Chapter 42

The first thing Marcus noticed as they crept out of the great iron door of Skuldafn Temple was a draugr Deathlord standing about thirty feet away with its back to them. Beyond that one, fifty feet further away, was another one.

Tamsyn touched his arm; when he looked at her, she gestured to their left, where another Deathlord patrolled the perimeter of the upper terrace about two hundred feet from them. She pantomimed by pointing upward, behind them, flapping her fingers like wings and holding up four of them. He nodded. There were four dragons on the terrace above them, and they could have no idea if they would stay out of a fight or join in. He drew his hand over a stern-looking face and pointed upwards, cocking an eyebrow.

Tamsyn nodded. The lich waited for them as well.

Marcus let out a frustrated sigh. He didn't like the odds. Their only hope was to take out the enemy by stealth if they could, but there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be noticed by the other residents and would soon be in over their heads. Making a quick decision, he gestured Tamsyn to follow as quietly as possible and crept along the wall to their left.

An abutment of stone protruded into the terrace, and as they peered around the corner, Marcus could see a flight of stairs leading up toward the uppermost level of the temple. Ahead and to the left, Marcus could see one Deathlord – the one he had first noticed on this side – still prowling the edge of the parapet. Beyond it, far across the terrace, were two more, shuffling up and down, peering about with their unholy blue glare.

Marcus paused to think. He just wanted to get to the portal; he didn't want to have to fight every damned draugr in the place. But if he didn't, they would overwhelm Tamsyn and him as they fought whatever waited above. Grumbling in frustration, he gripped his bow tighter and maneuvered closer to the unsuspecting Deathlord, nocking an ebony arrow as he went. He saw Tamsyn make a gesture with her hand from the corner of his eye, but he heard nothing. All his attention was focused on the draugr.

You need to one-shot him, Marcus, he told himself. Just like you did before. Maybe the others won't notice.

Maybe pigs will fly, too, he snorted to himself. Drawing a deep breath, he pulled back and released.

And watched the arrow sail past the draugr's head as it took a step to the side.

"SonofaBITCH!" he swore.

The draugr's head snapped around, piercing them with twin pinpoints of blue hate.

"Well, on the bright side, we don't have to sneak anymore," Tamsyn quipped, pulling the Sanguine Rose off her back as she made a gesture with her free hand. Lightning crackled forth and struck the Deathlord in the chest, staggering it back a few steps. The air between them warped purplish-black as the Dremora stepped forth.

"No one escapes!" he bellowed, charging straight at the draugr.

Marcus glanced quickly to the left and right. In the gathering gloom of evening, the two draugr at the far eastern end of the terrace had yet to notice them, but the two patrolling the west side were already moving their way. So far, nothing moved from above. If the dragons or their Priest heard them, they apparently figured the Deathlords were more than a match for intruders.

Marcus roared his Unrelenting Force at the two Deathlords closing in from the west. One choked on its own Shout, while the other brought a Frost atronach into being, sending it lumbering toward them. He couldn't spare a glance back at Tamsyn to see how she was doing; all his attention was focused on the two Deathlords bearing down on him.

Dodging the swing of the ebony greatsword from the first one, Marcus swept both swords across his enemy's chest, laying open the ancient armor. While their weapons were top-notch, he observed remotely, their armor never seemed to change. It was always the same kind of ancient steel armor he'd seen on every draugr in every barrow across Skyrim. For that, he counted himself lucky.

The atronach slammed its iceberg fist down like an avalanche, and Marcus barely side-stepped out of the way. The stones under his feet vibrated with the force of the blow. His throat was still too raw to Shout again, and the second Deathlord was quickly joining the fray. He took a gamble and tumbled between and past them, surprising his foe. Leaping to his feet behind the spell-caster, he rapped smartly on the back of its head with the pommel of the dragon bone sword. The monster staggered to its knees, giving Marcus a chance to sweep out with Dragonbane toward the one with the two-handed sword.

Electricity crackled along the length of the Akaviri blade, and Marcus noted with satisfaction how the Deathlord's sinews appeared to suddenly seize up. The smugness was short-lived, however, as the atronach's frozen fist smashed into him, knocking him backwards onto his back. Dragonbane skittered out of his grasp and lay several feet away.

The Deathlord with the greatsword gave an evil laugh and raised its ebony blade over its head, and Marcus had a fleeting sense of déjà vu as he somehow managed to roll to one side. With a resounding clang the greatsword cleaved into the stone where his head had been a heartbeat before, leaving a gash like a raw, gaping wound on the terrace.

Marcus did a kip-up and got to his feet, sweeping low with the dragon bone sword. It connected with the Deathlord's knees and brought the creature low. Without even thinking about it, he channeled his shallow pool of inner magicka into a column of pure fire directed at the atronach, which stumbled backward, giving Marcus time to sprint over to Dragonbane and retrieve it.

Glancing around, his eyes searched the gathering darkness for Tamsyn. She stood at the far southern edge of the terrace, going toe-to-toe with the spell-casting Deathlord, holding off its frost attacks with a shield of pure energy which glowed at the end of one extended arm. With her other hand she continued to lob electrical attacks.

The Deathlord in front of Marcus was getting to its feet, and the atronach had recovered from his fiery attack. He wished he could say the same for his paltry magicka reserves. Well, it didn't matter. The tightness in his throat had eased, and he knew he could finally Shout again.

"TIID!" he bellowed, and sprinted toward the Deathlord as soon as he felt time slow to a crawl around him. Three swift, precise attacks followed, before the draugr could even begin to react, and it was all over for it. The blue light went out of its eyes and it lay still. Marcus turned to the atronach, already a slow creature, to see that its time had run out and it was already melting away. Grunting in satisfaction, he turned back towards Tamsyn and the spellcasting Deathlord, just as time caught up with him. His eyes widened in horror as the draugr took a deep breath and Shouted at the Breton girl.

The Unrelenting Force struck Tamsyn full in the chest and lifted her off her feet, sending her sailing over the edge of the parapet.

"NOOOOOO!"

The cry of anguish was torn from him as he helplessly watched the woman he loved tumble head over heels out of sight. Blind rage gripped him, and he rushed forward, only to be speared by two consecutive ice spikes, one through his chest and one through his leg. The leg went numb immediately and Marcus stumbled. The arctic feeling spreading through his chest made it difficult to breathe, but Marcus struggled to his feet to limp closer.

"You fucking sonofabitch!" he screamed. "You goddamned shambling nightmare! I'm gonna hit you so hard your ancestors will feel it!"

Not original, perhaps, but he was furious beyond recall, and pretty sure the draugr hadn't seen Mulan.

Marcus lashed out with Dragonbane but the Deathlord blocked it with its own blade, twisting the Akaviri sword in Marcus' grip as it shot him with a continuous stream of Frostbite. Already chilled, the spell numbed him down to his core, the sword slipped from his grip for the second time in ten minutes, and Marcus realized he may have made a mistake in allowing his rage to edge out his better reason.

"Fear leads to anger, and anger leads to the Dark Side," he remembered. Stupid, Marcus, stupid! You're gonna die here!

Sudden heat washed over him, coming from somewhere behind the Deathlord. It singed and hurt more than a little, but eased the deathly grip the cold had on him. The Deathlord spun around to face this new threat, and at first Marcus thought Odahviing may have returned to help him after all.

"You didn't see that coming, did you? Ha ha!" Tamsyn crowed.

Marcus blinked and stared. Unbelieving, he rubbed his eyes for good measure. Tamsyn was floating in mid-air, lobbing firebolts at the Deathlord!

Of course! The Ring of Flying! He had completely forgotten about it. Overjoyed, he took the opportunity she had given him to retrieve the Akaviri blade and whirled around to skewer the Deathlord from behind. It sank to its knees and there it remained, the light dying from its orbs.

"Tamsyn!" he cried with delight.

"Shh!" she cautioned, putting a finger to her lips. She lighted floated over to him and touched down. "There are still two other draugr at the far end over there, besides whatever awaits us up there."

"I don't care," he breathed, cupping her face tenderly. "You're alive!" He kissed her, brief and hard. "You wonderful woman, you! I thought—" Marcus broke off. He didn't want to put into words what he'd thought, but Tamsyn seemed to understand.

"I'm fine," she assured him, kissing him in return. "A little rattled, but that's to be expected."

He gave her another gentle hug, the spiky parts of his armor making it somewhat awkward. "Are you sure you're ready to go on?"

"Yes," she nodded. "We're so close, Marcus! You can see the light from the portal up there. We have to keep going!"

"What about those two over there?" he asked, jerking his chin towards the eastern end of the terrace. "Will they join the fight if we don't take them out now?"

"Probably," she answered soberly. "We either deal with them now, or deal with them later."

"Deal with them now," he growled. "Come on."

He led the way across the terrace, clinging to the shadows, with Tamsyn in his wake. By now it was too dark to see clearly, even with the aid of the braziers that somehow always seemed to be lit in these places. The two Deathlords were far enough away from each other that Marcus found it easier to pick them off one by one with the ebony bow. He looted one for its ebony arrows, replenishing his stash slightly, and took the ebony sword and shield the other carried. They would make nice gifts for Blaise and Alesan, he felt.

Then, with Tamsyn following closely behind, they retraced their steps to the stairway leading up.

"Nahkriin will go for his staff immediately," Tamsyn whispered as they paused to assess the situation. "His staff is what's keeping the portal open. If he gets to it before we can stop him, he'll use it against us."

"Right, got it," Marcus muttered. "Kill priest, get staff. What about the dragons?" He could see two of them from this vantage point, sitting at the top of the Temple like sentinels standing guard. He knew they could see Tamsyn and him where they stood, but they made no move to attack.

"I'm not sure what they'll do," Tamsyn admitted. "On most of my play-throughs they just sat there. Only once or twice did they actually attack me."

That wasn't very reassuring, Marcus felt. But there wasn't anything they could do about it now. The lich was the more immediate concern. With no ceiling here, he could easily float out of Marcus' reach, and it was too dark now to hope to hit him with arrows.

"Let's go," he murmured. If he stayed here too long, thinking about it, he might lose an opportunity that would never come again.

They rushed the stairs and breached the top to see the lich, Nahkriin, already floating desperately toward his staff, to retrieve it before they could reach him.

Lightning shot past Marcus' head from behind and scored a direct hit on Nahkriin, just as his bony hand closed on the staff and removed it from some sort of holder. The light of the portal behind him went out as it closed, and Marcus felt a brief moment of despair, feeling they had failed.

"Don't let him escape!" Tamsyn cried, shooting at the lich again.

"The portal's closed!" Marcus called back, even as he rushed forward, swords drawn.

"The staff is the key," she shouted, dodging a stream of electricity aimed at her. "It will open the portal again! Don't let him escape with it!"

That's all I need to know, Marcus smiled grimly. "WULD NAH KEST!" he Shouted, sprinting down the length of the upper terrace like the Flash, and practically bowling Nahkriin over at the end. Masked, there was no expression on the lich's face, but Marcus had the feeling he'd startled the creature as it recoiled from him.

Time to play Cuisinart, he grinned to himself, falling into the now-familiar dance of steel he had perfected over the past year. Bolts of lightning lit up the world around him as Tamsyn kept up a constant barrage, draining magicka away from the Dragon Priest while he whittled away at it. When it tried to levitate away from him, Tamsyn used her Ring to fly over its head and keep it pinned down within striking distance for him. For his part, Nahkriin laid down line after line of crackling electric energy from his staff that Marcus had to avoid as he fought the lich.

Perched high above them, the four dragons waited and watched, offering neither assistance nor interference.

In desperation, Nahkriin managed to cast a bolt of lightning from its staff so powerful it knocked Tamsyn out of the air. She landed with a sickening thud several feet away and woozily propped herself up on one elbow. Furious, Marcus redoubled his efforts and finally managed to bring Dragonbane up and under what served as Nahkriin's armor, though there seemed to be little under it but bones. With a sudden, jerking seizure, the Dragon Priest stiffened, then crumpled to ash, leaving behind the armor and the mask.

A peachy-gold flare of magic from the tail of his eye told Marcus Tamsyn was healing herself, and she tottered unsteadily towards him. Silently, he held out the mask to her, then turned to the dragons, who were still watching them.

"And what about you?" he asked them.

"Mu los ni meyye," the one closest to them replied.

"'We are not fools,'" Tamsyn supplied.

"Mu saraan fah hin daal, uv Alduin."

"'We wait for your return, or Alduin's.'"

Marcus shrugged. In every conflict there were fence-sitters. Jarl Balgruuf, as much as he liked the man, was a prime example. It wasn't a case of disloyalty, but rather of being able to see value in both sides of the argument. In the case of these dragons, they merely wished to align themselves with whoever was the strongest. And if it turned out to be Alduin, at least they could claim they did not aid the Dovahkiin.

"Where's Nahkriin's staff?" he asked now.

"I think it flew over that way," Tamsyn said. She cast a simple Candlelight and they prowled the shadows until they found it lying against the wall. It looked unremarkably like every other Destruction staff he'd ever seen since coming to Skyrim; approximately five feet in length, rather bronze in color with a darker patina, and crowned with the body and head of a dragon.

Tamsyn picked it up and they made their way up the final flight of steps to the edge of the portal, now dark and as solid as stone. She placed the end of the staff into its receptacle, and with a shuddering sound, the concentric circles of the portal moved, widened and opened, allowing an other-worldly light to spill forth and roil above the gateway.

Tamsyn took a deep breath and Marcus found he unconsciously did the same thing.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

He smiled and took her hand. "Let's do this," he said. They leaped together.

When he could see again, and when his stomach finally settled, Marcus realized they were in some sort of ruined temple. Stone statues stood around some sort of altar to a forgotten god. It was dark, but not terribly so, as the sky around them was lit up with colorful auroras. Starlight peeked through the bands of iridescent reds, blues and greens, though he did not see Masser and Secunda anywhere.

Sloping away from them was a path that led down through gently rolling hills dotted with pines and birches, and the scent of hundreds of flowers wafted toward them on a gentle breeze. For a moment, he could almost forget what he had come here to do.

"I never realized it would be this beautiful!" Tamsyn breathed.

Far ahead, in the distance, Marcus thought he could see some kind of great hall, ablaze with lights, but between them was a deep valley shrouded in mist, which sent tendrils of gray toward them. Instinctively he recoiled. There was something sinister about that fog.

"It's Alduin's doing," Tamsyn said in hushed tones, as if he had spoken aloud. "It's how he feeds. You'll need to use your Clear Skies Shout to part it, if only temporarily. If we get separated in that mist—"

She didn't need to finish that thought, as a faint roar reached their ears. It was a challenge Marcus knew all too well; he'd heard it several times before. Alduin was on the hunt.

Grimly, Marcus led the way down the steps, making sure Tamsyn was right behind him. "Stay close," he warned her, and silently she nodded. "LOK VAH KOOR!" he Shouted, and like Moses parting the Red Sea, the mist separated in front of them, clearing only slightly to either side, and swirling with an almost malevolent sentience against the barrier he'd set up around them.

Alduin roared again, this time closer, and above the edge of the mist, he saw a blacker shadow against the night, wheeling and turning in the air, searching for his prey. They hadn't gone far when they encountered a lost soul, sitting by the side of the path. He was dressed in Stormcloak armor, and once more, Marcus felt the frustration of the futility of this civil war.

"Turn back, traveler!" the spirit cried. "Terror waits within this mist!"

Marcus knew all too well to what the soul referred. "Who are you?" he asked, hoping it wasn't someone he'd already met.

"Near Giant's Gap, in the gloom before dawn, we marched, unsuspecting into the Imperials' trap," the man replied. "Then we stood and fought, our shield-wall defending, until by dawn's light the Legion's ranks wavered. But I never knew if night's-end brought victory." He shook his head sadly. "A swift-flying arrow to Sovngarde carried me."

"What can you tell me about this mist?" Marcus asked, sympathy welling up for the poor man.

"I can tell you nothing," the soul answered. "But none have passed through it. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley." He turned to Marcus, pleading. "Can you lead the way to where Shor's Hall waits, beckoning us on to welcome long sought?"

"Shor's Hall?" Marcus asked, puzzled. "Is that the castle I saw at the far end of the valley? What is Shor's Hall?" He'd thought Sovngarde was ruled over by Akatosh. Perhaps he was wrong.

"Don't you know?" the Stormcloak soldier asked, surprised. "What drew you here, then? Surely your dreams showed you the way." He seemed not to have noticed that Marcus was, by default, an Imperial. Sovngarde probably wouldn't have been his final destination, if his life had truly ended here.

"I saw it fair when first I trod this long sought path," the soul said in a voice filled with longing. "The Hall of Valor, where heroes wait to follow Shor to the final battle. The pain and fear vanished, dreamlike, and a vision beckoned to Shor's Hall, shimmering across the clouded vale." The man's head dropped, and with it the tone of hope in his voice. "But quenched was hope by the shrouding mist; darkened is my mind. I've lost the way and wander blindly. Hurry! Before Alduin your soul devours! Bring word to Shor's Hall of our hard fate!"

Determined, Marcus reached out to pat the man's shoulder, expecting his hand to pass through, but finding it surprisingly solid. "Follow me," he said, "and stay close. I'll lead you through this mist."

A glimmer of hope filled the man's eyes and he got to his feet. "I'll try to hold to your hopeful purpose," he said, attempting to muster a smile. "Quickly, before this encompassing fog once more snares me in the World-Eater's net!"

"What's your name, friend?" Marcus asked him kindly.

"Torvan," said the soul. "Torvan Red-Shield. They called me that because my shield blocked the blows of many of my enemies."

"You may yet get the chance to fight again, Torvan," Marcus grinned. "Stick with me. We'll get through this together."

By now the mist was creeping forward again, encompassing them, and in spite of his brave, hopeful words, Torvan edged closer to Marcus and Tamsyn. Marcus Shouted his Clear Skies thu'um again, and once more the fog pulled back. Marcus imagined he could almost hear it snarl in frustration.

Once more he led the way down the path, with Tamsyn behind him and Torvan bringing up the rear. Overhead he heard a whoosh of leathery wings, and Alduin's guttural voice cut across the skies.

"VEN MUL RIIK!"

No sooner had he uttered the words than the insidious mist crowded around them. Refusing to give in to panic, Marcus Shouted back.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

He heard the angry frustration in Alduin's roar and grinned to himself. Not today, you fat wyrm, he thought. I'm coming for you.

A little further on they met up with an Imperial soldier, who warned them in much the same manner as Torvan had done. The Imperial said his name was Rikard Half-Hand, and indeed, it wasn't hard to see how he had come by his surname. Two of the fingers of his left hand were completely missing. Marcus fully expected the two men to come to blows for their cause, but both seemed to know there was a much greater common enemy to face here.

"Skyrim was betrayed," Rikard said, sorrowfully. "The blood of her sons spilled in doomed struggle against fate."

"Aye," Torvan agreed. "In death, too late, I learned the truth. Fed by war, so waxed the power of Alduin, World-Eater; wisdom now useless."

Rikard shook his head in resignation. "It is as if the gods toy with us, and snare us together in this grim mist, Stormcloak and Imperial alike. We wander hopeless, waiting for succor."

"The gods didn't have anything to do with this mist," Tamsyn said gently. "This is all Alduin's doing."

"Tamsyn's right," Marcus said. "And the sooner we get to Shor's Hall, the sooner I can find someone to explain to me what's going on and maybe get some help. I'm here to destroy Alduin once and for all, but I'm not going to rush blindly into it."

"Truly?" Torvan breathed.

"Are you the one they call Dragonborn?" Rikard asked in awe.

Marcus nodded. "I am. So now you know there is some hope. Let's get moving." He used his Clear Skies Shout once more and urged them all to stay close as they moved down the path.

They picked up more straggling souls on the way, until perhaps a dozen followed after Tamsyn and him as the path finally opened onto a wide meadow on the edge of an unfathomable crevasse. On the other side of the chasm, at the end of an impossible bridge – constructed from the spinal column of a gigantic whale – stood Shor's Hall, lights twinkling warmly in welcome.

"We did it!" Torvan cried jubilantly. "We made it!"

Their celebration was cut short, however, by the angry roar of Alduin overhead. The small band huddled together for protection, and Marcus couldn't help but notice there was no friction of opposing political beliefs here. They all suffered under the same threat.

"Come on," he said. "The Hall is just over there. Let's go!"

He started toward the end of the bridge, wondering how he would ever get across the insane stretch of bones, but a shadow blocked out the auroras, and Marcus found himself staring up and up at an impossibly tall figure.

"What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor's gift to honored dead?" boomed the man.

Irritated at the delay, with Alduin still too close for comfort, and the safety of his followers uppermost in his mind, Marcus snapped.

"Who the blazes are you?" he countered.

"I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor," the giant said. "The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor."

"You judge?" Marcus growled. "I thought just the fact they died in battle earned them that right. And while I'd love to sit and chat, in case you hadn't noticed, we've got a bigger problem on our tail."

As if to punctuate his words, Alduin roared out another challenge as the mists crept in once more.

"A fateful errand," Tsun replied blandly. "No few have chafed to face the Worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde's threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught - perhaps, deep counselled, your doom he foresaw."

"So are you going to let us in?" Marcus demanded. He was fast losing his patience.

Tsun glanced down at him. He had to look a long way down, and Marcus was not a short man. "No shade are you as usually here passes, but living; you dare the land of the dead? By what right do you request entry?"

Marcus was about to make several off-color remarks, but Tamsyn's hand on his arm stilled his tongue. As urgent as their situation was, there was no point in badgering the hired help. Tsun was just doing his job. He sighed and took a steadying breath.

"By right of birth," he answered, with as much patience as he could muster. "I am Dragonborn."

A wide grin split Tsun's face. "Ah! It's been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood."

Faced? "So you'll let us in?" Marcus pressed, urgently.

Tsun shook his great, shaggy head. "Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge 'till I judge them worthy by the warrior's test." He unslung the huge axe that was as long as Marcus was tall and prepared to attack.

Oh, crap.

He wanted to rage against the futility, the injustice and the sheer absurdity of the situation. Somewhere above them, Alduin waited to devour all the souls Marcus had so carefully and painstakingly brought to this point. Time was wasting while Tsun insisted on proving he was man enough against the Dragonborn. But there wasn't anything he could do about it. The giant was coming for him, and there was no way he intended letting that axe get anywhere near him.

"FUS RO DAH!" he Shouted confidently, smirking.

The smile ran away from his face, however, as the gate-keeper brushed off the thu'um like a horse brushing off a fly. He swung his mighty axe, and Marcus only barely managed to get his dragon bone sword up in time to block it. A numbing shock ran down his arm and he fumbled the blade, only just keeping hold of it.

Quickly tumbling to one side, he came up and made a quick slash to the back of Tsun's leg in an attempt to hamstring the giant. It appeared to have no effect, however, and once more Marcus had to scramble to get out of the way of the mammoth axe heading his way.

Rather than blocking this time, however, he leaped back, then sprang forward as soon as the blade swept past, cutting across the broad, bare chest of the gate-keeper with Dragonbane. He smirked again as it left a trail of red diagonally on the giant's flesh, but his eyes widened in dismay as the wound healed up immediately.

Damn it! he swore to himself in frustration. What's it going to take to beat this guy?

Again and again, Tsun's axe made a rushing, whistling sound as it sliced through the air. He pulled no punches, and made no attempt check his attacks. This was serious business, and Marcus found it was all he could do to hold his own against the onslaught, let alone land a few blows of his own. But as suddenly as it began, it was over. Tsun straightened, and the great axe returned to its holster down his back.

"You fought well," Tsun grinned. "I find you worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor's favor follow you and your errand."

"That's it?" Marcus asked in surprise. At Tsun's nod he turned and grinned to the others. "Come on, everyone. We're going in!"

"Not so fast," Tsun said. "I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor. The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor's lofty hall where welcome, well earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor."

"Not this again," Marcus groaned. "You mean all these people have to fight you?"

Tsun nodded. "You are free to go, Dragonborn," he replied, "but I must test the mettle of these here before I grant them permission to cross the Bridge."

"It's alright, Marcus," Tamsyn said. "Go on in. We can wait for you out here."

"But Alduin is still out here," he protested. "Without the Clear Skies Shout the mists will return."

"Then don't linger too long inside," Tamsyn replied pertly. "Gather what help you can and come right back out to us. With any luck, some of these people may be able to cross and go inside."

"Aye, Dragonborn," Torvan said. "And if it will ease your mind, I will hold off pitting myself against Tsun until you return, and offer my protection to the Lady Tamsyn."

"And I as well," Rikard said staunchly, not to be outdone. "Let these other worthy souls precede us. I will defend the Lady from Alduin's ire, though it cost me my very existence."

Unable to speak, Marcus clasped wrists with both men. The enormity of their sacrifice didn't escape him. If he failed to return in a timely manner, there would be nothing to stop Alduin from spreading his deadly mist and devouring the souls left here. And Tamsyn—He shuddered to think of the fate that might be hers.

"I'll be back as quickly as I can," he promised.

But as he set one foot on the Whalebone Bridge, he made the mistake of looking down. Like a scene out of Vertigo, the foreground and the distance below him seemed to telescope in and out of his vision, and the edges of his perception dimmed.

Too fucking far! he thought, suddenly frozen into immobility, and he immediately broke out into a sweat. He thought of turning back to ask Tamsyn if he could borrow her Ring, but with everyone watching him, expressions of admiration and hope on their faces, he knew he couldn't do it. They would think him a coward.

I AM A COWARD! he silently raged. A spineless, quivering, jelly-kneed mass of nerves. I'm a big, bubble-blowing baby. I can't stand heights!

It hadn't even been this bad riding Odahviing. He'd had a dragon under him then. Now, there was nothing but empty space and a thin piece of calcified bone. One misstep, and it would be all over. How sad would that be, to have come this far only for Alduin to win by default because the Dragonborn had two left feet?

He realized he was taking too long, that everyone was still staring at him, but he couldn't make his foot move any further out onto the bridge. His breath was coming in rapid pants, now, and he knew his heart rate was going through the roof, so to speak. If he'd still been back in his old life, he would be reaching for his blood pressure medication right about now.

Then he heard Tamsyn mutter something behind him, and felt a rush of energy flow through him. At once his fears subsided. What had he been afraid of? He had this. Walk a Whalebone Bridge? Piece of cake. It might as well have been a four-lane highway. He strode quickly and confidently across the bridge, never stopping until his hand pulled the latch on the golden doors of Shor's Hall.

"Welcome, Dragonborn! Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here."

It was a tall man who greeted him. He was dressed in ancient Nordic armor, but his head was bare of any helmet. Across his back he carried an enormous great axe, double-bladed and nearly as tall as the man who carried it.

"Who are you?" Marcus asked. "Are you Shor?"

The man's laughter boomed across the Hall.

"Nay," he said, still grinning. "Ysgramor, I am called, and I have resided here for many centuries since my death."

Ysgramor! Of course! Even Marcus had heard the name. Alesan spoke of him almost in reverence. He had been the founder of the Companions, and had led his people to Tamriel from a land called Atmora during the First Age.

"You're just the person I'm looking for," Marcus said now, eagerly. "I've got a dragon to kill and could use some help. Can we get an army together here and take care of it?"

But the fabled hero of old shook his grayed head. Marcus felt his heart plummet.

"Nay, Dragonborn," he said sadly. "Gladly would I join you in your quest but for one thing: by Shor's command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale's dark mist. But 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; Felldir the Old, far-seeing and grim."

Marcus knew those names, too. The First Tongues; the three heroes he had seen in his vision from the Elder Scroll.

"Hakon, Gormlaith and Felldir are here?" he asked, hope rising once more.

Ysgramor nodded, smiling. He gestured toward the other side of the Hall, where three familiar figures stood, much clearer now than they had been in his vision.

Grinning, he crossed the floor to clasp wrists with each in turn.

"At long last!" Gormlaith exulted. "Alduin's doom is now ours to seal! Just speak the word and with high hearts we'll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks!"

Marcus was inclined to agree with her, but Felldir spoke cautiously. "Hold, comrades," the old Greybeard said. "Let us counsel take before the battle is blindly joined. Alduin's mist is more than a snare. Its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle."

"Felldir speaks wisdom," Hakon agreed. "The World-Eater is a coward and fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe."

"We won't be alone," Marcus said. "The Arch-Mage herself has followed me here and waits on the other side of the Whalebone Bridge. She will lend her impressive magical powers to our cause." He didn't know why he was speaking as archaically as they were. He supposed on some level they would appreciate it more. Felldir himself seemed particularly impressed at his mention of the Arch-Mage. "We must hurry, though. Every moment I'm here gives Alduin a chance to threaten those I was forced to leave behind out there."

"Indeed!" Gormlaith agreed. "To battle, my friends! The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted."

So saying, the three First Tongues hefted their weapons and headed for the great golden doors. Marcus followed closely behind them.

The boost of courage he'd had crossing the bridge the first time had faded by now, but seeing the other three cross in front of him – especially the older Felldir – and knowing he had already made it safely across once, Marcus trailed only slightly behind the others as they waited for him at the other end of the Bridge. Tsun had pulled back a respectful distance, closer to the first step onto the Whalebone nightmare.

"This fight is yours alone, Dragonborn," he said. "I will lend neither aid nor hindrance."

"I understand," Marcus answered, and realized he truly did. The only other people remaining here were Tamsyn, with her two bodyguards, Torvan and Rikard faithfully standing close by.

"What happened to the others?" he asked, concerned.

"A few made it across," Tamsyn said unhappily, "but Alduin attacked and some panicked, running back into the mist. We couldn't stop them."

Grimly Marcus nodded. "Let's end this, then. Come on." He led them down to where the First Tongues waited.

"We cannot fight the foe in this mist!" Felldir called.

"Clear Skies," Gormlaith exclaimed. "Combine out Shouts!"

Nodding, Marcus gathered the energy within him and focused, timing his thu'um with theirs.

"LOK VAH KOOR!"

The resounding thunder of their combined Shout rolled around the valley, up the hills on either side and across the chasm behind them. Marcus was certain they had to have heard it inside Shor's Hall. He imagined all the Heroes plastered to the windows, watching and waiting.

As the thu'um faded, so did the mists around them, until it was nearly clear. The skies were still bright with auroras, but there was a lessening of the darkness by now. How long have we been here? Marcus wondered.

There was a rustle of wings that echoed around the hills, and from somewhere ahead and to their left Alduin roared.

"VEN MUL RIIK!"

Once again, the mists creeped down the slopes and rolled around into the vale, surrounding them, threatening to cut them off from each other.

"Tamsyn?!" Marcus exclaimed.

"I'm okay!" she called back, and Torvan and Rikard assured him they would stay with her.

"Again!" Gormlaith cried.

"We can shatter his power if we Shout together!" Felldir agreed.

Once more, their thu'um bounced back and forth from hill to hill, dissipating the mist, but again, Alduin Shouted back and the mists returned.

Frustrated, Hakon growled, "Does his strength have no end? Is our struggle in vain?"

"Stand fast, brother!" Gormlaith assured him. "His strength is failing! Once more, and his might will be broken!"

"I hope you're right," Marcus muttered.

"His power crumbles," Felldir pronounced. "Do not pause for breath!"

For a third time the First Tongues and the Last Dragonborn raised their voices together, and as the mists cleared away, they could see the sky was definitely becoming lighter. What passed for day here was approaching.

"He's coming!" Tamsyn called, pointing.

And indeed, if his enraged roar wasn't enough to alert them of his approach, the huge black shape looming larger on the horizon certainly would have.

"Use Dragonrend to bring him down," Felldir advised. "Keep him pinioned. He is only vulnerable when he's grounded!"

That was good to know, Marcus thought, but easier said than done. The fight he'd had on the top of the Throat of the World seemed tame now by comparison. Alduin had become stronger, feasting on the souls of the dead here in Sovngarde. He was faster and lither than before. He twisted away from their Shouts and rained death and doom down upon them all with the first Shout Marcus had ever seen him use, all those months ago when he was trying to survive Helgen. Huge flaming rocks were called down out of the skies, and Marcus alternately attempted to avoid getting smashed while trying to hit the dragon god of destruction with his own thu'um.

It was Gormlaith who finally scored a direct hit, and together they rushed forward, except for Tamsyn, who cast her spells from a distance, alternating between healing Marcus and throwing electricity at Alduin.

But Gormlaith's recklessness cost her, and a buffet from Alduin's wing sent her flying against the arch of the Whalebone Bridge where she lay still. Even from this distance, they all heard the resounding crack of her impact. Marcus wasn't sure if she was dead or unconscious. Could a soul die here? He didn't know and couldn't take the time to explore that line of thought.

Dragonrend had worn off. With only Gormlaith's hitting him, it could not hold a creature of Alduin's strength for long. Marcus wound up his own Shout, but Alduin dodged it and Felldir's as well, and raked them with a stream of flame that singed Marcus' eyebrows and seared his skin. Rikard loosed a flight of arrows which plinked against the black dragon's impossibly tough hide, doing little damage, if any. Alduin swooped over them, and Torvan made a spectacular leap to strike at his foe, but Alduin caught him in one claw and hauled the poor man into the air.

"Torvan!" Tamsyn cried, sending a lightning bolt after Alduin that she knew would do no damage while the dragon was airborne.

Hakon fired off his Dragonrend, but Alduin neatly dodged it, climbing higher into the air, only to let go of the hapless Stormcloak, who landed with a sickening thud about a quarter of a mile away.

"NO!" the Arch-Mage cried, racing towards the fallen companion.

"Tamsyn!" Marcus cried, torn. Alduin was coming around for another strafing run, and he couldn't miss this chance.

"I'll go after her, Dragonborn!" Rikard promised, not waiting around for an answer.

Nodding, Marcus turned back to Alduin, who spewed forth his Fire Breath Shout as he approached. Diving to one side, Marcus wasn't quite able to avoid all of the attack, but Felldir caught the brunt of it. There was no sickening smell of burning flesh here, but nevertheless, there was a gruesome image of the old Greybeard completely immolated as Alduin once more flew off out of range.

"Felldir!" Hakon cried, rushing over.

"Al-du-in," the old man gasped. "Get..him…"

Helpless, Hakon turned to Marcus. "It's just you and me now, brother," he said.

"Get ready," Marcus warned. "Here he comes!"

Together the two men pulled away from Felldir's position to avoid any further injury to the old soul. As if of one mind, both waited until the last moment before diving apart, as Marcus and Benor had done many times, and firing off their Dragonrend Shouts.

Screeching in fury, Alduin floundered in mid-air until finally able to settle down near a small stream that spilled over into the chasm.

"Time to settle some old scores, lizard," Marcus snarled, racing forward with both swords drawn.

"You will threaten the sanctity of this place no more, foul worm!" Hakon promised.

"Meyye!" Alduin growled. "You cannot defeat me! This world is mine by right. I have destroyed thousands of worlds just like it, and will consume thousands more when you are gone." He snapped out with his scythe-like fangs, and Marcus barely managed to step back in the nick of time. Alduin was no slow lizard, that much was certain.

"You traitorous joor," the great, black wyrm sneered at Hakon. "You and your kind thought to defeat me once before, but you only delayed the inevitable. Your world cannot last forever, and it is long overdue for annihilation."

"We will see you defeated," Hakon insisted. "For the sake of all our descendants; for the sake of all of Nirn!" He slashed with the ease of long practice with his great battle axe, and was gratified to see a gaping wound appear on Alduin's chest that oozed black blood. "FO KRAH DIIN!" bellowed the disciple of Paarthurnax, and a column of icy frost spilled forth, striking Alduin in the face. Marcus was impressed. He only had the first two Words of that Shout. Perhaps when this was over, he'd look for the last one.

"You will see nothing," Alduin rumbled. "You will be devoured, as I will devour all things."

With that, his large, horned, wedged-shaped head snaked forward, chomping down on Hakon, taking the one-eyed fighter halfway into his maw. There was a grisly, crunching sound, not quite like bones snapping. It was more like eggshells being crushed. There was a brief glow of incandescent light, and suddenly Hakon was gone.

Marcus felt a lurch in his stomach. As he watched in horror, the wound Hakon had just made on Alduin closed up; the energy from the soul had healed him.

"Now you understand, pathetic fool!" Alduin sneered. "You cannot hope to defeat me." The blue light of Dragonrend flickered uncertainly about him, but Marcus couldn't move a muscle. The deadly, hypnotic glare of Alduin's gaze held him spellbound.

"You are no hero, despite what you think," Alduin jibed. "Do you honestly believe this is real? Your life – your real life – hangs in the balance. Your vehicle crashed, and you lie in a hospital bed, somewhere between life and death. Your wife is already gone, and only your stubborn clinging to a questionable existence keeps you from joining her in your afterlife. There is no Nirn, no Tamriel, no Skyrim, no Dragonborn. You are no young, sword-wielding savior. You are a middle-aged, overweight, dumpling of a man who tinkers with machines to fix whatever is wrong with them."

The voice had deepened now, and become persuasive.

"Why not give in now?" Alduin suggested. "Why fight, when it would be so much easier to let others carry on for you? You could, at this very moment, be sitting on a cloud somewhere, playing a harp and singing hymns with your lifemate. Why struggle for something that isn't even real, but a creation of your own imagination?"

Marcus tried to shake it off, but deep down inside he was afraid Alduin was right.

"And even if you lived, what would you come back to?" the dragon asked reasonably. "You might never walk again. You might end up a prisoner in your own mind, unable to do anything for yourself, becoming a burden to your family. You would never be able to hold your grandchildren again, or sail that boat you own along the river, or enjoy the company of your friends as you watch your favorite entertainment."

He didn't want to be a burden to his children, he knew. Not be able to hold his grandkids? Become a prisoner in his own mind? He shuddered inwardly. Perhaps Alduin was right, and it might be better to just go on to his rightful afterlife.

A bright flash smashed into the side of Alduin's head, breaking the power the dragon held over him. Lightning crackled, and the smell of ozone filled Marcus' nostrils, driving out the lethargy he had been feeling. Rage suddenly filled him. He had almost allowed himself to be taken in!

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" he screamed, filling it with all the anger and fear and self-loathing in him. How could he have let himself become so beguiled?

Alduin roared in fury and turned toward Tamsyn, standing several yards away. A full-throated Fire Breath washed over her, and Marcus felt his own throat constrict as his heart attempted to leap straight out of his body. But a moment later, when the conflagration died, he saw the glowing crescent of her shield spell and breathed a sigh of relief. She looked more than a bit singed, but she was alive!

Time to end this, he thought with sudden, cold wrath.

Vulnerable now to both steel and spell, Alduin twisted and turned like a dervish as he attempted to avoid attacks from both the Arch-Mage and the Last Dragonborn. Pausing only to fire off Dragonrend when it wore off, Marcus kept up a steady barrage of blows with both the dragon bone sword and Dragonbane, assisted by Tamsyn's spells, until finally, Alduin jerked and thrashed about, raising his head upwards.

"Zu'u unslaad!" he cried. "Zu'u nis oblaan!"

Great, glowing cracks appeared in the dragon's hide, as if all the inferno inside him was forcing its way out. Bits of flesh burned away, dissolving as they left his corporeal form, with the dragon god of destruction roaring his anguish the entire time, until finally there was nothing but a skeleton, as tarry black as the dragon's hide and soul had been. The wail of anguish drifted away on the wind. But the dissolution didn't end there. Tendrils of smoke or life-essence wisped up from the form until finally, with a muffled explosion of light, the remainder of the form that had been Alduin vanished into the morning air. Nothing remained of the First Born of Akatosh but a scorched plot of ground. He was gone.

Exhausted beyond measure, Marcus sank to his knees. He felt, rather than saw Tamsyn approach. Gently she laid a hand on his shoulder. He put up his own to cover hers and squeezed it, then bowed his head. Alduin was gone, but a heavy price had been paid to achieve it. How many souls had the dragon god consumed, as he had so callously devoured Hakon? Until that moment, it hadn't seemed real to Marcus.

"I think you've got a little Alduin on you," Tamsyn quipped tiredly, brushing ash off his shoulder.

"Torvan?" he asked quietly.

"We couldn't find his body," Rikard answered somberly. "Alduin devoured his soul before dropping the shell."

"And Gormlaith and Felldir?"

"I think they'll be alright," Tamsyn replied. "Gormlaith came around just before you really lit into Alduin. She was too weakened to help, though. Felldir never lost consciousness, though he says that might have been kinder. He's already regenerating."

Marcus rose and turned to face her. "So what happens now? How do we get back?"

"Tsun will send us, when we're ready," Tamsyn replied, subdued. "But I'm sure there are many people in the Hall who would like to meet you, to thank you."

"Do I have to?" he asked. He felt tired and drawn, and not particularly sociable. He hadn't had time to look for anyone in particular on his first trip to the Hall, and wasn't sure he wanted to cross the Whalebone Bridge again.

"You're the Dragonborn," said Tamsyn quietly, going into his arms and wrapping hers around his waist. "You're the slayer of the World-Eater. This is the only chance they will have to thank you for what you've done, until such time as your life ends and you return here for good. Don't deny them that opportunity."

Sighing, he pushed back her hood and kissed the top of her head. "Alright," he agreed. "I have just one favor to ask."

"And that is?"

He gave her a rueful grin. "Could you do whatever it was you did for me the first time I crossed that horror they call a bridge?"

Rikard and Tamsyn still had to prove their worth to Tsun, despite the fact he had personally observed their contributions to the fight against Alduin. Rikard went toe-to-toe with the giant, trading axe-blow for axe-blow. Tamsyn, on the other hand, surprised Marcus by bringing up her shield spell and conjuring up an ethereal blade.

"He's immune to magic," she told Marcus. "And I haven't been idle, you know."

Terrified for her at first, Marcus soon realized she hadn't been bluffing. Indeed, it was almost a treat to see her dodge, parry, and slip through the gate-keeper's defenses, stabbing repeatedly with her bound sword until at last, the Shield-thane of Shor put aside his weapon and granted her admittance.

"Rarely have I met one as quick and lithe as yourself, Arch-Mage," Tsun told her. "I doubt if I even managed to land a blow upon you."

"You did," the Breton girl admitted, rubbing her shoulder. "And trust me, it hurt."

They crossed the Bridge quickly after that and entered the golden doors together, to a Hero's welcome. It seemed the entire Hall had turned out to congratulate them. Lost companions would be grieved for at a later time. This day was a day of celebration, and the mead and songs and stories flowed freely.

Ysgramor approached Marcus and Tamsyn, bowing to each in turn, before saying, "There are those who wish to welcome you and thank you, away from the boisterous throng that celebrate here. Please follow me."

He led them across the Great Hall through an archway into a smaller chamber set to one side. There, several figures – Marcus swiftly counted nine – awaited them surrounded with auras of golden light.

Before Ysgramor could introduce them, however, Tamsyn rushed forward.

"DADDY!" she cried in pure unadulterated joy, flinging herself into the arms of one of the grey-bearded men. "OH, DADDY! It is you! It's really you! How did you end up here?"

Daddy? Stunned, Marcus could only look on as bemused as the others in the room. The man into whose arms Tamsyn had thrown herself, now wrapped those arms closely around her. "Sweetheart," he crooned. "It's really me. I'm so sorry, ma petite. Please forgive me!"

"Uh…do I want to know…?" Marcus whispered to Ysgramor, who shrugged.

"This be news to mine ears, as well, Dragonborn," was all he said, before bowing and slipped back out to the Great Hall.

"Is there something you wish to explain to us, Julianos, dear?" smiled a woman in a blue gown, her white wimple floating around her head as she repressed her obvious amusement.

"Indeed, I am most interested to hear this, too," said another woman, in a much more revealing robe. "Are you infringing on my bailiwick, sir?" There was no rancor in her voice. In fact, the other Divines – for Marcus had quickly figured out that was who they were – seemed to be highly amused at Julianos' expense.

"Not at all, Dibella, my dear," Julianos replied, refusing to let their amusement spoil this moment for him. "This is my true daughter—"

"Tamsyn," the Arch-Mage cut in, dropping a curtsey. "I'm Tamsyn now, Daddy. That other name was the old me." For some strange reason, she didn't seem the least surprised that her father was one of the Nine Divines.

"Your mother picked that name," the god of magic chuckled, wrinkling his nose. "I told her you'd be ten years old before you could pronounce it properly, but she insisted on honoring every female member of her family." He gave her an indulgent squeeze. "I wanted to name you Tamsyn from the outset."

"So that's where the inspiration came from," she mused, her eyes widening. "I wondered where I came up with it."

One of the Divines cleared his throat and Julianos immediately sobered. "Forgive me, my Lord," he said, unable to keep his eyes from dancing with delight. "I will be happy to explain everything if you would all like to get comfortable."

They did, and several minutes later Marcus found himself seated next to Akatosh himself, with Tamsyn apologetically seating herself next to the god of magic, Julianos. Could he really be her father? he wondered.

"Now," Akatosh began. "Suppose you tell us, Julianos, about your part in all of this."

"It was your idea," Julianos reminded him blandly. "You asked me to find out where Alduin had sent the soul that would become the Last Dragonborn here," he explained, gesturing toward Marcus. "As the god of magic and knowledge, I make it a point to learn all I can about something new."

"That doesn't explain mixing pleasure with business," growled one of the Nine. His smith's apron, and the hammer and tongs which hung from his belt, indicated he was Zenithar, the god of labor and commerce.

"Anytime you can mix business with pleasure, it's a winning situation, I say," Dibella cooed. Akatosh cleared his throat again and she subsided, pouting.

"Let him continue," Akatosh suggested.

"Once I knew the soul had been sent to Gaea, I made every effort to retrieve it, but I was too late," Julianos continued. "A new body had already been conceived, and the soul had already gone into it."

"But Tamsyn's older than I am," Marcus pointed out. "How can she still be your daughter if you didn't find out where my soul had gone until after she'd already been born?"

The other Divines looked at Akatosh who sat there unblinking. "I admit I helped," he said, unrepentant. "Once Julianos told me what had happened, we concocted the plan together. We needed someone who would know about our realm and have a tie to it, but who would not realize Nirn was real until after their soul returned here."

"It was necessary for one of us to spend considerable time in Gaea," Julianos explained, blushing only slightly, "to…er…set the wheels in motion, as it were."

"So why Julianos?" Stendarr asked. "Why not you, Akatosh?"

"Why not any of us?" asked another whom Marcus couldn't place. He still wasn't completely familiar with the pantheon of Skyrim, but he thought it might be Arkay. "If all you needed was a soul with connections to Nirn, any of us would have sufficed as the…er…donor parent."

"The fewer who knew of the plan, the better," Akatosh said firmly. "Julianos already knew what was at stake, and if it had been me…well, then Marcus would not have been the Last Dragonborn."

"Akatosh arranged for me to enter the Time Vortex and appear in Gaea before Marcus' soul arrived. We missed our mark by a few decades, unfortunately. Vortex lag; I hate it. Nevertheless, it was decided we would make it work to our advantage. Alduin would not realize what we had done, and the child I helped to create would live their life there, and their soul would be retrieved after death and brought back here to be held until such a time as we needed to bring him or her forth." Here he paused and looked embarrassed. "I…uh…may have dropped a few hints about our realm to certain people who would go on to inspire others to create an entire form of entertainment, based on Nirn," he confessed.

"There must have been more than a few hints, Daddy," Tamsyn scolded him. "This story is the fifth in a series!"

"If you're going to do something, do it well," he intoned, unabashed. "Anyway, I intended only to be gone long enough to ensure that Tamsyn would be born, but—"

Here the god of magic broke off as a shadow passed over his face.

"But what?" Mara prompted.

He turned his eyes up to her, knowing she would understand. "I fell in love with my mortal lifemate," he said. "Lillian was brilliantly clever, compassionate and…and fun!" He smiled. "I never enjoyed myself so much as when she was around. When she insisted we go through the mortal ceremony of marriage to consecrate the consummation, I went along with it, not realizing just how much she would come to mean to me. Every day, every week, every month I spent with her, I kept falling more and more hopelessly in love with her. When she told me she was with child, part of me celebrated that we had created something so beautiful together. But I also knew that my time with her was running out, and it broke my heart."

He paused and took a deep breath. "Eventually Akatosh contacted me, insisting I return to my duties here. I knew he was right. I made up a story for Lillian and kissed my baby girl goodbye. I only stayed long enough to set explanations for my disappearance in motion and then returned to Nirn."

He looked at Tamsyn. "But I left my heart in Gaea. Ma cherie, I'm so sorry."

Tamsyn said nothing, but Marcus could see the tears tracing their way down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Brother," Akatosh said. "You never told any of this to me. I assumed you delayed your return for research purposes. I know how you get sometimes."

"And I would have continued to hold my tongue," Julianos said, "except for the fact that my beautiful, impossibly brilliant daughter found a way to come here this day." He smiled at her, every inch the proud father.

"Then she is partly Divine, is she not?" the third goddess, Kynareth, asked. "By rights she belongs here in Aetherius with us."

Marcus felt his stomach drop. "No!" he said.

"There is merit to the argument," Stendarr agreed slowly.

"No!" Tamsyn echoed Marcus. "You can't make me stay here! I'm going back with Marcus. I love him!"

"Gently, child," Mara soothed. "No one is going to keep you from going where your heart truly belongs."

"Tamsyn will return to Tamriel," Akatosh said firmly. "There are tasks ahead for both her and the Dragonborn, and he will need her guidance. It was for this reason that Julianos sacrificed so much. We will honor that sacrifice." The note of finality in his voice settled the other Divines, who might have objected.

"There are still a couple of things I don't understand," Marcus said slowly.

"Speak your mind, Dragonborn," Akatosh invited, smiling.

"First, why go to all the trouble to have Tamsyn be born at all? Not that I'm complaining, mind you," he said quickly, smiling at her. "If all you needed to do was retrieve my soul, to bring it back here and be the Dragonborn, why involve her in this? Why jump through such elaborate hoops?"

"Would you have pursued your destiny, if Tamsyn were not here to guide you?" Akatosh asked drily. "You're a very stubborn fellow, Marcus Dragonborn. I know; I've been living inside your head for the past year. Think back to your first day in Skyrim, in Helgen. Do you think you could have survived the chaos and horror there without Tamsyn's help? Would you have accepted that it was real, or would you have gone into denial until it was too late, and Alduin succeeded in killing you there?"

Marcus didn't want to answer that. The truth was too patently obvious. He would have frozen. He would have refused to believe it was anything more than a nightmarish hangover and that mindset would have ended in disaster, not only for him, but for all of Nirn.

"You don't need to answer that," Akatosh said kindly. "What else did you want to know?"

"Thanks," he said, meaning it. "Secondly, if you could do all this – I mean, sending someone into my world back before I was born – why didn't you just go back to before Alduin pushed my soul there and stop him from doing it?"

"It's quite a bit more complicated than that," Julianos explained. "Not the least of which is the fluctuations of the time stream itself, which is why when I did go, I ended up about twenty years too soon. But it's more than that." He paused, as if finding the simplest words to explain a complication thing. "Your soul, which consists of everything you will become as a mortal, was contained within the temporal vortex until the moment of your conception. The First Tongues banished Alduin from their present, trapping him within the eddies of time itself. He was able to manipulate it from the inside, so to speak. That is how he was able to remove your soul from its place in the realm of Nirn and throw it into the realm of Gaea, all from inside the Vortex. Until the moment of your conception, you didn't exist as anything other than a thought – an idea. Once you were conceived, you moved out of the flow of Time into a fixed point."

"When Alduin removed you from one realm into another inside the Vortex," Akatosh continued, "it went unnoticed because nothing had been added to Time, and nothing had been removed from it. It was only after your soul left the Vortex and entered into a new body that the omission was felt."

"Poor Akatosh," Mara crooned. "You were ill for quite some time when that happened."

"So, by the time you noticed I wasn't where I was supposed to be," Marcus mused, "it was too late to do anything but damage-control, right?"

"Exactly," Julianos beamed. "That's a bright young man you've got yourself there, daughter," he murmured to his daughter.

Tamsyn's response was smugness itself. "I know," she glowed.

At length, Akatosh led them all into the Great Hall where the assembled Heroes awaited to formally greet them and acknowledge their great victory.

"My friends," Akatosh began. "Today is a day we will long remember in these Halls. Alduin, my First Born, called the World-Eater, is no more. And while a part of me is saddened by his passing, nonetheless his reach far exceeded his grasp. He overstepped his authority and took upon himself the mantle of dominion which was never his to take. Because his actions threatened not just Sovngarde, Aetherius, or any of the realms of Oblivion, but also that of mortalkind, Nirn itself, it was decided that one of the Dragonblood should be his vanquisher. No other could have accomplished this feat."

He paused and looked around at the faces turned up to them, and smiled genially.

"But no man, though he may stand alone in the final hour, comes to his destiny unaided. A wise man heeds the advice and counsel of his friends to accomplish great deeds. Throughout his ordeal, the Dragonborn has listened to his guides, and has treated others with fairness and compassion when they needed it, and with justice when they deserved it."

A murmur of approval and a smattering of clapping went around the room.

"And now," Akatosh continued, "may I present to you those who stood with the Dragonborn today to defeat the World-Eater, and rid Nirn of his foul threat. Rikard Half-Hand, recently come to our Hall, and valiant warrior. When Alduin's soul-snare loomed and threatened those who could not reach the safety of our doors, Rikard thought not of himself, but of those brothers and sisters still endangered, and vowed to hold his ground with them until help should arrive."

Rikard, for his part, looked stunned at the glowing words of praise showered upon him by the Chief of the Nine, and embarrassed at the round of cheers and applause the gathered Heroes gave him. Bemused and blushing, he shifted uncertainly on his feet until Talos invited him to join his new companions in the Hall. Someone shoved a tankard of mead into his hand and several pounded him on the back.

"Gormlaith Golden-Hilt," Akatosh continued, "Shield-Maiden and First Tongue! Felldir the Wise, learned Greybeard and prudent advisor. Their efforts at the dawn of recorded history, to throw off the yoke of Alduin's tyranny, cannot be discounted as a factor in his demise today. Their Voices joined with the Dragonborn to bring low their foe!"

The room erupted into applause as each Hero stepped forward to be recognized. Their former exploits were already well known in Shor's Hall. Their latest ones would leave out nothing in the re-telling.

Akatosh held up his hands and bowed his head. "I would also wish to pause a moment, and remember two brave men who have passed beyond recall. One there is that some among you knew well, and the other, a brother we will now never have the chance to know. I speak of Torvan Red-Shield, who – like Rikard Half-Hand – vowed to protect the souls not yet snared by Alduin, and who was devoured by the dragon before he could enjoy our company here. I speak also of Hakon One-Eye, whom some of you knew, who has left behind his counsel, his memories, and his love for this afterlife in our hearts. Let us remember them."

Everyone bowed their heads in reverence, and Marcus heard not a few surreptitious sniffles and choked-back sobs. Profound grief washed over him. Torvan and Hakon were gone, obliterated, erased, because of the Dragonborn's destiny. He hadn't wanted that. Until that moment, he never truly realized that when Alduin devoured a soul, it left nothing but memories behind. There hadn't even been a body to mourn over. No doubt Hakon knew this when he volunteered to help Marcus kill the World-Eater, but Torvan never even had the chance to experience the glorious afterlife the tales had promised him. It wasn't fair. He couldn't help wishing things had turned out differently. He wasn't sure how they could have, but it didn't keep him from wishing it.

Akatosh cleared his throat and spoke again.

"Even as we mourn the loss of those who have fallen to Alduin's hunger, we yet revel in the glory of their sacrifice. For without their help, it would have been far more difficult for the Dragonborn to fulfill his destiny. And the greatest help of all was that which he received, not from one of us, but from someone from his own realm." Marcus noticed that Akatosh tactfully didn't say which realm – Nirn or Gaea – he referred to.

"Therefore, it gives me great pleasure to present to you Arch-Mage Tamsyn of Winterhold!"

As the room broke out in cheers and applause once more, Marcus took note of the fact that Tamsyn's unique parentage was also not mentioned. That was probably for the best, he felt.

"And now," Akatosh smiled proudly, "we come to the one man who has persevered through all the adversities thrown at him; the man who – when thrown into the maelstrom – did not shirk his responsibilities, but rose above the challenges facing him to emerge triumphant. I give you…Marcus of Whiterun…Dragonborn!"

For the remainder of his life, Marcus felt sure the roar of approval that met this pronouncement must have been heard all the way back in Skyrim. The sound was so thunderous, he knew he wouldn't have been able to hear himself speak if he tried. Panic suddenly seized him.

Do I have to make a speech? I hate making speeches! I suck at public speaking! What if—

Relax, my son, Akatosh chuckled in his mind. They do not expect you to speak. Just accept the accolades. They only want to express their relief, and how much they appreciate what you have accomplished.

So Marcus stood there and let wave after wave of congratulations wash over him. He realized Tamsyn had stepped closer and slipped her hand into his, giving him a quick, reassuring squeeze. He held on to that hand as though it were a lifeline.

The rest of their time in Shor's Hall – and it suddenly dawned on Marcus that Shor was simply another of Akatosh's many aliases – was spent in celebration and companionship with the residents of Sovngarde. They ate and drank and sang songs. Stories were regaled of heroic deeds of the past. Marcus and Tamsyn took several moments to mourn the losses of Hakon and Torvan with Rikard, Felldir and Gormlaith – not even Arkay could bring them back.

They held long conversations with figures who had been but legend to them before their arrival. But there were a few pleasant surprises as well. Not long after parting from the First Tongues, Marcus saw two men standing together, an Imperial and a Stormcloak. The Imperial looked up as he approached and smiled at him. The face was so familiar, but Marcus couldn't place where he'd seen it before.

"Hail, Dragonborn!" the Imperial said. "I wonder if you know me?"

Marcus puzzled, while the Stormcloak soldier quietly chuckled. "It's the familiar that's so hard to place, Octavian," he grinned.

Familiar? But Marcus was quite sure he'd never seen the man in his—Wait a moment.

Octavian's grin grew wider as realization dawned in Marcus' eyes. He had seen that face before, Marcus knew. Every time he looked in the mirror!

"You're the one!" he exclaimed. Octavian was the 'poor schmoe' he'd replaced in the cart on the way to Helgen, his first day in Skyrim.

"I am, indeed, Dragonborn," Octavian confirmed. "I see you've been taking very good care of my body, now that I don't need it anymore." There was no rancor there. In fact, Octavian seemed perfectly at ease talking to the man who had usurped his corporeal form.

"You're not upset, I hope?" Marcus asked. "I really wasn't given much choice—"

"It's perfectly fine, Dragonborn," Octavian grinned. "As I said, I don't need it anymore. And you don't have to worry about running into my family, if you ever get to Cyrodiil. My parents have long since died – in the Great War, you see. And despite my name, 'Octavian' meaning 'eighth', I was an only child. I have no other relatives."

Marcus hadn't realized until this moment that the thought had occurred to him to wonder about that.

"He probably doesn't remember me, either," said the Stormcloak soldier now with an impish smile. "You didn't wear it long, but I hope my armor helped you survive just a little bit."

Casting his memory back to the first and only time he'd ever worn Stormcloak armor, Marcus remembered Ralof's voice speaking to him: "You might as well take Gunjar's armor. He won't be needing it now."

"Gunjar!" he exclaimed now, happy to have remembered. "That was your armor! Yes, it did help…a lot!"

"That's me!" Gunjar approved. "How's Ralof doing?"

"He's doing well," Marcus grinned. "He beat Hadvar in an arm-wrestling competition not long ago."

"I wish I could have been there to see that!" Gunjar laughed. "He was always as strong as an ox!"

The three men found a corner to sit down with tankards of mead and were soon chatting away like old friends. At one point, Marcus looked around and noticed Tamsyn had gone off on her own. He spotted her talking with Mirabelle Ervine and Savos Aren on a bench across the room.

"I thought Sovngarde was only for Nords?" he asked his two companions.

"Oh, well," Octavian demurred. "As far as that goes, they're fairly lenient around here."

"Yeah," nodded Gunjar. "There's a lot of cross-over between here and Aetherius and the other ethereal realms – except for the planes of Oblivion, that is. No one who ends up there ever comes here."

That explained it, then, Marcus thought to himself. He didn't think a Dunmer like Savos Aren would have gone to Sovngarde. After talking a bit longer with the two new friends he'd made, and after promising to look them up when he came back to stay, Marcus stood and wandered around, curious to find out who else might have found their way here after death.

He found Uthgerd at one end of the Hall, conversing with other Heroes, and at first was too mortified to approach her. She excused herself from her companions and came to him instead.

"I know what you're thinking, Marcus," she said kindly. "Don't be sad for me. Don't be embarrassed to think of me. We both knew the risks. It…wasn't that bad, after the first minute or so. Like a really bad animal bite, and then just…lethargy. I felt sleepy, and just sort of drifted away." She quirked a grin at him. "Tell Ulfberth to stop feeling sorry for himself, too, the big bear. I died a Hero's death. It's more than I would have had, sitting in the Bannered Mare, listening to Mikael squawk on and on about his conquests."

"I should have—" Marcus stopped, not knowing what else he could say.

"Should have, what, Dragonborn?" Uthgerd smiled. "Should have gone for reinforcements? Who did we have? Shopkeepers, tradesmen, millers? Those people had families who depended on them. Would you have risked Lami's life? Or Jorgen's? Or perhaps Thonnir's?" She shook her head. "No. The threat was too imminent to take the time to send to Solitude or Whiterun for reinforcements, even if any could have been sent, what with the war going on. The Morthal guard was never prepared to face that kind of challenge. We made a judgment call, you and I, and we made it together. You didn't force me to go into that cave with you. I went willingly, and I don't really regret what happened. I'm happier here than I ever was in the Bannered Mare."

And for that, Marcus had to be satisfied, since Uthgerd refused to let him blame himself any further. She insisted he have a few tankards of mead with her and her new friends, and before too long, he was enjoying the celebration once more. After all, this was Sovngarde, and there were so many people to talk to who until now had only been names in the books he'd read.

Jurgen Windcaller cautioned Marcus against using the power of his thu'um to further his own ends, and the Dragonborn took those words to heart. He had already seen its misuse, and the temptations which led to a hunger for power for its own sake.

One of the Divines approached him, and Marcus realized he had passed by this man's statue every time he had gone up to Dragonsreach.

"My Lord Talos," Marcus greeted him, bowing. "It's an honor to finally meet you."

"The honor is mine, Dragonborn," the former Septim Emperor declared. "I see you still wear my talisman at your throat."

"I haven't taken it off since the day I found it," Marcus admitted. "I'd give anything to have Ambassador Ramallion pop in here right now to see just how wrong his ideology is."

Talos grinned. "He would have an apoplexy, to be certain, Dragonborn," the hero-god rumbled, "and I would not wish to be the one to clean up after him. But that is not the reason I sought you out."

"What can I do for you?" Marcus asked soberly. There was a serious note in Talos' tone that made him sit up and take notice.

"I wish merely to thank you for defending my honor, and my right to be counted among the Nine," Talos said sincerely. "The Aldmeri Dominion wishes to re-write history as they define it. They mistakenly believe that the only way for the Altmer to return to Aetherius is to annihilate every other race. You are already taking steps to restrict their power, and for that, you have my gratitude. Do not let them win. Do not let my name be wiped from the pages of history."

"I'll do my best," Marcus said. "But we've only just gotten started, and I'm still trying to get both sides to agree not to fight each other."

"You will prevail," Talos assured him. "Of this I am certain. Be diligent and cautious in your dealings with the Dominion. They have long memories. Unless you can strike them down in your lifetime, your children, and your children's children, may pay the cost."

"I'm open to any advice you can give me," Marcus answered. It wouldn't hurt to have some inside information of his own for once.

"The dragons hold the key to your success," said Talos. "Win them over to your side, and the Thalmor cannot stand against you."

"Noted," Marcus nodded. "And thank you, my Lord."

Marcus wandered around the Hall again, looking for Tamsyn, but she seemed to have slipped away somewhere.

A bard named Svaknir approached him and reproached him for not completing his mission for him.

"What mission?" Marcus asked in bewilderment.

"You took my journal," the bard said. "I had hoped you would spread the truth about Olaf One-Eye." Here he glared across the room at a tall, imposing figure with one half of his face covered by a cloth.

"I remember!" Marcus said now. "Benor and I found it in Dead Men's Respite!"

Svaknir scowled at him. "Why do you think it was called that?" he asked drily, then waved his hands dismissively. "No matter. Promise me you will take my journal to the Bard's College in Solitude."

"I can do that," Marcus promised. Goodness knew Lucia would only be too happy to make a return trip there.

And suddenly, Marcus realized, it hit him – he was free! He could make plans for the rest of his life. Alduin was dead, gone forever! The destiny that had hung over his head like the Sword of Damocles since he had first learned he was Dragonborn was now resolved. He looked around once more for Tamsyn and found her deep in conversation with her father, the two of them sitting to one side, heads together, oblivious of the revelry around them. He made his way over to join them, but was accosted by Ysgramor halfway there.

"I would have a word with you, Dragonborn, if you can spare it," the ancient Hero said.

"Speak freely, Harbinger," Marcus inclined his head, gesturing towards a bench nearby. As they seated themselves, Ysgramor smiled.

"It is about Harbingers that I wish to speak to you," the old soul said. "Or rather, one Harbinger in particular."

"The only other one I know of is Kodlak White-Mane," Marcus said.

"He is the very one," Ysgramor nodded. "I fear for his soul. There is a darkness that lies upon it which will prevent him from joining us in these august halls."

"A darkness?" Marcus frowned. "But he's one of the kindest, fairest men I know. I can't begin to repay the debt I owe him for helping straighten my son, Alesan, around."

"The darkness is not his own," Ysgramor replied. "It is an alien thing, like a sickness. Without a cure, he will never find his way here, and even if he did, he would be turned away at the door."

Marcus would have asked more, but at that moment Mara came up and stood expectantly in front of them. "Forgive me, Harbinger," she smiled. "But Marcus' time here is limited, and I would speak with him before he leaves."

Clearly, a goddess outranked a hero, and no one who met Mara could have refused her anything. Ysgramor inclined his head graciously.

"Of course, my Lady," Ysgramor stood and bowed. "Bear my words in mind, Dragonborn. Help Kodlak if you can."

Helplessly, Marcus promised he would try, but he had no idea what kind of sickness Kodlak was suffering from, much less how he would cure it. That was really more Tamsyn's area of expertise, and wondered why the ancient Hero hadn't talked to her first. Though with the way she had attached herself to her father, intending on spending every possible moment with him, it was unlikely anyone could have pried her away. Marcus knew this, because he'd already tried.

"What did you wish to say, my Lady?" he asked Mara now, deferentially, inviting her to sit next to him.

"Only this," she responded, settling herself. "I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of my children."

"Your children?" Marcus asked, confused. Don't tell me there are more demi-gods walking the hills and dales of Skyrim!

Across the room, Akatosh raised his head from conversation and looked over at Marcus, eyes twinkling in amusement. But he said nothing, either aloud or privately, and returned to the talk around him.

"I suppose I think of all the people of Nirn as my children," Mara laughed lightly. "But unlike Julianos, I did not have a hand in creating any of them, unless you count granting the blessing of Love to their parents. I speak of Blaise, Sofie, Alesan and Lucia – especially Lucia. Of all the children in Skyrim, they were most at need, yet you were the only person to step forward and do something to help them. For that, I thank you."

"I couldn't sit back and do nothing," Marcus said, embarrassed.

"No, of course not," the goddess of love agreed. "As I said, you are unlike most. I know it has been in your mind for some time to find out more about Lucia's family, specifically her aunt and uncle."

Immediately, Marcus thought back to that first night he had spoken to his youngest child, on the bench in front of the decrepit Gildergreen, which he had later restored by retrieving sap from the parent Eldergleam tree.

"My aunt and uncle took over our farm. They threw me out. They said I wasn't good for anything."

"Yes, my Lady," Marcus admitted now. "I won't deny I've had some pretty harsh thoughts for people who would kick a six-year-old out into the world to fend for herself, and tell her she was worthless." His anger built the more he thought about it.

"Explore the wilds to the west of the city of Whiterun," Mara told him. "You will find the answers you seek. Take the child with you. You will know you've found the place when she recognizes it."

And then there will be a reckoning, he thought privately, unsure if she could read his thoughts the way Akatosh could, and not caring at the moment if she did.

Stendarr was next to seek him out. "You must prepare yourself, Dragonborn," he cautioned. "Your tasks are not finished, as my brother Akatosh has foretold. The Children of my hated Enemy are on the rise, and soon will be ready to strike." He left before Marcus could ask any further questions.

Does everyone in this place speak in riddles? he thought, slightly irritated. But Tamsyn beamed a breathtaking smile at him and motioned him over to include him in her conversation with her father, and he spent the next hour or so – time was difficult to determine here – in their company.

Finally, almost reluctantly, Akatosh called the Hall to order and lifted his goblet.

"My friends, all good things must sadly come to an end. We have won a great victory today, thanks to many great heroes. But of all these great Heroes we have celebrated today, two still belong to the realm of the living and may not remain here until such time as their mortal bodies relinquish their hold on the souls within. Therefore, I ask you to raise your cups and drink a toast…to Tamsyn, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, and to Marcus Dragonborn, Destroyer of Alduin, and Savior of Nirn!" He brought his jeweled goblet to his mouth and drank deeply, and all in the great Hall followed, then joined in the cheers and shouts of joy for the two mortal heroes.

Marcus tried to feel appreciative, but part of him felt ashamed. Alduin, as much of a threat as he had been, was still the First Born of Akatosh. And he, the Dragonborn, had killed him.

Akatosh looked across the room at him, and this time Marcus heard him clearly in his mind.

Do not regret the choice you were forced to make, Marcus, Akatosh said. Alduin was indeed my First Born, but he was always…greedy. I believe Paarthurnax once told you that Alduin took domination as his right and privilege? It is true. My…son…had grown arrogant in his power. With each world that was created and subsequently destroyed by him, he grew stronger. In time – a lot of time, perhaps – he might even have challenged me for the Right to Rule the Realms.

There was a whisper of a sound, almost as if Akatosh was heaving a mental sigh. I will grieve for my First Born later. For now, this is your moment. Enjoy it while you may. Other challenges lie ahead; some perhaps sooner than you think. But not too soon. You have a family to raise, after all.

Marcus blinked. Other challenges? he inquired. Like what?

Akatosh's tone took on its customary smugness. You'll know when they happen. Must keep some secrets, mustn't I?

Fine, Marcus scowled inwardly. But in all honesty, I think I'm going to miss not hearing you in my head all the time.

My dear boy, the Dragon God of Time replied loftily, whatever made you think I was leaving?

Across the room, Akatosh smirked, and Marcus found himself grinning in response.

"I suppose that's my cue to go out with a bang," he said aloud, knowing his Host would hear him, as indeed, the god's smile widened.

"What did you say?" Tamsyn asked, unable to hear clearly for all the cheering and singing going on.

"I said we should leave now," Marcus said, a bit sadly. Part of him wanted nothing more than to stay, but the greater part knew he had to return. The children, at least, still needed him. There would come a day, he knew, when he would return.

'But it is not this day.' He allowed himself to grin at the quote.

They made their farewells, and Tamsyn tearfully hugged her father for the last time, knowing it would be a lifetime before she would see him again. They left the Hall together then, hand in hand, and headed back across the Whalebone Bridge. They were nearly across when Marcus realized it didn't bother him now.

Behind them, a chorus of song rose into the warm, spring-like air.

"Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,

Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!

Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan

Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!"

"What are they singing?" Marcus asked, pausing to look back at the golden hall behind them.

"It's a hymn to you, Marcus," Tamsyn smiled. "If you'd like, I'll translate it for you later."

"No," he said finally, listening to the words ring through the vale. "I guess I don't need to know that badly. It sounds beautiful, just the way it is."

Tsun greeted them at the far end.

"That was a mighty deed, Dragonborn," the gate-keeper said. "The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor's hall forever."

"I had a lot of help," Marcus said, squeezing Tamsyn's hand. She gave him a quick squeeze in return.

"Truly," Tsun acknowledged her with a nod. "But your fate lies elsewhere, Dragonborn. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again, with glad friendship, and bid you join the blessed feasting."

"I won't have to fight you again, to get in, will I?" Marcus grinned.

"Not unless you wish to, Dragonborn," the giant laughed. "And I would welcome the challenge! For now, you must return to the realm of the living. Return now to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my Lord; a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need."

He spoke the words, and immediately Marcus knew their meaning. Hun kaal zoor; "Hero Champion Legend". He wondered briefly which hero he would get to fight with him, should the need arise, but Tsun was already bidding them farewell and Shouting them back to Skyrim.

They awoke to biting cold and gusting winds. When his vision cleared, Marcus realized they were not far from the Word Wall at the top of the Throat of the World. On every side, dragons of every age, color and size perched on the few remaining peaks that jutted above, reaching desperately for Kynareth's domain. Their ululating cries were at once awe-inspiring, jubilant and ineffably sad.

"Alduin mahlaan," they cried.

"Alduin has fallen," Tamsyn murmured, and he heard her in spite of the roar of the dragons and the howl of the wind.

"Sahrot thur qahnaraan."

"The mighty Overlord has been vanquished."

A few of the dragons flew off, to circle the Monahven and before flying away. The remaining dragons took up the mournful refrain.

"Alduin mahlaan. Dovahkiin los ok dovahkriid."

"The Dragonborn is his slayer," Tamsyn translated.

Several more dragons flew up, circled and left. Perched on the Word Wall, Paarthurnax watched and waited silently. Whatever his thoughts were on the matter, he did not join in the draconian chorus.

"Alduin mahlaan. Thu'umii los nahlot."

"His voice is silenced."

A few more dragons took off, leaving only Paarthurnax and two older, ancient dragons. They shook themselves out and cried out one last time.

"Alduin mahlaan. Mu los vomir."

"We are…alone," Tamsyn whispered, her voice breaking. Tears welled in her eyes and she pressed herself against Marcus, shivering. He wrapped his arm around her as best he could as the last two dragons flew off, leaving them alone with Paarthurnax at the top of the world.

"So it is done," the aged, grey dragon said slowly, as if coming back to himself. "Alduin dilon. The Eldest is no more. He who came before all others, and has always been."

"Alduin brought this upon himself," Marcus said, remembering the words of Akatosh in his mind, not long before.

"Indeed," Paarthurnax agreed. "Alduin wahlaan daanii. His doom was written when he claimed for himself the lordship that properly belongs to Bormahu – our father Akatosh."

The leader of the Greybeards cocked his head toward them and gazed at them with a keen eye. "Rok funta koraav," he said. "Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the vennesetiid…the currents of Time." He paused, as if considering all the ramifications of this world-changing event. Then he seemed to give himself a mental shake. "But I forget myself," he continued, nodding toward them. "Krosis. So los mid fahdon. Melancholy is an easy trap for a dovah to fall into. You have won a mighty victory, Dovahkiin, Prok-Lahzey. Sahrot krongrah. One that will echo through all the ages of this world for those who have eyes to see. Savor your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time."

With that, the great, grey dragon leaped from the Word Wall and launched himself into the skies. He circled the area once, crying out, "Goraan! I feel younger than I have in many an age! Many of the dovah are now scattered across Keizaal. Without Alduin's lordship, they may yet bow to the vahzen…the rightness of my Thu'um."

Coming abreast of them, Paarthurnax paused in mid-flight, his yet-powerful wings back pedaling to keep him hovering above their heads. He gave a low, amused chuckle. "But willing or no, they will hear it!" He chuckled again. "Fare thee well, Dovahkiin!"

"What did he mean by that?" Marcus asked, concerned. "The 'rightness' of his thu'um? We didn't just trade one problem for another, did we?"

Tamsyn gave a tired smile. "No, dearest. He simply meant he's going to school them in the Way of the Voice, whether they like it or not."

Marcus allowed a chuckle of his own. "Well, I wish him luck with that," he replied. "It will make my job easier. Still, I don't imagine they'll all go for it."

"Probably not," Tamsyn agreed, shivering again. "So don't hang up your dragon bone sword just yet."

"Yeah, and I think I've got a name for it, too," he said thoughtfully. "What do you think of 'Alduin's Bane'?"

"I like it," she agreed. "It fits."

There was a sound of rushing wings, and a roar which grew in volume as a huge, red dragon circled once and dropped in front of them. Pushing Tamsyn behind him, Marcus drew Alduin's Bane and prepared to face down what he feared would be the first of many dragons wanting to test his thu'um – and he was already almightily tired. But a gravelly voice spoke with a drawl he recognized, and Marcus breathed a sigh of relief and greeting the newcomer.

"Odahviing," he smiled. "I didn't expect to see you again so soon." He sheathed the dragon bone sword.

"Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein," the firedrake drawled. "I wish the Old One luck in his…quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax's 'Way of the Voice'." It was clear from his tone that Odahviing was one such. "As for myself, you have proven your mastery twice over, Thuri Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um. Zu'u Odahviing. Call me if you have need, and I will come if I can."

"Actually," Marcus said slowly, looking at Tamsyn, trying bravely not to shiver in the cold in front of this imposing dragon. "Actually, there is something you can do for me," he said. "Will you carry us down to Whiterun?"

Odahviing hesitated. His acknowledgment of Marcus' power extended to the Dragonborn only. He still had no desire to be – as he had put it days ago – a "beast of burden to lesser joore." Still, this was his Thuri now, his Lord. And he had just pledge his obedience to that lordship.

Marcus saw the conflict on the dragon's face. By now, he was getting very good at deciphering their inscrutable visages. But behind him, Tamsyn let out a sigh of exasperation.

"Oh, forget about it, Marcus," she snapped. "If he doesn't want to, that's fine. I'll fly myself down."

"That would indeed be a sight to see," Odahviing chuckled wickedly. "And I will count the number of your bunzit…bounces…on the way dow—" The old dragon's voice broke off as Tamsyn lifted herself into the air with the power of her Ring of Flying. "By the Shell of my Egg!" he murmured. "No joor in the history of your kind has ever learned to fly as the dov do!"

Tamsyn tossed her head and sniffed, "Zu'u los nid qurnen joor."

"No, indeed, Prok-Lahzey," Odahviing rumbled, and ducked his head in submission. "To you and you alone, apart from the Dovahkiin, will I submit my allegiance," he proclaimed. "Truly you are worthy to be called dovah fahdon." He cleared his throat with a smoky cough and said, "It would be my honor to take you where you wish to go."

Marcus had initially intended to head straight back to Whiterun, but at Tamsyn's insistence, they only went as far as High Hrothgar to start with. "Master Arngeir and the others deserve to know what happened," she told him, and he felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't thought of it himself. He had been so anxious to return home that it had crowded out any other courtesies.

At High Hrothgar, they were below the wind-storm that shredded the top of the mountain. It wasn't much warmer here, though. Odahviing waited in the courtyard as Marcus led Tamsyn into the monastery, and they sought out the elder Greybeard. They found him, as well as the other three, seated around the conference table in their quiet, meditative manner. Master Arngeir rose when he heard their footsteps echoing in the hallway.

"I can see it in your eyes," he said somberly. "You've seen the land of the Gods and returned. Does this mean…it is done? Is Alduin truly defeated?"

"Yes," Marcus said. "I…we went to Sovngarde, and killed Alduin there."

A great sigh seemed to course around the room, as if all four men let out breaths they'd been holding until this very moment. All of them suddenly looked younger than they had since Marcus had first met them, as if a great weight had swiftly been lifted from their minds.

"At last," Arngeir sighed. "It is over. Perhaps it was all worth it in the end," he continued. "You've shown yourself mighty, both in Voice and deed. In order to defeat Alduin, you've gained mastery of dreadful weapons. Now it is up to you to decide what to do with your power and skill." He fixed a keen eye on Marcus. "Will you be a hero whose name is remembered in song throughout the ages? Or will your name be a curse to future generations? Or will you merely fade from history, unremembered?"

I rather like the sound of that last one, Marcus thought privately. Fading back into anonymity, and simply being Marcus of Whiterun again, had a certain appeal. He knew in his heart, however, that it probably wouldn't work out that way.

Arngeir shrugged. "Let the Way of the Voice be your guide, and the path of wisdom will be clear to you. Breath and focus, Dragonborn," he said finally, bowing. The other Greybeards rose and bowed to him as well. "Your future lies before you."

"Thank you all for everything you've done," Marcus said, bowing to each in turn. "I couldn't have done it without all the help you've given me. And I won't be a stranger to you. I'll be back. I know I'll continue to rely on your advice and counsel."

Master Arngeir said nothing, but his eyes brightened with approval and the corner of his mouth lifted ever-so-slightly. For the old Greybeard, it was as close as Marcus had ever seen him come to a full-blown smile.

It was finally time to leave. Tamsyn and Marcus returned to the courtyard where Odahviing waited. The mid-day sun turned his red scales to gleaming rubies, and the Dragonborn had to squint against the glare. Marcus gave Tamsyn a boost, then climbed up behind her, settling in with his arm around her.

"Take us back to Whiterun, Odahviing, if you please," he requested.

"Nii, Dovahkiin," the dragon responded. "Not back to the hofkahsejun, the scene of my…humiliation. Do not ask this of me." There was an almost pleading note in the firedrake's voice.

Marcus realized this was a sore spot for his winged companion. "Very well," he said graciously. "Just set us down outside of town, near the stables. We'll walk back up from there."

It was swiftly done, and before Marcus realized it, the dragon was making lazy circles above the capital city of Whiterun Hold, sending the guards scurrying to the walls, armed with their bows and spears.

"This might not have been such a good idea," Tamsyn called back. "They don't know yet that Alduin is dead."

"Get us down quickly, Odahviing," Marcus called. "As soon as they see it's me, they'll hold their fire. I'll make them stop," he promised.

As the great red dragon settled down outside the walls near the stable, Marcus saw Bjorlam wrestling with Gerduin, trying to keep the horse under control. Snorting and rearing, rolling her eyes, the mare was anything but happy about the proximity of a known, deadly predator.

Lightly leaping down, Marcus turned to help Tamsyn as she slid off the dragon's back.

"By Shor!" Bjorlam exclaimed, still keeping a tight rein on Gerduin. "Dragonborn! Is that you?"

"It is indeed, Bjorlam," Marcus grinned as Odahviing hauled himself into the air once more, kicking up dust as he did so, and flying off to the south. "I'm back."

"Thank the gods!" the carriage-driver praised. "Is it truly over, then?"

"It is," the Dragonborn nodded. "Everything alright with Sadie?"

"She's fine, Dragonborn, fine," Bjorlam assured him, distracted. "Only—"

Marcus paused, turning back. Bjorlam seemed upset by more than just the arrival of the Dragonborn on the back of an enormous red firedrake.

"Only…what, Bjorlam?" he asked, a sense of dread coming over him.

Bjorlam hung his head. "Skulvar's dead, Dragonborn," the Nord said thickly. "Two days ago. Vampire attack. They came out of nowhere. They had great, huge, dog-like beasts with them, but I've never seen hounds like that before."

Beside him, Tamsyn stiffened. Quickly he cast his eyes over to the stable, half expecting to see the stable-master polishing the brass on a harness, or refitting a leather strap on a saddle. "Anyone else?" Marcus hated asking the question, but he had to know.

"Just Nazeem, the owner of Chillfurrow Farm," Bjorlam replied. "He was taking the evening air when the attack came." Bjorlam leaned over the side in a conspiratorial whisper. "Between you and me, that's no great loss," he said sourly.

It would have been hypocritical of him to disagree, Marcus knew. The only good thing he could think of was that now Ahlam would be free of a man who neither respected nor appreciated her. Perhaps she'd find happiness again soon.

"I'd better go on in, then," Marcus said, his good humor over his triumph shattered. "I'll need to speak with the Jarl, I'm sure."

As they walked up to the main gate together, Marcus blew out a breath. "I thought I was done," he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his tone.

"Akatosh told you that you still had other tasks to perform," Tamsyn said gently. "So did Tsun. Even Paarthurnax, in his own way, knew your story wasn't finished."

Marcus nodded. "I suppose it was stupid to hope I could just go home and retire."

"Perhaps someday," Tamsyn mused. "But not immediately. And besides, what would you do if you retired? Sit around and drive Lydia crazy?"

"Probably," he chuckled. "I was kind of hoping that you and I could get married."

"We can still do that," she assured him, linking her arm through his. "And who knows? Maybe this is just an isolated incident."

He stopped then, in front of Warmaiden's and caught her gaze. "It isn't, though, is it?" he asked. "Is it?"

Tamsyn dropped her eyes and shook her head. "There were two extra adventures the writers created for the game," she admitted. "One of them involved vampires."

"And the other?" he demanded, turning her chin up so he could look into her deep green eyes.

"The cultists who attacked you in Ivarstead," she said finally. "But I have it on good authority you don't need to worry about either of them immediately. You'll have some time to build a life here, if that's what you truly want to do."

Marcus thought back to all the small side quests he had hoped to resolve, all the Words of Power he still had yet to find, all the promises he had made to his children. He thought of the wheels he'd already set in motion, to eradicate the Aldmeri Dominion once and for all. There was still so much to do! Would he be able to get it all done in one lifetime? He supposed he'd have to try. Tiid bo amative. Time flowed ever onward, and it wouldn't wait for him. Alduin was dead. The greatest threat to this world had been destroyed by his hand. If he'd learned anything in both his lifetimes, it was that nature abhors a vacuum, and when one adversary was eliminated, invariably another stepped in to fill the void.

"Come on," he smiled at Tamsyn now. "There's nothing we can do about it right now. Let's let the kids know we're home." He gave a deep chuckle. "I honestly don't know if I'm more hungry or more tired. I might just fall asleep in my gruel!"

Tamsyn giggled in delight and took his arm again as he led her up to the doorstep of Breezehome. Marcus opened the door and let her precede him into the house, but stood for a moment looking up and down the bustling, busy streets of Whiterun.

Yes, he was an outsider. He hadn't been born in this world, and the thought that magic was real here, that dragons were real here, and that half the elves in the Summerset Isles wanted him dead, dead, deader than dead was – to say the least – disheartening and discouraging. But through all the set-backs and difficulties he had prevailed. He had not only come to terms with his new world, he had made it his own. He was no longer the man he had been before, in that lifetime so far away; no longer a paunchy, middle-aged grandfather with a knack for trouble-shooting computer systems. He was Marcus Dragonborn of Whiterun, Slayer of Alduin the World-Eater, and Savior of Tamriel.

As he turned and entered Breezehome, a whispered voice in his head made him smile.

"Welcome home, Dragonborn."

END

[Author's Note: Wow! It's done! Thank you to everyone who stayed with me through all forty-two chapters. Thank you to my daughter for listening to each chapter as I wrote it, who offered some insight and advice on characterization and game expertise, and to the other members of my family who suffered for my lack of household duties while I wrote this.

As for Marcus and Tamsyn, there is a distinct possibility we'll hear more about them. Too many tasks left undone; too many questions left unanswered; and too many ideas floating around in my head. It may be a while before I get to it, but I think it's safe to say it will probably happen. Thank you again for reading!]

[EDIT: For those who have enjoyed this story, and would like to read more about Marcus and Tamsyn, see my latest work in progress, "Into the Darkness." Thank you all for reading!]

NOTES ON DOVAHZUL:

Zu'u Unslaad!...Zu'u nis oblaan! I am unending (immortal)! I cannot die!

Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin,

Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!

Ahrk fin norok paal graan fod nust hon zindro zaan

Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!

Dragonborn, Dragonborn, by his honor is sworn

To keep evil forever at bay!

And the fiercest foes rout when they hear triumph's shout,

Dragonborn, for your blessing we pray!

-from The Song of the Dragonborn

Alduin dilon. Alduin is dead.

Alduin wahlaan daanii. Alduin built his doom.

Rok funta koraav He failed to see

Krosis. So los mid fahdon. Sorrow (also, "Sorry"). Sorrow is (my) loyal friend.

Sahrot krongrah. Mighty victory.

Goraan! Young!

Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein Good travels (luck) to (the) Old One

Zu'u los nid qurnen joor. I am no ordinary mortal.

Prok-Lahzey Arch-Mage

dovah fahdon dragon friend