easing your burden Cain, but now is not the time for that. You need to grieve. We need to grieve. Even if that means doing so in silence.”

There lay a wisdom in his father’s words that Cain could not refute. And so silence it was, until memories of more joyful times rekindled the smallest of sparks. Linneá’s antics had brought a smile to his face so many times that he had long lost count. They were moments he would treasure forever. From the first time they laid eyes on one another and she greeted him with a joyous hug, to the radiant pride she wore when he and Gwyn announced their engagement. And everything in between.

“Maybe grief doesn’t have to be despair.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Cain,” said Kirin. “We will honor my daughter’s memory. It’s the least we can do for her sacrifice.” He picked up his glass and clinked against Cains. “To Linneá. May she turn the Hall of Shor upon its head.”

The clinking sound of glass faded.

And outside, the snow continued to fall.

-----

Arrangements were made the following day. Linneá Windborne would be laid to rest in the Temple of the Divines among the storied kings and queens of bygone days. Couriers were dispatched to each and every town, village, and hamlet, and all the citizens of Skyrim were invited to attend a most solemn occasion. Messages from dignitaries far and wide trickled in offering promissory notes of future visits to Solitude to pay their respects. The winter days were short and cold, yet none of those able to travel to the capital in time were deterred. The story of how the High King’s daughter had given her life in defense of the kingdom had spread like wildfire. Her name was celebrated in every nook and cranny of Skyrim while the royal family endured the loss and planned her funeral.

And far across the mortal realms, the snow continued to fall.

Deep within the palace walls, a somber breakfast took place in a familiar dining chamber. Not a one of the participants felt like eating, but they did so in heavy silence anyway. Soft linen napkins were used for dabbing at tears more than wiping away food, and sniffles were commonplace among the scraping of silverware on ceramic.

Kirin and Lydia were the first to depart, seeking each other’s company in private. Cain and Gwyn bundled up a platter of food for Serana whom had yet to leave her quarters, but they remained seated for the moment. Despite her immense age and infinite wisdom, their goddess seemed to have take the loss of her champion harder than the rest of them. Kyne had spoken very little since their return, and she always avoided their eyes.

Invite her to come with us, Gwyn murmured across her link with Cain. I don’t like the idea of her being alone.

I planned to. “Come with us, mum?” he offered, hopefully. “We’re gonna check on Serana and Salihn and make sure they get something to eat.”

“Go ahead without me.”

Gwyn frowned. That wasn’t like her. “She, no, they need you, mum. Please come with us.”

“I will do as I please, child. You would do well to remember that.” Kyne assumed the avatar of the hawk and vanished in an instant.

“What the [censored] was that about?” asked Gwyn.

“I don’t think she knows how to deal with this. Like us, I think it hurts too much for her. They were very close. Closer than the rest of us are to Kyne anyway. I wonder if at some point Linn really did become a daughter to her. They were always around each other since Linn was born…”

“Makes sense,” sniffled Gwyn. “Guess I never really thought about it that way. And they were linked like we were too. I couldn’t imagine losing that connection to you. It must be agonizing.”

“It is.”

Gwyn hugged her fiance and they wept together for a while before departing the dining hall with a bag of food and drink in hand. Palatial life went on all around them just like any other day, but joy or contentment was not to be found in the faces of the guards or staff. Linneá Windborne had left her mark on countless lives and would never be forgotten.

And outside the palace walls, the snow continued to fall.

-----

Five days had passed and the hardest morning of Serana’s life finally arrived. She stood by a mirror in her bedroom, smoothing the creases of a long black dress that fell to her ankles. There were no elaborate braids, or bits of filigree woven into her shoulder length hair. Instead, a wide brimmed hat adorned with preserved nightshade blossoms hung from the edge of the mirror. Blue eyes overwhelmed with grief stared back at her in the mirror. Eyes that would never get lost in the wide hazel eyes of her wife again. Serana grabbed a kerchief from the vanity table and blotted her cheeks with it.

The door opened and Lydia stepped in with Valerica at her heels. “It’s time, dear.”

“Is Salihn ready?”

“She is,” answered Valerica. “My granddaughter is strong, Serana. I… I regret that I haven’t been around more often to see her grow. But you’ve done a far better job than I ever did. She’s waiting for you.”

Serana hugged her mothers in turn and left the room without hesitation. Her daughter waited in the den wearing a matching black dress and hat. There was a sadness beyond belief written on her face, yet still she smiled at her mother as if it were any other day and they were simply departing for school. Serana took Salihn’s hand and the four of them left to meet the others in the palace foyer. The silence in the empty corridors was palpable, but it was nothing compared to the despondent emptiness in her mind. For the last six years, her thoughts had never been alone. Linneá was always there, and she was always with Linneá’s. And then there was nothing, and suddenly she understood exactly what her brother went through when Anska passed away. If she didn’t have Salihn…

No. I can’t think like that. There is no place in Sovngarde for the cowardly. We need each other now more than ever.

Before Serana knew it, she stood with the rest of her family near the enormous wood and wrought iron doors leading to the front courtyard of the Blue Palace. Soon they would be trudging through the snow-covered streets of Solitude. Already the clamor of assembled masses drifted through to their ears. They stood awkwardly by in wait for the sole remaining member of the procession. Thankfully, a veiled Kyne joined them before idle conversations could spring up. Serana didn’t have the strength for pleasantries. She barely had the strength for what was to come.

Sensing this, Lydia, Valerica, and Gwyn took the lead and sheltered Serana and Salihn between them as they departed the palace. Kirin, Cain, and Kyne brought up the rear, and the people of Skyrim fell in line behind them as they walked. Not even whispers were uttered among the crowds lining the long walk to the Temple of the Divines. Heads were bowed. Tears were wept. Prayers were intoned in silence.

And across the entirety of Nirn, the snow continued to fall.

-----

The next evening felt marginally easier. Dinner had been delivered there instead of the dining room, and Lydia poured glasses of firebrand wine for everyone while the High King finally took the time to consider the gravity of what transpired in Cyrodiil while they were defending their own home. And laying his daughter to rest. All signs pointed to a parallel attack by the Dominion but on a much larger scale. He couldn’t wrap his mind around the scale of destruction described in the latest reports. He glanced around the room at the joyless faces of his kin. Kyne and Serana’s absence was notable, but not unexpected. The goddess had been very withdrawn in their time of need, and it felt as if she were distancing herself from her children. And as a widowed mother Serana was right where she needed to be.

“How bad is it?” asked Cain. Gwyn lounged against her fiance, exhausted from it all. She privately wished they could just go home to Elysium, but knew it was too soon for that. There would be too much going on.

“… The entire island is underwater,” said Kirin. “Only remnants of the White-Gold Tower are visible in the lake’s center. And some of the smaller towns along the lake shore were flooded and washed away with the receding tides.”

Lydia moved behind the desk with him and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. She felt the weight of responsibility in the tense muscles of her husband, the man who was primed to lead an empire. An empire that crumbled to dust. He wanted to help – she could tell as much. The Heartland was in disarray; leaderless with their seat of government utterly annihilated in the blink of an eye. Cyrodiil was easy pickings for the Dominion.

“Where do we start?” said Lydia. “They need our help.”

Kirin raised his own hand to his shoulder and squeezed hers. “Our first priority is to provide whatever aid we can. I already dispatched communications to our allies. We’re going to begin coordinating relief efforts and mobilizing our troops to defend the borders. The empire may be gone, but those Thalmor bastards haven’t defeated us and they never will, and with these attacks, they’ve made one thing perfectly clear: the Second Great War has begun.”

Not a single person present felt any differently. The grief of loss remained prevalent, but anger had finally risen through the shock and taken root. A daughter; a mother; a sister was stolen from the Windbornes and there would be a reckoning. For nigh on two-hundred years the Third Aldmeri Dominion had sown unrest and waged war on the rest of Tamriel, and now came the time to stand firm in the face of that adversity. Their actions illustrated a complete disregard for any lives but their own, and with their genocidal actions in Cyrodiil, they could no longer be left unchecked.

Skyrim, High Rock, Hammerfell, and Morrowind were the seat of opposition; and the Nordic Tongues were set to rally the free peoples of Tamriel.

The High King raised a glass to his family. “For Linneá.”

“For Linneá,” their voices echoed.

And outside the palace walls, the snow continued to fall.

[Acadian]

A powerful episode of grief. Great job showing how each member of the family struggles with the loss of Linneá in their own way. All under the unrelenting fall of Kyne’s frozen tears that blanket the land.

It seems clear the Thalmor need to be taken down but that will not be an easy task.

[Kane]

A powerful episode of grief. Great job showing how each member of the family struggles with the loss of Linneá in their own way. All under the unrelenting fall of Kyne’s frozen tears that blanket the land.

It seems clear the Thalmor need to be taken down but that will not be an easy task.

Thank you for being along for the ride. We just have one entry left...

===================

Epilogue

Perpetual darkness reigned over a borderline inhospitable land. An eternal night sky filled with swirling auroras barely illuminated the rocky earth covered with ruins. Monolithic stones driven by unknown forces floated in the air. Glowing plants, and poisonous coral-like structures sprouted from sparse patches of acidic soil. Stunted and leafless trees were uncommon and clustered together offering no canopy for protection against prying eyes. Or from dangerous predators. By some divine miracle, fresh spring water sometimes rose to the surface in small pools that glistened under the maelstroms high above.

Daedra walked the land in droves. Some scuttled about on eight legs, while others soared overhead with leathery, bat-like wings and long tails. Armored Dremora patrolled in packs defending their mistress’ realm. Few mortals ever made it to the Scuttling Void, but those that did were typically discovered in short order. Elf and man flesh was a delicacy in these demonic lands, and the hapless intruders were offered to Namira first. Those lucky enough to be devoured had their souls pass into the Void. The less fortunate were bound to servitude for eternity in the Daedra’s floating citadel.

And far across this hellish realm, miles away from Namira’s throne, a dim fire flickered among the knotted trunks of a leafless copse. Two figures draped in ragged robes sat across from one another trying with utmost restraint to not murder their counterpart.

“It’s been nearly four months and you still won’t give up? We can’t survive here alone, asshole. Next time you pull a stunt like that I’ll leave you tied to a rock for the winged twilights to see.”

“Bah. I can’t believe I ended up here with you of all people. I’d sooner have a chaurus for company. And what exactly is your plan if we are to survive, snow dog? Escape? From the Scuttling Void? Don’t make me laugh. Incursion portals to this realm were sealed ages ago by the Elder Council. There is no escape. We are going to die here and it will be unpleasant. Better you accept that now.”

Accepting defeat was, of course, out of the question while breath remained in the lungs of the more optimistic of the unlikely duo. The reflected flames of their meager campfire flickered across unfocused hazel eyes. There had to be a way out. And not just for their sake.

“Feel free to go your own way if you think you can hack it, elf. But I will escape this place or I will die trying. You of all people should know I am not above that.”

The other snorted obnoxiously but, for once, there was no derision behind it. It was a point he could not refute. “Very well. I’ll concede that. So, where do we begin?”

“We still need to find a way to communicate beyond the boundaries of this realm. That hasn’t changed. We can’t do anything on our own.”

“And just how do you propose we do that? You might have noticed a distinct lack of courier service around here.”

“Hah. Hah. Just leave that part to me. Get some sleep, Lisotel; I’ll take first watch.”

The less optimistic of the two shrugged and huddled down under his robe. A slight shimmer briefly filled the air around him while he cast a small, precautionary protection spell around his wretched form.

Still unnecessary, but I guess I don’t blame him. Although it was still dangerous to let her guard down around the pitiful form, the turmoil in the skies above strove for her attention and won out in the end. Somewhere out there, floating across the endless Void, was their home. We’ll be together again, Ana. I promise.

[Acadian]

Magistrate Lisotel. . . . Formerly of Queen Penelore’s court and architect of the ‘feed the falmor and our foes to the Dark Heart' plan.

It seems that somehow both he and Linneá were saved from actual death by being cast into Namiras’s realm.

When Linneá says she will escape, I believe that she likely will. And so we end on somewhat of an optimistic note.

[Kane]

When the Heart finally overloaded it faded back to the Scuttling Void, sorta like how Azura says in Skyrim that her star will eventually do the same. It would've drawn in way more had Linneá not been sacrificing herself. It'll be interesting to see if those two can eventually get along. Book five will start eventually.

Thanks you everyone who came along for the ride!