II
"One Last Song"
11 Last Seed, 4E 202

Brenna bounced up from her bed, brushing out bits of fabric caught between the plates of her armor. Now, she had a driving force behind her. It didn't particularly matter how, or at this point, why she was going to get to Whiterun, but Whiterun was from this point forward her one and only goal until she arrived there. She stepped out of her room after picking up her satchel and shoving her journal back inside, her metal-covered boots clanking against the inn's stone floor, creeping out into the inn's main hall as quickly and quietly as she could.

Of course, such a thing was relative - no sooner than a minute after she stepped out of her room did a man she had never seen before nor did she honestly care to interact with step out as well, his head cocked and his eyes still partially fused shut with sleep in the corners. He gave her a quick once-over, his eyes widening at the sight of the ebony-armored woman in the darkness. For a moment, he seemed to be about to speak, but when the warrior put a hand on the blade by her side, he shivered, stepping back into his room with a chill coursing through his body.

Satisfied with her latest victory (and so far, her only victory in recent memory), Brenna strode across the floor of the inn's main hall towards the door, no longer bothering to keep quiet. As she threw open the door, her hair blew back from the sudden nighttime breeze sucked into the building. She spit a strand a hair out of her mouth and broke into an eager sprint towards her horse, only to stop and try to regain her composure. Everyone outside must have been watching her prance around like a little girl. How foolish she must have looked to all of them.

Turning around, she expected to affirm her fears, but found no such luck: not a single soul was anywhere to be found. Riverwood was such a boring town that even the guards were not out that night, instead having chosen to remain in their homes, probably watching the skies from their windows just as she did every night when she could not not find the strange, foreign thing that was sleep.

A small chuckle escaped her lips as she mounted her horse, who whined and complained at the sudden awakening.

"Hush now," she whispered, leaning next to the stallion's ear. "Stop whining, we have to go now. You can rest later."

The horse offered no response save a reluctant neigh as his rider pulled back on the reins, twisting his tired and aching body towards the road. Brenna wrestled with the horse for several seconds as he made his best attempt to stay put, but his legs gave way to the force she exerted upon him, and at last he tripped and stumbled forward, breaking into a majestic stride. He felt the cool hand of his rider upon his neck, brushing downwards in approval.

Dust spewed up into the air as the horse's hooves stamped over and over against the dry summer road, each little storm rising up into the faces of various guards and passersby. Onward she rode through the stone portal and away from this obnoxiously quiet town, on the road to Whiterun, through the day and the night, through the howling of the breeze and through the unquiet darkness.

She lost count of the hours, and was free from the bounds of space and time in her saddle. There were no limits to what she could do - she could ride anywhere, no roads could bind her to any sort of path. She could not be entrapped by the hands of time and fate, and would decide where she went. And how many decisions there were - every dozen paces, there was a new fork in the road, a new cave, a new barrow, all with countless secrets to be found. Yet still she cared only of reaching Whiterun, and there were many roads she had not taken. The White River and stars were her guide.

In truth, it was not as long as she thought - only a few days had passed by the time she rode up to the massive stone walls of the hold capital in the dusk. Looking up, she saw Whiterun in all its glory and magnificence. Unlike Riverwood, the scars of past battles no longer shown along the walls or the skyline. She had not been present for the Battle of Whiterun, months ago - she had been on Solstheim, dealing with Miraak and his cult.

An Imperial soldier stepped over to her side when she stopped at the gates, holding up a torch and squinting. "Dragonborn," the soldier said, the title irritating her in the depths of her mind. "You haven't been to the city in quite some time."

Was he some old friend? She had not served in the Legion - she had found it more prudent to get straight to killing Alduin. Looking across his face, she grew frustrated and hated the faults of her memory. The guard himself, meanwhile, seemed to only be slightly perplex, raising a brow. "Is something wrong?" he asked stupidly.

"No, nothing is wrong. Everything is great," she said without a smile, even though it had been the first time in a while she had said it without sarcasm.

The glow of the guard's torch highlighted beads of nervous sweat running down her forehead, and she brought an arm to her face and brushed her hair out of her eyes and the sweat from her brow. In response, the guard turned away, towards one of his colleagues, and gave him some obscure signal she knew she could never possibly memorize. Somehow decoding such cryptic instructions, the guard pulled down a nearby lever, and the gates to the city opened outward. Her horse crept forward a few steps before the soldier next to her held out a hand. "Hold on, Dragonborn. I think your horse needs some rest. Go on ahead into the city, someone'll take him down to the stables."

For once, it was an order she could concede to. Promptly, she dismounted, her boots clanking against the cobblestone. From her much less lofty perch, she was once again reminded of the Nordic physique, that is to say, everyone was taller than her: she looked up at the guard, who hestitated before saluting her. She knew it was hestitation, what else could it have been? They looked down upon her, both figuratively and literally, and she glared at him, uncaring as to why he seemed to perplexed by her.

Turning towards the open gates, she strode into the city without a word and left her horse behind, but the same could not be said for her troubles. Late at night, she had time to think, without the hordes of townsfolk hustling and bustling and generally annoying her. Why had she come to this place again? It had been business. She had thought to see her friends, but had been so foolish as to arrive so late at night. Another mistake.

She looked around her surroundings, taking in the sights of the city. The Plains District was a charming place. It was a town, not a city. The city did not come until later. The streets slithered on into the shadows, and only the occasional bare torch and the stars above provided light, but it was still infinitely brighter than that manor of hers.

Forward, she marched on, and not once did she realize how tired she was until she happened upon a quaint little house that was not particularly different from all the others, except for the word "Breezehome" carved above the door. Some time ago, she had bought the little house, and she reached for her satchel - her satchel had been her best companion, carrying dozens of potions and Divines only knew how many useless trinkets in its enchanted space. Within, she finally dug out her keyring from one of the various pockets, and flitted through it until she found the key to the house before her, and stepped inside. No one had been in the house in months. She had long since cleared her things from there and moved them all to the manor by the lake in Falkreath. Yet still there remained some of the old trappings - shelves and crates full of items she had never bothered to investigate, and a warm bed that she seeked out and fell into with no purpose but a dreamless, formless sleep.

This time, however, she failed in her purpose: she saw visions. Of what, she was not sure in the slightest, and they disturbed her in her incognizant state. Noises plagued her ears for a small part of the night, and then deafening silence fell upon her until she awoke, once again in her armor.

Yet wakefulness was no less dark than sleep. Opening her eyes, she saw nothing ahead of her but the blackness, and she nearly screamed, jumping up as a piece of paper fell from her eyes.

Blushing from the humiliation that no one had been around to see, she picked up the paper that had fallen onto her lap, and already she could see the ink through the back in a familiar handwriting - or at least it struck her as familiar, even if it wasn't. There was no persistence in memory, no thought without fault. She couldn't remember one way or another, and she shrugged and unfolded the note:

Brenna,

She stopped reading, setting down the note and giving the wall behind her a paranoid glance, and two realizations set into her waking mind:

One, someone had broken into her house.

Two, someone had broken into her house and knew who she was.

So many people knew who she was, but few people knew her name. Those that did inevitably fell into the trappings of titles and formalities, and she could not cure the plague of Dragonborns and Dovahkiins and My Thanes and Ma'ams. But someone here had acknowledged her, and her wish had been fulfilled, at long last.

Brenna took the letter into her hands once more and stood up, heading towards the front door and clearly not looking where she was going.

Brenna,

I know we haven't spoken in a while, but I've something I'd like to discuss.

I can't speak much more of it right now. I don't know if you'll even receive this message, but if you do, come back to the castle as soon as you can - and you know exactly which castle I mean.

Serana.

The name at the end hit her like she hit the doorframe on her way outside. Serana. A name she had once held so many feelings about - mixed feelings, to say the least. And now she had found her friend once more with the simple opening of a letter.

A sick feeling came to her stomach for a fleeting second, and she never did figure out what exactly it was - a feeling of dread and nervousness. This was not opening a letter. This was opening her festering old wounds.

I'm so sorry this took me nearly a month to get out. I admit, the chapter is short and offers little closure (the ending isn't very good at all), but I was so tired of having this sitting in a folder unfinished that I just had to get it out there. Luckily, unlike every other fanfic I've ever started, I do have a real plan for this one, and no matter what I do, you will see it finished at some point. Future chapters will probably be more varied in length. The next chapter, however, you can expect to be a good bit longer than this one. Thanks to everyone who followed, by the way! It's nice to know that people are willing to put up with me and my incessant delays. The next chapter will not take a whole month - I promise.