#qhourian

I took a small sip from my goblet to wet my dry throat before I continued. "The truth is that every single one of you was crucial to get this job done, as well as many more who aren't here tonight. I found help whenever I needed it, whenever I got myself into something far over my head, when I was frustrated or desperate, in mortal danger or only in need of a kick to my behind. Sometimes in the most unusual places, sometimes only in the last possible second or in a way I never expected, but it was there, from the sewers of Riften to the halls of our Jarls. It wasn't always easy, I fought with some of you to the bitter end, and others aren't here tonight because they gave their lives for this success. But in the end, we have overcome the Worldeater because you still believed it possible when I was on the verge of giving up, and because you never let me down.

I'm grateful and proud to call you friends, and this blade," I unsheathed my new weapon and held it high above my head, "will have your backs whenever you need it, just like you always had mine."

Applause surged up, and now I blushed deeply, but I also felt as if I would burst with pride and joy when my gaze wandered over all these faces that were so precious to me.

It was a glittering, joyous, glorious night, and its only flaw was that it was far too short. I wanted to spend much more time with these people, talk and sing and drink with every single one of them, but there was simply not enough time. But at least everybody had fun, and this feast brought people together who would have never spoken a single word with each other otherwise. I laughed myself silly when Thorald told me how he had threatened Jarl Ulfric that no Grey-Mane would ever again speak a single word with him if he dared to attack Whiterun tonight. Or next day, when everybody would have to cure a hangover. And to see the Stormcloak officer and the Khajiit warrior huddle together later, talking, drinking and laughing warmed my heart, obviously they had more to share than just the cruel memories of Northwatch Keep. I saw Adrianne, Alvor and Eorlund discuss smithing techniques, and Talsgar, Ria and Sven from Riverwood played their hearts out to entertain the crowd. Torvar and Athis coaxed Rune into a drinking game, and Sigrid fell victim to Brynjolf's charming green eyes and danced with him through the hall, with an expression as if she couldn't believe that this was really happening.

When I teased Brynjolf to keep his hands to himself while in Jorrvaskr and that I'd count the silver spoons next day, his reaction was only an odd smile. He exchanged a quick glance with Rune who nodded in approval, turned on his heels and left through the front door, beckoning me to follow him. Outside, he pointed at one of the wooden pillars.

"See that, lass?" I looked confused first at him, then at the pillar. It was old, weathered wood like all of Jorrvaskr, a few scratches, but nothing unusual.

He smiled contently when I shook my head. "Good. Because you're not supposed to." He hunched down and traced certain lines with his finger. "Look here, this is a shadowmark. We use them to... mark certain locations, and every thief in Skyrim knows their meaning. This one means 'Danger, keep out', we applied it a few months ago, and none of ours will ever dare to tamper with your home. Breezehome has one as well."

"Wow," I muttered, "that's brilliant. Easy signs everybody understands… and it's good that you know where to stay away from. Don't wanna see one of yours getting hurt by one of mine." I gave him a curious grin. "There are more of them?"

He grinned cheekily, green eyes glittering with mirth. "Of course there are. But if you wanna learn them, you'll have to work for me, lass." His pout when I laughed at him was too cute.

The first heralds of the rising morning sun already streaked the sky with tendrils of light when I took my tankard and exited the hall towards the empty training yard. My head swam, dizzy with alcohol, excitement, fatigue and happiness, and all I needed was a breath of fresh air and a moment for myself. But the door clapped as soon as I had settled on the stairs, and I didn't have to turn to know that it was Vilkas.

I didn't mind and leant against his shoulder when he sat down beside me.

"You did that, didn't you? Coax the Jarl into this... deviation from the protocol?"

He gave me a faint smile. "It didn't take much. We told him that it would be a shame if he insisted on flinging away that much coin for something that would only make you miserable. And it wasn't hard to guess what you'd wish for this event... invite a few friends and get shitfaced drunk."

"I'm horribly predictable, I know. But I'm not shitfaced drunk. Not yet."

He chuckled lowly. "No, you're not. Although I hoped you'd be by now."

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Did you now?"

"Yeah," he nodded gravely, "because sometimes when you can't walk straight any more, you become cuddly."

I laughed out loud. "You don't cuddle, brother. Never!"

His chin rested on top of my head, and I felt him grin. "Oh yes, I do. Secretly, with your son."

"Don't you become soft, oh mighty warrior," I mumbled with a giggle, but he didn't react to my teasing.

We sat in silence, Vilkas entirely relaxed, legs stretched out and braced on his palms behind his back, and slowly I felt tiredness sip into my bones. A calm and unwound tiredness, deeply content with the moment.

"I'm happy right now, Vilkas," I whispered. "I miss him, and I would have liked so much to share all this with him. But... I have so much to be grateful for, and that he isn't here doesn't make it less precious." I turned to him, searched his face. It was unmoved, but I felt neither annoyance nor anger in him. "Is that okay?"

He held my gaze, and slowly his hand came up and raked through the thin coat of hair that covered my scarred head. "Bittersweet, hm?" I nodded, swallowing when I saw the deep understanding in his eyes. "I haven't heard you laugh like tonight since we came back from Blackreach," he said quietly. "Yes, it's okay, Qhouri."

_________________________________________________________

No, we were not. I turned to them with a scowl. "Guys...," I said threateningly, but they didn't look very scared. Quite the contrary, even Kodlak fought to keep his mouth straight. "My, such a pity," Aela said with feigned astonishment, "guess we're gonna find out tomorrow. And you didn't wanna come here anyway. Let's go home." And with that she jumped down the stairs.

I followed her incredulously, but when I wanted to turn back to the Grey-Mane's house to fetch my son, Kodlak and Vilkas each grabbed an arm and drew me straight to Jorrvaskr. "Later, Qhouri," Vilkas mumbled, and then the doors opened and I stood speechless and dumbstruck, pushed forwards over the doorstep by his warm hand in my back.

The bustling life had somehow relocated from the palace into the mead hall, dozens of faces turning to us when the doors clapped shut.

Not only my siblings and the usual suspects from Whiterun had gathered around the blazing fire, friends, neighbours and faces I met every day anyway. No, there were more people, many more, and I knew them all. I couldn't believe who had found their way to us.

The Jarl was there, sitting at a table in a corner with a platter full of food, and beside him... his colleague from Morthal. Idgrod, waving at me with a broad grin, her housecarl sitting by her side just as Irileth sat beside Balgruuf.

Torvar slouched with dangling feet on a barrel, discussing the pros and cons of various beverages with... Wilhelm, the innkeeper from Ivarstead and a familiar figure with twitching ears and tail. Kharjo, the Khajiit warrior who had saved me after I had saved him from the Thalmor.

Alvor, the smith from Riverwood, and his wife Sigrid who had taken care of me after that wolf attack after I had escaped Helgen and sent me to Whiterun for the first time stood a bit apart and listened with awe in their faces to the play of... Talsgar, the wandering minstrel.

Delphine barged her way through the crowd with a broad smile that was directed at me as much as at Vilkas.

The Grey-Manes were there, all of them except Fralia – but including Thorald who had come from Windhelm, clad in high-quality Stormcloak armour that showed that he wasn't a simple footsoldier any more.

And in a corner bobbed a fiery red head up and down that belonged to a man who seemed to demonstrate either how to slit a throat or pick a pocket to a fascinated Athis. Holy Kyne, they had even invited Brynjolf and Rune, the thieves from Riften.

But I didn't even get time to compose myself.

"Friends, citizens and valued guests!" The Jarl's had made his way to the stairs in front of the fire, his voice boomed over the turmoil, and everyone became quiet in an instant. He was used to get and hold the attention he needed for his speech, and he had obviously lots of fun with this occasion. "I'm gonna keep it short." He gave me a friendly grin. "We've gathered here tonight to honour a woman who despite her proven capability to suffer pain and injuries is highly allergic to the attention she provokes with the deeds that earn her these injuries. And although she's not only the heroine of Skyrim, but also a Thane of Whiterun and I am her Jarl, I am no fiend. And so I decided – with some argumentative help from the Companions – to deviate from the usual protocol and make this as painless as possible."

A snicker waved through the crowd, and he gave me a smug smile.

"Qhourian... please."

Slowly I descended the steps towards the Jarl, and the people let me through, I felt amicable pats on my shoulders and bathed in the friendliness around me. My head swam. Together with me, Eorlund had taken his place beside Balgruuf.

"Qhourian... Saviour of Skyrim, Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun and Companion... it is not in my power to bestow you with more titles than you already have. Instead I feel the urge to provide you with something substantial and useful... especially as the Axe of Whiterun probably hangs unused in a weaponrack in Breezehome like a pretty trinket." I blushed, and he grinned at me. "I've been told that you somehow lost your weapon, the legendary Dragonbane blade, somewhere from where it's hopefully impossible to retrieve it back." Yes, that much was true. Dragonbane rusted away between Alduin's remains, in front of Shor's Hall. Or perhaps one of its former wielders had taken it, but this was a loss I really regretted.

The Jarl took the bundle Eorlund handed him.

"Allow me to present you with this weapon instead. As a true badge of office, as a sign of the honour all of us feel to have you in our midst, as a token of our gratitude and friendship. Skyforge steel, enchanted with Azura's Star which you helped to retrieve. Wear it with pride, and may it keep you alive during everything you may endeavour in your future."

He unsheathed the weapon, and I gasped with wide open mouth. It was unmistakably Eorlund's unique, beautiful work, a sword that resembled Dragonbane remarkably, having the same slim, long, slightly curved blade I was used to, and it was still so different from every weapon I had ever seen. And it was mine, from the second the Jarl placed it flat on my outstretched palms. Because it was Skyforge steel. Because the crossguard was formed into the intricate head of a dragon on one side and the head of a wolf on the other, just like on Vilkas' amulet. Because it was enchanted with fire magic, and because it lay perfectly balanced in my hand, and I felt familiar with it from the very first moment.

Balgruuf watched my reverent face with a friendly smile, and it took some time until I realised that he waited for an answer. I had to break away my gaze from the beautiful sword and looked at his face. "Thank you, my Jarl," I said quietly. "I will. I will wear it with pride and wield it with honour. Because I am proud to be a citizen of your city."

With a broad smile the Jarl laid a hand on my shoulder and pushed me around so we both faced the crowd, took my wrist and raised his cup.

For a moment it was eerily silent, then the healer stood up.

"Out. Leave us alone." The door clapped shut. Blessed silence.

I was in my room in Jorrvaskr, in my own bed, soothingly familiar and safe, and felt Danica's gaze on me. She was familiar as well, and her presence didn't startle me. Slowly my dazed senses came back to life, and I tried to get a survey over my state.

I was covered only by a thin, light linen sheet, and beneath that I was naked. That was the easy part.

The rest was a cacophony of different aches, none of them unbearable on their own... I had suffered burns and broken bones and flesh wounds and bloodloss before. But together they mingled into a symphony of pain that was as overwhelming as confusing. The left side of my head as well as the whole side from shoulder to fingertips felt as if it was covered in thin ice that would crush with the smallest strain, and the hollowness in my left eyesocket was only weird and uncomfortable. Chest, stomach and my upper thighs were cluttered with burn marks, raw and oozing wounds, probably where they had to rip the nearly molten metal of the armour out of my skin. I had difficulties to breathe, as if a vice was clenched around my lungs. And my left ankle was splinted and lay on top of a huge pile of pillows.

"How in Oblivion did I break an ankle?" I whispered to noone in particular, but as nobody was present but the healer, she answered. With a chuckle.

"We have no idea, Qhourian. But you did it thoroughly. It was crunched."

"Oh." To open my remaining eye for the first time was a sensation I only wanted to experience once and never again. It was frightening, nearly more frightening than the knowledge that the other socket was empty, this limitation of sense that was there suddenly, the strange flatness of my surroundings, the diminishment of my field of view. On my left side, there was only darkness. Nothing.

But I clenched my teeth and turned my head to the woman beside my bed, and she had instantly a goblet with deliciously fresh water at hand and held it to my chapped lips, the liquid dropping through my throat with calming coolness. I hadn't realised how thirsty I was. The healer answered my thankful smile with a pensive gaze.

"How bad, Danica? Don't talk sweet on me."

An eyebrow arched up. "Worse than everything I've ever seen, and still better than anybody could expect. You heal well. Astonishing well."

No, not astonishing. Hircine's gift.

"And... the child?"

Now she lost her sternness. "It lives. Apart from that... you tell me. It's your child." Her face lost the friendly professionalism, and her smile showed a warm relief. "You're a miracle, Qhouri, but you should sleep now. Those wounds need to heal slowly, or they will scar even worse than they will anyway."

I wasn't tired, but I closed my eye obediently, and the warmth of Danica's healing spell spread soothingly through my body. From outside I heard Ria's bright laughter and Torvar's grumble, the scents of steel and leather, oil and wax, smoke and Tilma's venison stew wafted into my nose. And with all these sensations came the deep quiet of safety.

"You tell me," she had said. And I listened inside of me, listened to the signals my body sent out, felt what was there beside the injuries. And I found two lives that miraculously still blazed brightly. It was still there, a beating heart, another life that had accompanied me through the last weeks and months, through my neglection and all the violations I had put it through. And now we were safe, a reliable safety.

This child had already gone such a long way – conceived in a night full of lust and love, it had become the promise of a happy future, of happiness, family and normality. A dream we dreamt only for a few days, but it had given me strength. After Farkas' death, in the abyss of the grief I didn't allow myself and in my denial of everything worth living, it had become nothing more than a piece of matter that was forced upon me, loathed and refused, the constant reminder of my loss and the destruction of everything I ever wanted for my life. An obligation I didn't want and something I had ignored and blanked out, too busy with my own sorrow, my own struggle and the necessity to neglect everything that would divert me from Alduin.

But in the end it was only a child, living, still growing inside of me, suddenly filling my mind like it filled my womb. It was like its father – unrelenting in its confidence that life was worth living, no matter the circumstances. And like its mother, clinging stubbornly to this life, even if the circumstances were stacked skyhigh against it.

And now it had a future – and it would have a home and a family it could claim.

At least if I let it and didn't run away again. This child had earned every bit of safety, shelter and affection I could offer him. It needed a mother who stopped struggling, who took the peace and the opportunities that were offered to her. And apart from that, it wasn't only mine – as Farkas' child it belonged here, into Jorrvaskr where he already had grown up.

A small smile settled on my face, straining the brittle skin.

"Danica?" I mumbled.

"Hm?"

Finally Tsun came and towered above me, I could feel the presence of the divine hero.

"That was a mighty deed!" he exclaimed. "The doom of Alduin encompassed at last and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Sovngarde forever, but your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may ..."

"No!" I choked out with a tormented whisper, interrupting him. "Not… here. Home… please. Send me… Hircine!" Every word tore through my throat like broken glass. I didn't want to die here. I didn't want to come back.

Blessed silence around me, and I waited, clinging to every rasping breath. Until I heard his booming voice again.

"Return now, Dragonborn, but take this with you: A boon from Shor, my Lord, a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need."

I sensed a chuckle in me, but it couldn't get out. He gave me a Shout although he must have seen that I wouldn't need it. That I never would use a Shout, any Shout again.

The thought had something strangely calming.

And then he Shouted at me and the blackness started to swirl, formed a tunnel of darkness that sucked me in. Before my eyes, unseeing and still so clear formed a picture of glowing moons hanging over a lush forest smelling of pines in spring, the light reddish, soothing and welcoming, and a howl echoed through my mind. I fell and let go, lighthearted and without any regrets, let the bloodmoons guide me and knew nothing any more.

"Not yet," a voice whispered, "not yet, love." A caress like a breeze, a waft of familiarity and peace, burning the skin of my face with a new blast of fire.

It shouldn't hurt. Not any more, not like this, not with this blinding agony. Why does it hurt so much?

"Because you're too strong, and you still live. You have to return."

But I want to stay. I earned it.

"Yes, you did. And now we will have an eternity together, but first you have a life to live. Your own life."

I can't. It hurts too much.

A silent laughter rang through the air. "You're just injured, Qhouri. You've survived worse."

Lips on my forehead, tender, careful and soothing. "I'll be here. Have faith."

I clinged to the faint scent of pines in the air and to the sound of this voice, so rough and gentle, wanted to cry and plead and sell my lifetime for the right to stay. For this agony to end.

But everything around me blew away, and only the pain remained.

The pain and then the cold. Never had I been so cold, too cold to shiver, so cold that I didn't feel myself any more, my thoughts slow and heavy and dazed. But at least I could still think, it was proof I was still alive. And when I opened my eyes, I knew where I was, on top of the world as I knew it. No lush forest, no scents, no voices, no mild breeze. No eternal hunt for me. Only agonisingly bright light on the snow, burning like needles into my eye...

The realisation hit me like lightning. Only one eye was left. And when I lifted the hand that lay beside my head to touch the hollow where it should have been, I saw a black claw, charred, blistered, with raw red flesh glistening in the cracks of what had been my skin.

"You're just injured," he had said. "You've survived worse."

A soundless laughter bubbled through me, shook my body without control. "I'll be back, Farkas," I whispered to myself, writhing in excruciating convulsions. Laughing hurt and breathing hurt even worse, enough to yearn for the darkness that slowly crept back into my mind.

But it wasn't merciful unconsciousness that shadowed my maimed eyesight, it was a real shadow, huge and winged, a snakelike neck covered in crimson scales hovering above me, and the sudden darkness beneath his mass was a relief.

"Thuri, Dovahkiin," Odahviing said, "you've proven your mastery. This is your doing. Listen!"

A choir echoed over the peak, perhaps it had been there before, but now I did what the dragon told me and listened. A choir of grief, sorrow and shock.

"Alduin mahlaan!" they roared over the howling of the wind, the dragons that had gathered here. They never gathered, solitary creatures that they were, only now when they had to mourn their master, the fallen son of a god, in hollow voices full of power and melancholy. It must have been dozens, and I would have liked to watch them, but to hear their lament had to be enough. A spectacle nobody had ever witnessed before, and would probably never again. Their mourning was the recognition of my triumph.

"They acknowledge your power, Dovahkiin, and so do I. Call me when you have need, and I will come."

I knew he had a sense for irony. Thur Dovahkiin, the Overlord Dragonborn lay more dead than alive in the snow at the Throat of the World, dozens of dragons around her, unable to move, unable to speak, only still breathing because her battered, stubborn corpse couldn't decide if it wanted to die of internal injuries, burns or rather of frostbites. Or perhaps his brethren would tear me to pieces when they had finished their litany, and he would sit there and watch because I didn't call him. The thought caused another chortle to whirl through my innards. Yes, my intestines hurt as well.

And this redscaled bastard towered above me and told me that he acknowledged my power. Hilarious.

"You ass," I choked out, every syllable tearing through my throat like molten iron, "leave me alone." I closed my eyes, my eye, closed down whatever was left of me, waited for the darkness to come back. It wouldn't take long now.

But Odahviing wasn't finished with me. He tilted his neck and bent his head down, sulphurous, reeking breath hot on my face. Yes, that hurt as well.

"You sure, Dragonborn?" Smug amusement trembled in his voice. "I could take you home."

Bastard. I didn't want to think of home. It was there, in the distance, warm fire and company, the promise of a life and a future. Jorrvaskr would always be there hereafter, like it had always been there to come back to. And it was safe. For me, that was enough.

"You sure, Dragonborn?" Odahviing asked again, and now his voice sounded nearly tender. I probably started to hallucinate. A grin tugged the corners of my lips, and I felt the skin of my face break again and the warmth of salty tears burn in the cracks.

It was my own lust for life that had defeated Alduin, and it had never flared as high as in that moment.

But he already spoke on. "For far too long has our door stood empty, Dragonborn, since Alduin set his soul-snare here in Sovngarde. It was Shor's command that let us sheathe our blades, and my heart weeps for the souls the worm has devoured since that time."

"I am here to take on him, Ysgramor. I will fight him with honour, like the Companions taught me."

"You will fight with honour, I do not doubt that, and you won't have to battle him alone," he said, and my eyes widened in surprise. "Three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe: Gormlaith the fearless, glad-hearted in battle, Hakon the valiant, heavy-handed warrior, and Felldir the old, far-seeing and grim."

I knew those names, I had seen Gormlaith die against Alduin, during their last battle. And for a brief moment I wondered if some day someone would remember me with equally flamboyant bynames. Probably not.

But Ysgramor had already turned away and I hurried to follow him through the hall. The people we met barely seemed to take notice of me, although many of them greeted my guide. Everyone seemed to be busy, and I was busy looking around in awe anyway, and only when we had passed the huge fireplace and he steered towards a corner, I saw a group of three watching us approach attentively.

I recognised them at once. The straw-blonde woman with the fierce eyes and a warpaint very similar to Aela's, her whole posture alert and eager; the redhaired warrior with the huge battle-axe and deep black paint, emphasizing the white milkyness of his right eye, looking friendly and curious beneath a braided mane and thick brows; and the old man with knotted beard and a robe that resembled the one the Greybeards still wore today, his staff strapped to his back, calmness and prudence in his features.

A wave of relief washed over me when I saw those three, battle-hardened, experienced warriors who knew exactly what they got themselves into. Although we had never met before – not really – it felt like meeting old friends, the instinctive bond of brothers and sisters in arms, joining in the final battle against our common foe.

"At long last! Finally Alduin's doom is ours to seal, Dragonborn – just speak the word, and with high hearts we will hasten forth to smite the worm!" The enthusiasm to get out there spoke out of Gormlaith's face when she looked from me to her fellows for approval.

"Revenge on Alduin has been too long delayed," Hakon muttered, "and still my heart burns like a hundred lifetimes ago." His voice was remarkably soft for such a hate-ridden hero.

Looking at them, I knew we didn't need counsil. We just needed our determination and the strength of our blades to finally quell the depth of our hate. We had all suffered under Alduin, had made similar experiences, had seen friends and beloved ones die to his terror. Dead or alive, we were related, and suddenly a strange, stout calmness settled in me, a calmness that transformed the black, abysmal hate I felt for the worm into strength and power.

And I saw the same deadly resolve in the faces of my new companions.

We would fight him, and we would best him.

"Let's get over with it," I said and turned to the exit, but Felldir stopped me.

"Hold, comrades – let us not join the battle blindly. Alduin's mist is more than a snare - its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four Voices joined, our valour combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

We would fight him together, and of course we would join our Voices. I didn't think this had to be discussed.

But Hakon encouraged his old friend. "Felldir speaks wise - the World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn." To hear it from someone else was encouraging, and I gave him a smile. "We must force him to fight and divest him of his hiding place. Let's Shout together, and then let's unsheathe our blades in the last battle with our black-winged foe."

"And then we will have our well-tempered revenge," Felldir said with an ironic smile, and Gormlaith finally stormed eagerly past me, the men following her. "To battle, my friends! Let the fields echo with the clamour of war!" Not very well-tempered that woman, but I knew that already. Her enthusiasm made me grin.

We ran over the bridge, hectic, nearly frantic, eager to start. Tsun awaited us at the end, arms crossed over his massive chest. "The eyes of Shor are upon you this day. Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare."

Honestly, I didn't care at all if the god watched us. He could either help, or get lost – this was no spectacle for his entertainment. This was about our worlds and our lives – eternal or mortal, it didn't matter – and we would take our fates into our own hands.

It was eerily silent when we approached the edge of the mist in a firm line, no moans and screams from the lost souls inside, and not a sound from Alduin.

He hid from us, the coward.

On a hidden signal, our voices echoed through the valley, thundering, overwhelming, a choir of power.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

The mist cleared instantly, revealed the ethereal beauty of the landscape, and people stood there, hundreds or thousands as far as my view reached, stunned from the sudden clearness around them. Some of them started to run towards us, towards the redemptive bridge they had searched vainly for so long.

"VEN MUL RIIK!"

Alduins answer came fast, a sinister scream from far away, and the fog crept back over the land and the lost souls, letting out only desperate screams from inside.

"Again!" Hakon yelled.

We Shouted twice more, and twice more Alduin mocked us, hiding instead to answer our challenge. Gormlaith encouraged her brother who was on the brink of giving up. "Only once more. His strength is faltering, I feel it!"

Except for the strange, unearthly sky above me, my surroundings looked remarkably normal. Normal for an afterworld, that is... it was still far from everything I had ever seen, a scenery of a truely unearthly beauty. A landscape of harsh mountains and green valleys, woodcovered hills rolling into the distance and streaked by lively streams, and far away a gigantic building apparently hovering above the mist. But it was the light that made everything so completely different than my world, every colour looking much brighter than it should, and it gave the whole scenery an unsubstantial, magical feeling.

I fought myself to my feet and looked around, marveling and speechless. For a moment I felt the same overwhelming joy that had made me scream with laughter on Odahviing's back – the sheer happiness to experience such a special moment, no matter the circumstances. Sovngarde was truely beautiful, a worthy resting place for the heroes of the north, even if it would never be my place to stay.

But a path led from my position down the mountain, and when I lowered my view and tried to follow it, it vanished into a valley not only covered, but filled with mist. Impenetrable mist, dark, devious and sinister... this was Alduin's hunting ground, the snare of a coward, picking his trapped prey instead to hunt and to fight it. The sight let my neck hair stand on end, and when I entered the shadowed land with hand on my hilt and the light vanished in the thick haze that was nearly tangible, lying like cotton around my senses, a cold, determined fury awoke in me.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

The mist cleared before me, revealing a paved path leading through the valley, and from above the familiar roar answered my challenge with anticipation and wrath, the sound scratching at my innards. But I couldn't see him, the World-Eater, he didn't show himself. I shouted my way free with joy and with pride, I wanted him to hear me, wanted him to know that I had come for him and that his snare wouldn't detain me.

But I wasn't alone, and not only Alduin heard me. There were souls wandering through the mist, lost and frightened, Alduin's prey, unable to find a way out of the doomed valley and to Shor's hall, and they were hopeless and scared. They pleaded that I'd lead them, that I'd show them the way, but every time I shouted, Alduin answered and I looked behind me, they were gone again. Lost souls, trapped not only in the darkness around them, but even more in the terror the Worldeater evoked.

I would not fall victim to this terror, although I felt the atmosphere tug on my determination, how it tried to drip with helpless anger and frustration into my mind. If I couldn't help these people now, I'd end this threat once and for all.

Only one of the people I met, a Stormcloak soldier lingering motionless beside the path, his face raised to the sky, shook me to the core. So far I had met noone I knew, not even remotely and was glad about it, but I knew this man, blond, big and burly, a scruffy beard covering his cheeks, clad in tattered blue armour. He was the man who had helped me to escape Helgen, he had faced the dragon with me for the first time, and now he was here, dead and still prey to his insatiable hunger.

"Turn back, traveller," he said with grim fatigue in his voice, "all courage is vain against the foe who guards this way." He barely looked into my face.

"Who are you, soldier?"

He didn't expect an answer to his plea, and now he looked at me, his eyes growing wide with wonder.

"I know you," he whispered incredulously, "and you don't belong here."

"Yes," I nodded, "you remember too. Once you saved me from him," I pointed at the sky, "and now I will save you. I am more than just a traveller. What's your name, soldier?"

"Ralof. Ralof of Riverwood." His voice was firmer, now he had something to focus on.

"How did you get here, Ralof of Riverwood?"

"Does it really matter?" His laughter was bitter. "A stray arrow in an Imperial ambush, near Giants' Gap, in the gloom before the dawn. A death neither brave nor honourable... and still I'm here..."

"You risked your life once when you helped me to escape Helgen and Alduin, and perhaps you saved yourself with that deed," I said. "Stand fast. The World-Eater will fall, and soon."

The northern slope looked marginally less steep than the other side, and it also looked as if it would bring me a little bit easier to the roof of the temple. But whatever it looked like, it was a false promise. At first I didn't mind that the only way I found led away from Skuldafn, a bit of a distance between me and my foes even seemed preferrable, especially as I wasn't able to make my way through the rocky mountainside soundless – every rolling pebble seemed to trigger an avalanche  and made enough noise that I expected to have woken the attention of the army not too far away.

At first, I also didn't mind that the ascend went slowly – better safe than sorry, I thought. But it went too slowly, time went by far too fast, and when the moons finally descended behind the horizon in my back I was still far from the height I had to reach.

Upwards. Always upwards. Cursing between clenched teeth I clinged to a few rocks that protruded in front of me and tried to catch my breath, tried to glue myself to the rough surface. Every once in a while a violent squall threatened to blow me into the abyss below me, every muscle burned in an agonising fire from the strain of the unaccustomed exertion, my fingers were raw and bloody even under the thin leather of my gauntlets, and the sweat froze in my braids and ran down my spine, leaving soreness and chill behind.

And I couldn't even turn back. To try to make the same way down again would have resulted in an inevitable crash and many broken bones. Only to look down to the yard where Odahviing had landed and I had started my insane climb made me feel dizzy.

When I pulled myself on top of a ridge, the muscles of arms and shoulders bursting in an outbreak of pain, I lay prone for a few endless moments, panting and heaving, whimpering when I pulled off the gauntlets and cooled my hands in the thin layer of snow covering the rocks. And when I finally opened my eyes again, already steeling myself for the next stage, I had reached my destination – I lay directly above the roof of the temple, and nobody knew that I was there.

I was too tired to be relieved, too tired and too sore to feel anything. When I turned to my back with a heavy sigh and saw the first tendrils of a faint morning light quiver over the top of the mountain, still high above me, I suddenly realised that I hadn't slept for nearly two days. And beneath me waited already the next challenge – two dragons sitting on top of enormous columns, waiting and watching, their heads slowly swinging back and forth, their wings neatly folded to their backs. Half a dozen heavily armed draugr patrolled the lower level of the area, and on an elevated platform in the centre, reachable only over a broad stairway, lingered a thing – something similar to the foe Vilkas and I had faced at Shearpoint, a nightmare made flesh, a grotesque figure with the head of a draugr, his face covered by a crude mask, head, shoulders and arms armoured in the familiar shimmer of dragon scales. And the rest of the body... well, there was none. Only a mass of tattered rags swaying in the breeze, nothing substantial, the whole being hovering above the ground.

This had to be a dragon priest, the first servants of the dragons during their reign who had outlived the eras in this horrible form, and even the dragons themselves looked like friendly pets against this enemy. And it guarded something, a hole in the ground, but beneath it wasn't the interior of the temple. There was light and shadows and matter, swirling around in a maelstrom that made my head spin, and from its centre protruded this beam of light I had already seen from below, this piercing brilliance that tore into my eyes and fought back the gentle light of the morning.